Two drabbles - Fate and L.A.T.E.
Title: Fasten your Seatbelt
Character: Kate
A/N: For lenina20 who asked for a drabble about Kate based on this lyric by Vienna Tang - “Strange how this journey's hurting in ways we accept as part of fate's decree”. Won Best Drabble at lost_fic_awards for April 2008.
Banner by isis2015.
x x x
Some of them who remember described it as falling, falling from the sky, but that makes it sound too gentle, like they had only rolled off the bed.
A few called it a plunge; a sharp, fast descent, where your head only caught up with your feet, if you were lucky, once the plane hit the ground.
For Kate, the crash always felt more like an ascent; similar to the torturous crawl of a roller coaster climbing, climbing, climbing, (while you sat clutching Tom’s hand, sticky from cotton candy) and waiting, waiting, waiting. Too much time to expect the pain. An eternity with the word mama screaming in your head but no air in your lungs for it to pass through your lips.
On the helicopter, Kate sees the horizon ahead and the water below; the island is a mere speck behind her. She knows they are soaring up, up and away, but despite all evidence otherwise, Kate is falling, plummeting, sinking, (so you surrender to him for one more night, squeeze your eyes shut and imagine playing house) spiralling back to earth, too heavy, too empty.
Just as this baby doesn’t belong in her arms, she doesn’t belong in these clouds.
x x x
Title: Eulogy
Characters: Charlie, Hurley, Juliet, Tom, Richard
A/N: For
falafel_fiction who prompted me with Charlie, Ethan and L.A.T.E.
x x x
“Remember the time, this was before you came Jules, that Ethan was sure a boar was stalking him?” Tom passes the whiskey to Richard.
Richard nods, fills his glass, slides the bottle over to Juliet. “You mean Belinda?”
Juliet’s about to pour herself another drink but stops. The sour feeling that settled in her stomach when Ben delivered the news refused to be washed away by the other two glasses. If anything, mixing it with alcohol has only made it worse. She’s not sure what’s more unsettling: Ethan’s murder or Ben’s refusal to hold a funeral for him-said he strayed from the path-or that Goodwin is still out there with them.
“Belinda, that’s right. He named it after his ex.” Tom’s face lights up, and dips his head in Juliet’s direction to explain. “For a week, Ethan thought he was being watched on his trips to The Staff, so I began to join him, in case we had some unwanted guests. I tagged along for a few trips and one day this great big boar appeared on the path and had this stare down with Rom, like she was part cobra or something. Then she disappeared into the brush. When we get back to the barracks that evening, Ethan finds his pantry has been torn apart and there’s a big dump right in the middle of his bed.”
“The same boar? How’d it cross the fence?” Juliet asks, wondering if this is the point in the wake when all the stories about Ethan become larger than life.
“Don’t know.”
“Ethan looked up the real Belinda on our next trip out. I think he was planning to ask her to come back with us, but then he found out she was engaged.” A faraway look crosses Richard’s face; he drops his eyes, and swallows his drink whole. Then he adds, with a chuckle, “Funny thing is, she had us over for a BBQ and when we get there her fiancé is roasting a pig, the size of, well, it could have been the other Belinda.”
Weak smiles are exchanged between the three of them and nobody says anything for a moment. Juliet decides another drink is in order but before she can take a sip, she’s startled when Tom smashes his empty glass on the table.
Between gritted teeth he spits out, “I don’t care what Ben says. We’re going to teach those animals a lesson.”
x x x
Hurley rests his chin on top of the makeshift shovel. “Should we say something?”
Charlie spreads the dirt back and forth, smoothing the surface, trying to erase its appearance as a grave. There’s no marker; tomorrow people will be treading over this spot. "What’s there to say?” Charlie asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.
“We took the time to bury him. I just thought we should say a few words.”
“Go ahead.” He tucks his shovel in his armpit and wipes his hands on his pants. “I’m done.” Charlie steps away from the grave, picks his sweatshirt up from the ground and pulls it on, zips it up. He turns to head back to the caves but curiosity over what Hurley will say keeps him rooted.
“So Ethan, if that is, was, your real name…We didn’t know you well, and what we did know, we didn’t like.” Hurley turns around, hoping for some inspiration on what else to say but Charlie merely shrugs. “That’s kind of why you’re here. If you had just been our friend instead of some psycho, we could have gotten along fine…Well, I guess this is it.” Hurley clears his throat and his tone shifts to something more solemn. “And somewhere between the time you arrive, And the time you go, May lie a reason you were alive, But you’ll never know.”
Charlie’s head snaps sup; until that moment he hadn’t realized he had hung it. “Jackson Browne?”
“I didn’t think a prayer would work. It’s just came into my head.”
“He didn’t deserve a bloody rock elegy!”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry.”
Charlie sighs and steps forward. He smoothes the dirt over the grave one more time with his sneaker. “Ethan, we could have left you where you were as a warning to whoever else might be out there. I know you’re fond of warnings, it would have been fitting. But we took you home and buried you because we’re…”
He wants to say good people but that seems a bit of a stretch coming from the man who shot him not once, not twice, but six times. When Charlie remembers, and it’s not really a choice, it’s been replaying round the clock ever since it happened, he sees Ethan jerk back, crumble, then splatter in the mud. He can’t bring back the sound of the six shots; every noise from the rain to the yelling is masked by Claire’s small gasp which might have come before, after or even during.
“…Because it wasn’t right…” Charlie looks up to Hurley. “There?”
