Slip Away

He sat staring idly out at the ocean which seemed to stretch to the end of the earth. The sun was coming up, and he remembered all those times, back home, when he'd be going to bed just as the sun rose over the horizon. When he'd be getting back into his apartment after a heavy night of partying, his head thick and his mouth dry. There were mornings he'd be with his band mates, climbing out of their respective hotel rooms and onto their mobile house. He'd sleep until they got to the next city or town or whatever it was, because there was no way in hell he'd waste precious evenings laying in a starched hotel room bed, sleeping his life away. Not when there were girls to see and beers to drink. And secrets to be kept.

Things change drastically in mere moments. Whether you want them to or not. He was used to that, at least.

He'd much rather have been sleeping right then, as the sun rose up over the ocean. Rather than sit there with sand covering his jean-clad legs and sand fleas attempting to bite the hand that he was resting his weight against.

Of course, things could have been worse, he supposed.

He could be dead.

Sometimes, he thought maybe it'd be better to be dead than stuck there, just waiting. Waiting for something that was never coming. Waiting for the world to end.

Waiting to be swallowed whole and forgotten.

Because by then he probably was. Forgotten, that is. There would probably be tears from loyal fans. There would be a press release from the band stating how tragic it was to have lost him. There might even be a candlelight vigil, like when Princess Diana died.

Not that Charlie was in the same league as Princess Di. He knew he wasn't. But to some, judging by the topless women attempting to seduce him in secluded seedy pubs and the bundles of fan letters he received daily, he was a bit like a God.

A rock God, at least. Now to be considered a Fallen Rock God who would be memorialized once a year and talked about on shows like "Behind The Music" and "The Top Fifty Most Tragic Rock Deaths" or some shit like that.

He put his head in his hands and sighed, blinking against the sudden blinding light. In a half hour or less, the island would be sweltering hot, and another day would be in progress. Another day of trying to survive.

Trying to survive, as far as Charlie was concerned, was an exhausting practice.

He didn't want to be forgotten. He didn't want to spend day after day on an island with a bunch of people who were practically strangers wondering what was going on back home. Wondering how life was going on without him.

Wondering if life could.

Day six had brought a startling realization. If he was going to be here, he was not going to think about the days ahead. He was not going to think about possible starvation or being eaten by a wild animal that has no business being in the tropics. He wouldn't think of his supply running out, or water disappearing or people missing him.

Fate had brought him there, and he would spend his days thinking only five minutes into the future. Not any further, if he could help it.

Being practical was one thing, but there was bliss in ignorance.

And Charlie had always known that.