[Funkduder]

After about what seemed to ten minutes of walking, Jack's legs got tired. He bent down and threw up what was left of the plane food that he hadn't already digested and wiped his mouth. He couldn't speak, not even to himself, nor could he think his thoughts out to himself.

Walk on. Find others. Don't look at the dead ones.

His thoughts were monotonous, if not plain. He found a crate at one of the final pieces of the plane, the tail, and sat down. Now resting he thought about what he had just seen, the bodies, the plane, the fire, the sand, the sea, the puke, the blood...and he cried silently, forgetting to wipe the tears as he left his arms to rest. The cloudy sky started to rain a little, and it couldn't have been better timed, in Jack's later opinion.