A.N.
Hey! So I'm back with a new story called "If We Can't Live Together…" Basically, I decided to take a bunch of the OCs that I've submitted for other authors' stories and throw them all into one fic. This is just an introduction chapter so that we can get a taste of who these characters are. I'm not sure if this will be canon (probably not), but we'll just have to see where it goes.
Anyway, I'm tired from studying for midterms and I feel like I'm rambling, so I'm going to stop now and leave you with the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!
Matthew Bradley stepped out of the jungle, his legs wobbly and his head pounding. He placed his palm to the side of his forehead, feeling a steady throb beneath his hand. Upon feeling a warm, gooey substance trickle down his temple and cheek, Matthew quickly withdrew his hand to find it smudged in his own blood.
"Damn, he mumbled, at the same time emerging out onto the brightly lit beach.
Matthew froze, taking in the devastating scene before him: a plane – the very same plane Matthew had just been aboard – lay ruined and smoldering across the beach, the engine still whirring, the propellers still raging incessantly. People fled the wreckage, many injured, others dead, some still trapped beneath debris and luggage. It was utter chaos.
Immediately forgetting his own injury, Matthew ran to help those still in jeopardy. Dashing across the sand, he had to keep one eye on the ground in front of him, careful to skirt the hundreds of pieces of debris in his way. With all the pandemonium, Matthew didn't have enough time to react when a man in a suit ran out directly in front of him. Failing to skid to a steady halt, the two collided.
"I'm sorry," Matthew said. "I didn't see –."
"There's a guy trapped under some wreckage over there," the guy cut him off. "We could use your help pulling him out."
"Yeah, of course," Matthew shouted over the roar of the engine. "I'm Matthew."
"Jack."
"Yeah, of course, Jack."
With the introduction out of the way, the pair wasted no time hurrying across the beach to the man trapped under the wreckage. He was conscious, but just barely. Just as the two were determining the best way to pull this guy out safely, a bald man ran over to them.
"Hey, do you need some help?" He looked a little wobbly on his feet, like his leg muscles were sore from ill use. Or maybe it was just the plane crash.
"That would be great," Jack shouted over the din of the engine, kneeling down beside the barely conscious man. "On the count of three."
Matthew and the bald man both took their positions behind the guy's head, each gripping one of his arms.
"One. Two. Three!"
They pulled, and with an unnatural ease the man slid out from beneath the wreckage, his pant legs soaked in his own blood. Jack quickly set to work applying pressure to the wounds, hurrying to stop any more bleeding.
"Is there anything I can do?" Matthew asked Jack who seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
Just as Jack opened his mouth, the bald man turned to them.
"Hey, there's someone in the water!"
Without even a backward glance, Matthew made a dash for the water's edge, only pausing to pull off his socks and shoes.
In an instant he was diving into the water, brown hair plastered to his forehead. The salt from the ocean stung at the gash on his head, but he ignored the throbbing and pulled himself ever closer to the bobbing figure.
In a matter of minutes, during which Matthew knew every second could mean this person's life, he had pulled the figure – a girl – to shore. She wasn't breathing. Matthew quickly clasped his hands together and began pulsating on her chest. After every ten beats, he blew air into her lungs, and then went back to pulsating. He worked like this for about a minute, until…
She coughed and sputtered up sea-water, gasping for breath.
"It's okay, it's okay. You're alright," Matthew chided. "Breathe." He placed a hand on her shoulder, watching as she scrambled to comprehend her surroundings. A look of terror glistened in her eye.
"What happened?"
"…We were in a plane crash."
A few hours later, the forty-eight survivors of Oceanic 815 sat around bon fires in relative silence, most of them complete strangers. A few conversations could be heard among various people, but beside that, all was quiet between the passengers.
That is, until the man sitting beside Harmony Felix decided to break that silence.
"How do you do that?" he asked her, his voice thick with British accent.
Without turning toward him, Harmony replied, "How do I do what?"
"You know," he stated, "stare at the fire like that without hurting your eyes?"
"What?"
"Well, it's just, you've been starring at that blazing bon fire for, like, ten minutes now," he explained. "Don't your eyes hurt?"
"Nope," she said, continuing to stare.
"Really?" he asked, confusion apparent in that one word. "Why not?"
Harmony heaved a heavy sigh and turned to face him, bringing her gaze slightly upward to match his. "Because I'm blind," she said wearily. And just like every time these words rolled off her tongue, she was met with a stunned silence. She offered a smile and said, "I'm Harmony," and held out her hand.
"Uh, Charlie," he replied, hesitantly taking her hand and shaking it. She could feel something rough wrapped around his knuckles, like rings but thicker and much wider.
"Don't be embarrassed, Charlie. You're not the first person to be caught off guard like that, and you most certainly won't be the last. I've lived with it all my life; I'm used to it by now." She released his curious hand somewhat reluctantly. "How could you have known anyway, right?"
"…Right."
She felt Charlie turn away in awkward embarrassment, and she likewise turned back to the fire, unsure whether to be frustrated or amused.
Life as usual.
Sara Poole sat facing one of the many bon fires with her back to the jungle. So much had happened in the last few hours. So many deaths, so many faces she barely knew. How long would they be here? How long until someone found them? Hours? Days? Weeks? And what was she supposed to do in the mean-time? Should she lend a helping hand? Should she just sit back and observe? What if they found out who she really was? What then?
So many thoughts plagued her mind, setting her ill at ease. She knew this wouldn't be easy.
But, she thought, a small smile forming on her face, I'm up for the challenge.
With her nerves still on edge but beginning to subside, she stared at the fire, eyes slowly drifting closed.
"Are you okay?" a voice sounded from behind her. She turned to see an older gentleman looking at her with concern.
