He tried to be as still as possible, peaking through the leaves, wondering if they were still out there.
They were still out there, still sailing, still looking for him.
Why couldn’t they give up? Why couldn’t they accept that he wasn’t there anymore? Surely some evidence told them so.
He faked his own death. He took his clothes and shoes off, pretending that the sea finally got into him. That he was giving up all hope and succumb to the pressure that was building up for the last couple of years. That he could not take it anymore.
He had planned it all, the spare clothes, the new passport, new identity, new beginning in another place. He just had to be patient and wait for the search to finish, lie low in this island with enough supplies to keep him through while waiting.
Did he do the right thing? Would he be able to start again after what he had gone through? Did he just give up everything? (150 words)