Hemingway. (![]() ![]() @ 2013-07-06 21:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, ~steve rogers (preserum) |
Scott is dead. Perhaps one of the doctors would like to come out and take a look, I know he was receiving his vaccinations with myself, and it is possible that he had a bad reaction. I'm not certain.
He was a hypochondriac, so when he tells you he's dying you scarcely bat an eyelid. How foolish I was. I should have had more patience with him. I thought he was being dramatic again. He was always saying he was dying, and nothing ever came of it before.
There is little point in dwelling on it. I have been to the bookshop, and his novels are still there. Some of which he is yet to write, so I can only assume that he has gone home to publish them. Death is nothing to fear, after all. Pity the living, not the dead.
I am not a religious man. I don't believe that any God exists in order to give as he takes away. All I can say with certainty is that whatever power is behind this island has a peculiar sense of humour. As they take Scott from me, they offer me this little creature.
He's not impressed, can you tell?