I was chosen. Jacob brought me here for a higher purpose than the men and women whose bags of garbage I haul, whose secrets I discard with their trash. Who look down their noses. This Workman has another life, a better life. Soon they'll see that I am special. Me.
The yellow houses pepper the valley, once again in the hands of their rightful owners. Mine now. I install security cameras. Precautions. Now that Widmore is gone, I need to keep tabs on my people. Need to know their secrets. They are mine now, my responsibility. I am the leader.
Mangoes, boar, milk, the bounty of the island for us to consume. Dharma drops occur regularly, providing little extravagances. I make complicated dinners for Alex, spiced with saffron and cardamom, too much food for two people to eat themselves. Yet we do, until we're bursting. We don't talk much anymore.
She comes into our lives like a quiet rain. Warm at first. Then chilling to the bone. Alex looks away when I mention her. Juliet. I mention her often. I've never experienced such want, a desire that threatens. Looms in my gaze, my fleeting touches, under every breath. She knows.
Another man has her, my Juliet. And another man has the island, has Jacob's favor. Why them? Why do they get to have these things, these things that matter most to me? Why, too, does the island get to take Alex? These precious things are mine. But mine no longer.
The body of the man of faith is now a skin harboring something else. Something powerful that leads me without purpose. I am blind. I stumble. Walking continuously with nowhere to go. If I could crawl into the dirt, wrap myself in the island's earth, I would never move again.
Locke's skin drags me to Jacob's ruins, hands me a cold-steel dagger. Reminds me. Everything I've ever loved, everything that was mine, was taken. Jacob is now nothing more than a man. A man with lidded, uncaring eyes. What about me. I stab, plunging over and over. I am wrath.