[ WP ] But why is the rum gone ? ?

*Why is the rum gone? * 
 `` WHY IS THE RUM GONE?!'' 
 As if the seven wonders of the world were no match to this man who, born boy genius, was never met with an obstacle of the mind, and posed his entire lack of ignorance into one question, he screamed. 
 He screamed until he sobbed and he sobbed until he could *see* the color red in the back of his throat. 
 *Why is the rum gone? * 
 He noticed and decided to ignore the items immediately next to him. Knife. Rope. Matches. Paper. Nothing mattered. 
 *Nothing matters. * 
 The rum was gone. 
 *Why is the rum gone? * 
 In a flash of rage he picked up the bottle, stood up, and attempted to smash it against the sand, using his entire body and thrusting it over his head. Instead, it bounced, unharmed, and made the same noise one would hear when blowing into an empty glass bottle. 
 *Sand? * 
 He had n't noticed the sand much like he had n't noticed his whereabouts or his predicament. 
 `` What the fuck?'' *what the fuck? * 
 Turning around in circles, he began attempting to locate himself. 
 *I'm at the beach! * 
 Turning around again, he saw the most textbook picture of a jungle imaginable and decided he was n't at the beach. 
 The water met where the sand ended only a couple hundred feet from where he stood and he decided he was on an island. It did n't matter anyway. *It does n't matter. * The rum was gone. *Why is the rum gone? * 
 For 30 days the search party tried to find him but those who knew him were not fearful. After all, he was a genius, and the life craft he had drifted on was carrying emergency survival gear. 
 For 30 days, he had laid dormant. Nothing mattered. The rum was gone. Rum was the fuel to his fire. Rum was the sole purpose for living, or in his case *surviving. * What point was there to persevere in the absence of rum? None. And so he did not. 
 But on the 31st day, the helicopters gained sight of the tiny island and called a team on the water to search. The team on the water raided the island like they were at war, and there, in the sand, he lay. Cold to the touch, he had been died the night before and next to him lay the rope, the knife, the matches, and the bottle of rum, only it was n't empty. Inside was a scrap of paper he had written in with a stick dipped in his blood and it read, `` There was no rum left.'' 

