fic: red doors (lost)
red doors
fandom: lost
disclaimer: not mine
rating: r
word count: 1051
characters: ensemble; slightly ben-centric
summary: bells will ring and they will hide away, hide, and they should know better: there are always those that seek.
notes: written for the
lostsquee halloween fic-fest. and it's a day late, but, hey, better late than never, right? the fic is based on edgar allan poe's the masque of the red death. AU mid season three.
he had come like a thief in the night.
(the masque of red death; edgar allan poe)
-
It is in the corners of the island, where it echoes, where it sounds, but the important fact for all to remember is simple:
By nightfall, none shall be around to listen.
The bell, the bell - thunderous, as it tolls.
(Her head, it rolls. The blonde curls tangle).
-
Ben smiles with sharp teeth, with lips that curl and promises in solemn nods and words like safety, peace.
His eyes are a wide blue and Aaron pumps a fist up and toward the sky. Tiny knuckles and Claire will coo, soft, and the ocean tumbles across in waves.
The clouds will sometimes part.
“Never here,” Ben sighs. “Never here.” He smiles again, calls her Julie.
Her lips remain closed, an eyebrow arched.
“You sound so sure.”
The clouds might curl.
-
They talk legend like inarguable science and Jack likes to nod, all 1 2 3 4 5 -
“Of course,” he’ll sometimes breathe and claim this all makes sense.
The green of the island tends to threaten to swallow, the low hanging boughs of leaves, the grass scraping knees, but there is comfort in its arms.
Jack talks like charts and simple diagrams, near pedantic, as Ben tells stories of past bloodshed and scant glories.
“The world,” Ben says, “wasn’t built for men like you, for men like me. Men like us? This world, it would snap its jaws around us, Jack.”
He sips tea as he speaks and Jack, his nervous fingers twitch. The green curtains shuffle on a breeze and Juliet opens the window, wider.
Ben clears his throat.
“How could we possibly stand for this suppression of greatness? An impossible request, of course.”
Juliet fingers the hem of her shirt, pale hands, and her eyes watch the door.
“You do understand what I am telling you, Jack. You understand?”
The wind greets through old wind chimes, rust there at the top, and they shimmer and sound. Juliet’s head jerks to the right.
Ben leans forward; Jack’s fingers still.
“We can never leave here.”
-
They’re almost happy here, you know.
There is enough food and the shade cools in even the worst of the afternoon heat. Hurley tells jokes.
Desmond doesn’t laugh.
-
Jacob’s chair rocks once, rocks twice.
The floorboards creak.
His chair, it rocks.
Rose is the first to die; mercy, she screams, and a hot fever claims her.
-
“He’s not sick,” Sun says, a slight, near indifferent shrug of her shoulders. “He just wants to lie in the sun.”
Jin’s arms spill across the sand and the tiny grains stick close along his skin.
“He’s not sick.”
The rest, though, they wander off and away.
“He’s not sick.”
The desperation, it creeps.
-
When it starts, it’s the blood spilling across lips and sloppy down chins and the sun glowers over treetops and there is the red and the orange, the red and the orange all coloring together in some kind of macabre sunset.
Ben latches windows tight, draws the curtains still and bright flowers wait pretty in their boxes, stretching along windowpanes.
Claire gurgles once, a pale face raised and her fingers, they curl like claws, drawn.
“All of them stood united,” Ben had stated, near recitation, and somewhere, once, a Bible washed ashore. “They stood against us - mothers and fathers, brothers or sisters, enemies but never friends. They stood against us, our greatness…”
Jack had seen white lab coats, marching in a row, green walls, bright scrubs, blood slick across a gurney. The floor shined up.
“We’re not hiding, Jack. We’re living.”
Claire flails on tiptoe and Aaron clutches a rattle, tight. She falls.
The blood chokes, slow.
-
Jacob creaks.
A shutter comes unlatched.
-
“We keep them out,” Ben had said.