“Okay.” Hurley nods. “Okay. We’re done.” He reaches to pat Charlie’s back but his friend’s already gone.
x x x
Character: Kate
A/N: For lenina20 who asked for a drabble about Kate based on this lyric by Vienna Tang - “Strange how this journey's hurting in ways we accept as part of fate's decree”. Won Best Drabble at lost_fic_awards for April 2008.
Banner by isis2015.
x x x
Some of them who remember described it as falling, falling from the sky, but that makes it sound too gentle, like they had only rolled off the bed.
A few called it a plunge; a sharp, fast descent, where your head only caught up with your feet, if you were lucky, once the plane hit the ground.
For Kate, the crash always felt more like an ascent; similar to the torturous crawl of a roller coaster climbing, climbing, climbing, (while you sat clutching Tom’s hand, sticky from cotton candy) and waiting, waiting, waiting. Too much time to expect the pain. An eternity with the word mama screaming in your head but no air in your lungs for it to pass through your lips.
On the helicopter, Kate sees the horizon ahead and the water below; the island is a mere speck behind her. She knows they are soaring up, up and away, but despite all evidence otherwise, Kate is falling, plummeting, sinking, (so you surrender to him for one more night, squeeze your eyes shut and imagine playing house) spiralling back to earth, too heavy, too empty.
Just as this baby doesn’t belong in her arms, she doesn’t belong in these clouds.
x x x
Title: Eulogy
Characters: Charlie, Hurley, Juliet, Tom, Richard
A/N: For
falafel_fiction who prompted me with Charlie, Ethan and L.A.T.E.
x x x
“Remember the time, this was before you came Jules, that Ethan was sure a boar was stalking him?” Tom passes the whiskey to Richard.
Richard nods, fills his glass, slides the bottle over to Juliet. “You mean Belinda?”
Juliet’s about to pour herself another drink but stops. The sour feeling that settled in her stomach when Ben delivered the news refused to be washed away by the other two glasses. If anything, mixing it with alcohol has only made it worse. She’s not sure what’s more unsettling: Ethan’s murder or Ben’s refusal to hold a funeral for him-said he strayed from the path-or that Goodwin is still out there with them.
“Belinda, that’s right. He named it after his ex.” Tom’s face lights up, and dips his head in Juliet’s direction to explain. “For a week, Ethan thought he was being watched on his trips to The Staff, so I began to join him, in case we had some unwanted guests. I tagged along for a few trips and one day this great big boar appeared on the path and had this stare down with Rom, like she was part cobra or something. Then she disappeared into the brush. When we get back to the barracks that evening, Ethan finds his pantry has been torn apart and there’s a big dump right in the middle of his bed.”
“The same boar? How’d it cross the fence?” Juliet asks, wondering if this is the point in the wake when all the stories about Ethan become larger than life.
“Don’t know.”
“Ethan looked up the real Belinda on our next trip out. I think he was planning to ask her to come back with us, but then he found out she was engaged.” A faraway look crosses Richard’s face; he drops his eyes, and swallows his drink whole. Then he adds, with a chuckle, “Funny thing is, she had us over for a BBQ and when we get there her fiancé is roasting a pig, the size of, well, it could have been the other Belinda.”
Weak smiles are exchanged between the three of them and nobody says anything for a moment. Juliet decides another drink is in order but before she can take a sip, she’s startled when Tom smashes his empty glass on the table.
Between gritted teeth he spits out, “I don’t care what Ben says. We’re going to teach those animals a lesson.”
x x x
Hurley rests his chin on top of the makeshift shovel. “Should we say something?”
Charlie spreads the dirt back and forth, smoothing the surface, trying to erase its appearance as a grave. There’s no marker; tomorrow people will be treading over this spot. "What’s there to say?” Charlie asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.
“We took the time to bury him. I just thought we should say a few words.”
“Go ahead.” He tucks his shovel in his armpit and wipes his hands on his pants. “I’m done.” Charlie steps away from the grave, picks his sweatshirt up from the ground and pulls it on, zips it up. He turns to head back to the caves but curiosity over what Hurley will say keeps him rooted.
“So Ethan, if that is, was, your real name…We didn’t know you well, and what we did know, we didn’t like.” Hurley turns around, hoping for some inspiration on what else to say but Charlie merely shrugs. “That’s kind of why you’re here. If you had just been our friend instead of some psycho, we could have gotten along fine…Well, I guess this is it.” Hurley clears his throat and his tone shifts to something more solemn. “And somewhere between the time you arrive, And the time you go, May lie a reason you were alive, But you’ll never know.”
Charlie’s head snaps sup; until that moment he hadn’t realized he had hung it. “Jackson Browne?”
“I didn’t think a prayer would work. It’s just came into my head.”
“He didn’t deserve a bloody rock elegy!”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry.”
Charlie sighs and steps forward. He smoothes the dirt over the grave one more time with his sneaker. “Ethan, we could have left you where you were as a warning to whoever else might be out there. I know you’re fond of warnings, it would have been fitting. But we took you home and buried you because we’re…”
He wants to say good people but that seems a bit of a stretch coming from the man who shot him not once, not twice, but six times. When Charlie remembers, and it’s not really a choice, it’s been replaying round the clock ever since it happened, he sees Ethan jerk back, crumble, then splatter in the mud. He can’t bring back the sound of the six shots; every noise from the rain to the yelling is masked by Claire’s small gasp which might have come before, after or even during.
“…Because it wasn’t right…” Charlie looks up to Hurley. “There?”
“Okay.” Hurley nods. “Okay. We’re done.” He reaches to pat Charlie’s back but his friend’s already gone.
x x x