Till Death Do Us Part

By: 1000th Ghost

Erik = Maddie

Raoul = Becky

Christine = *to be announced*

June 28, 2005

Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh, oh, gosh, oh, gosh. Oh. Gosh. Maybe if I write that enough times this'll make sense. Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh. It's not working. Becky won't shut up. Rambling on and on about Aaron. I DON'T CARE ABOUT AARON! I don't care. I don't care that she's rambling. The little girl's asleep. Good. Oh, gosh, not another one. It's over. Freakin' wave. I'm hungry. And tired. And thirsty as heck. If I hear one more word about Aaron, I swear I'll…do what? Push her overboard? Eh, might as well. It's not like anyone would ever know. But no. I need morals. Or do I? Becky's my best friend, for crying out loud. I need to think straight. How can I? Man, I'd even go for one of those crappy airline meals. Maybe we should swim down to the wreckage and salvage some. Ha ha. "Excuse me ma'am, could I get another Diet Dr. Pepper? Oh, you're busy dying? Well, gees, that's not my fault! Whatever happened to customer first?" That's mean. It's not the flight attendant's fault. It's not anyone's fault really. Except for maybe the pilot. But how should I know? All of a sudden everyone's screaming and shoving rafts in people's faces. Whatever. Guess it's pretty cool we survived in the first place. I doubt anyone else did. They're all dead. Oh, well. No one I knew. Maybe my future husband was on that plane. Crap. I'm gonna be an old maid. In a house with one hundred cats. Wait…that's not right. I'll just starve to death on this crummy raft. Slowly losing my mind listening to the lovesick droning of my best friend and the snoring of some kid I've never seen. Gah. Maybe I'll turn cannibal. But who to eat? On the one hand, Becky rocks, and Little Kid I don't know. On the other hand, Little Kid is more or less silent, whereas Becky WON'T SHUT UP! Out of this entire thing, all she seems to care about is that she can't see her boyfriend anymore. I swear, I'll never understand that girl. If I ever get that crazy over some guy, they can just shoot me. Write on my gravestone "Madeleine Christine Destler. November 1, 1992-July 28, 2005. Died of a broken heart." Ha ha. Like that'll ever happen. Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh. Nope. Still here. This stinks. But, hey, what can you do?