“We keep them out.”
Juliet leaves him there, in the night. Alex dies, the same.
-
It will find you, it will find you, the vines and the trees chant in twos and threes and the underbrush catches and Jack will stumble, and it will find you the ground will sing.
His ears ring, his fingers catch along the dirt, and he is listening, yes, he is listening as thunder rolls. The words twist in a whisper, rise loud, and no, no, no, it won’t find you, it won’t but he, he will find you, sliding there right through the mud.
The rain falls.
He will find you.
His father once taught him to raise the dead.
-
The gods are singing songs that sound nothing like hallelujah.
Katie shines shotguns like the Wild West still lives and bright fires crackle off low in the distance.
“They’re coming, they’re coming,” she hears, and Jin groans, still prone by the shore. The water laps, close. He still doesn’t move.
She knows that they’re coming, the fires are a warning and she can smell the smoke, rising high and the water swells.
He crawls.
He crawls into the waves.
"They're coming, they're coming," she says.
-
The Black Rock still stands, pushed far inshore. Branches wrap tight around it, hiding it among the jungle leaves.
Sawyer’s hands catch on broken wood, his skin scraped and scratched, blood rushing to the surface, hot upon his palms.
Wood rots.
His footsteps echo heavy, the air thick, and somewhere near chains start to rattle.
The chains rattle - they rattle, and they choke.
His gasps echo loud, louder than his footsteps had and his fingers find his neck -
His knees knock and he tries to breathe.
He fails.
-
Juliet watches as it happens:
A scythe, come down from nowhere, shiny, sharp blade there, her neck -
When it falls, her lips part in a soundless oh and her green shirt colors in red.
Her body crumples. Her head, it rolls.
-
They scatter and they fall.
“Of course,” Jacob laughs. “Of course.”
They can always be found.
-
And on the seventh day the hill rose in green, reaching up into an unrecognizable horizon.
He trudges on; his boots slip.
Ben - how he screams.
A bell tolls. Once.
-
fin.
fandom: lost
disclaimer: not mine
rating: r
word count: 1051
characters: ensemble; slightly ben-centric
summary: bells will ring and they will hide away, hide, and they should know better: there are always those that seek.
notes: written for the
lostsquee halloween fic-fest. and it's a day late, but, hey, better late than never, right? the fic is based on edgar allan poe's the masque of the red death. AU mid season three.
he had come like a thief in the night.
(the masque of red death; edgar allan poe)
-
It is in the corners of the island, where it echoes, where it sounds, but the important fact for all to remember is simple:
By nightfall, none shall be around to listen.
The bell, the bell - thunderous, as it tolls.
(Her head, it rolls. The blonde curls tangle).
-
Ben smiles with sharp teeth, with lips that curl and promises in solemn nods and words like safety, peace.
His eyes are a wide blue and Aaron pumps a fist up and toward the sky. Tiny knuckles and Claire will coo, soft, and the ocean tumbles across in waves.
The clouds will sometimes part.
“Never here,” Ben sighs. “Never here.” He smiles again, calls her Julie.
Her lips remain closed, an eyebrow arched.
“You sound so sure.”
The clouds might curl.
-
They talk legend like inarguable science and Jack likes to nod, all 1 2 3 4 5 -
“Of course,” he’ll sometimes breathe and claim this all makes sense.
The green of the island tends to threaten to swallow, the low hanging boughs of leaves, the grass scraping knees, but there is comfort in its arms.
Jack talks like charts and simple diagrams, near pedantic, as Ben tells stories of past bloodshed and scant glories.
“The world,” Ben says, “wasn’t built for men like you, for men like me. Men like us? This world, it would snap its jaws around us, Jack.”
He sips tea as he speaks and Jack, his nervous fingers twitch. The green curtains shuffle on a breeze and Juliet opens the window, wider.
Ben clears his throat.
“How could we possibly stand for this suppression of greatness? An impossible request, of course.”
Juliet fingers the hem of her shirt, pale hands, and her eyes watch the door.
“You do understand what I am telling you, Jack. You understand?”
The wind greets through old wind chimes, rust there at the top, and they shimmer and sound. Juliet’s head jerks to the right.
Ben leans forward; Jack’s fingers still.
“We can never leave here.”
-
They’re almost happy here, you know.
There is enough food and the shade cools in even the worst of the afternoon heat. Hurley tells jokes.
Desmond doesn’t laugh.
-
Jacob’s chair rocks once, rocks twice.
The floorboards creak.
His chair, it rocks.
Rose is the first to die; mercy, she screams, and a hot fever claims her.
-
“He’s not sick,” Sun says, a slight, near indifferent shrug of her shoulders. “He just wants to lie in the sun.”
Jin’s arms spill across the sand and the tiny grains stick close along his skin.
“He’s not sick.”
The rest, though, they wander off and away.
“He’s not sick.”
The desperation, it creeps.
-
When it starts, it’s the blood spilling across lips and sloppy down chins and the sun glowers over treetops and there is the red and the orange, the red and the orange all coloring together in some kind of macabre sunset.
Ben latches windows tight, draws the curtains still and bright flowers wait pretty in their boxes, stretching along windowpanes.
Claire gurgles once, a pale face raised and her fingers, they curl like claws, drawn.
“All of them stood united,” Ben had stated, near recitation, and somewhere, once, a Bible washed ashore. “They stood against us - mothers and fathers, brothers or sisters, enemies but never friends. They stood against us, our greatness…”
Jack had seen white lab coats, marching in a row, green walls, bright scrubs, blood slick across a gurney. The floor shined up.
“We’re not hiding, Jack. We’re living.”
Claire flails on tiptoe and Aaron clutches a rattle, tight. She falls.
The blood chokes, slow.
-
Jacob creaks.
A shutter comes unlatched.
-
“We keep them out,” Ben had said.
“We keep them out.”
Juliet leaves him there, in the night. Alex dies, the same.
-
It will find you, it will find you, the vines and the trees chant in twos and threes and the underbrush catches and Jack will stumble, and it will find you the ground will sing.
His ears ring, his fingers catch along the dirt, and he is listening, yes, he is listening as thunder rolls. The words twist in a whisper, rise loud, and no, no, no, it won’t find you, it won’t but he, he will find you, sliding there right through the mud.
The rain falls.
He will find you.
His father once taught him to raise the dead.
-
The gods are singing songs that sound nothing like hallelujah.
Katie shines shotguns like the Wild West still lives and bright fires crackle off low in the distance.
“They’re coming, they’re coming,” she hears, and Jin groans, still prone by the shore. The water laps, close. He still doesn’t move.
She knows that they’re coming, the fires are a warning and she can smell the smoke, rising high and the water swells.
He crawls.
He crawls into the waves.
"They're coming, they're coming," she says.
-
The Black Rock still stands, pushed far inshore. Branches wrap tight around it, hiding it among the jungle leaves.
Sawyer’s hands catch on broken wood, his skin scraped and scratched, blood rushing to the surface, hot upon his palms.
Wood rots.
His footsteps echo heavy, the air thick, and somewhere near chains start to rattle.
The chains rattle - they rattle, and they choke.
His gasps echo loud, louder than his footsteps had and his fingers find his neck -
His knees knock and he tries to breathe.
He fails.
-
Juliet watches as it happens:
A scythe, come down from nowhere, shiny, sharp blade there, her neck -
When it falls, her lips part in a soundless oh and her green shirt colors in red.
Her body crumples. Her head, it rolls.
-
They scatter and they fall.
“Of course,” Jacob laughs. “Of course.”
They can always be found.
-
And on the seventh day the hill rose in green, reaching up into an unrecognizable horizon.
He trudges on; his boots slip.
Ben - how he screams.
A bell tolls. Once.
-
fin.