"I'm fine," she replied curtly, turning back to the fire.
"You sure?" he inquired further, helping himself to a seat beside her on the jagged wreckage. "You just, I don't know, you look stressed."
"Don't we all," she laughed bitterly. "We just fell out of a plane."
"Oh, yeah," the man said. "That."
"Yeah. That."
"It'll be okay," he said, smiling. Looking at him, Sara realized that his presence comforted her and somehow set her at ease. "Rescue will be here soon."
"I hope so," she sighed. "I hope so."
The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments listening to the crackle and pops of the fire. Then he turned to her and said, "By the way, I'm Ethan."
"Nice to meet you, Ethan," Sara said, shaking his hand. "I'm Sara-."
Her voice was suddenly drowned out by a set of crashes coming from the jungle. She whipped her head around just in time to witness several trees being ripped straight to the ground. This was then followed by a series of metallic grinding and ticking sounds, and concluded with a resonating Ooooooooohhhhhwww. Not thirty seconds after it had started, it was over.
"Oh, good," Sara remarked sarcastically, looking horrified at Ethan.
Panic broke out around the camp, murmured speculations, frightened whispers and demanding outbursts could be heard across the beach.
Ezekiel Booth stood there, stunned, too shocked to move, too afraid to remove his eyes from the present stillness of the jungle. What if it came back? What if their voices drew its attention? What if it hurt someone? What if it killed? What if rescue didn't arrive soon enough? What then? Was he the only one to consider this?
"What… What do you think it was?"
Zeke turned to see a very beautiful, very pregnant lady standing next to him, her eyes full of question and fear. She held one hand on her bulging stomach and stole quick, frightened glances toward the jungle.
"I don't know."
The lady sounded terrified. "Do you… do you think it'll come back?"
It was hard for him to say. Did he think it would come back? If everyone continued on chattering like they were, probably. But looking at this pregnant lady and weighing his options, he knew that that answer would only cause her to panic which would do no good for the baby. So he gave another equally truthful answer.
"I hope not."
Zeke offered a kind smile to the lady who attempted to smile back but somehow couldn't calm herself down enough to form one.
At the sound of a lone piece of luggage crashing to the floor of the fuselage some distance away, the lady jumped and quickly grabbed Zeke's hand, sliding closer to him for protection. After realizing her mistake, she blushed slightly.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a bit nervous."
"Yeah, I think we all are," he said as she released his hand.
"I'm Claire."
"Zeke."
"Nice to meet you," she smiled, while still stealing quick glances toward the jungle.
"You know what, why don't I stay with you for awhile? Until rescue shows up, I mean."
"I'd like that."
And together they sat facing the fire, lost in conversation, waiting for morning.
It had been just fourteen hours since the forty-eight survivors of Oceanic 815 crashed onto the island. The night had been long, especially once they realized that that… thing was on the island with them. Few, if any, of the survivors had gotten much sleep, terrified that whatever the thing was would come back. It suddenly became a waiting game. How long before it knew they were there?
"Whatever it was, it wasn't natural."
A small group of survivors sat in a circle, looking to each other for some sort of comfort. None could give any.
"Damn right that shit wasn't natural!" a Dominican man spoke up. "Seriously, yo! I ain't never seen anything like that in my life, man. That was like some Jurassic Park shit last night."
"Hey, do you mind," a man known as Michael said to the Dominican. He made a sideways motion toward a young boy sitting in the sand beside him. "My son doesn't need to hear your mouth."
"Oh, sorry," the Dominican replied back somewhat sheepishly. He glanced around at the others in the group waiting for someone else to speak, but when no one did, he spoke again. "But seriously yo, that was ridiculous! I mean, what the hell- heck was up with that last night?! I mean, am I the only one thinking the obvious here?" He paused again, making eye-contact with everyone in the circle. "We're stranded on an island with dinosaurs!"
"Excuse me, what is your name?" Matthew Bradley cut in respectfully.
"Juan Alvarez, but everyone can call me Alvie. Juan just sounds too uptight."
"Alright, Alvie," Matthew smiled, humoring him. "Besides what we heard last night, what makes you think there could be dinosaurs here?"
The girl sitting beside Matthew – the same girl he had pulled from the water during the crash – looked at him curiously. Matthew just shook his head slightly in a don't-worry-I-know-where-I'm-going-with-this look.
"Um, have you seen Jurassic Park? Those pre-historic reptiles had been living on that island for, like, trillions of years, yo!" Alvie said with full conviction. "How do we know that isn't happening here?"
"Because in Jurassic Park, those dinosaurs had been genetically created by scientists and had probably only been living on that island for a few years at most," Matthew countered calmly. "And with technology today, we would be much more aware if an island like that existed than we would have been in 1992 when Jurassic Park took place."
"Wow. That rolled right off your tongue," Michael observed, eyeing him questioningly.
"Oh, I'm a History teacher," Matthew explained. "See, when you teach inquisitive 7th graders every day, you learn to check up on your facts and prepare for any unlikely questions they might throw at you. Turns out, "Are there really islands with dinosaurs on them like in Jurassic Park?" is a popular question among 13-year-olds."
"Huh," was all Michael could think to say back.
At a lull in the conversation, a man named Hurley walked up behind Alvie – who jumped slightly – and addressed the group.
"So, I was just looking inside the fuselage. It's pretty grim in there. Do you guys think we should do something about the…" Hurley cast a glance toward Michael's son, "B-O-D-Y-S?"
Alvie furrowed his brow, Matthew and the girl beside him exchanged confused glances and Michael took a moment to ponder what Hurley had just said. "What're you spelling, man? Bodies?"
"B-O-D-I-E-S," Michael's son, Walt, corrected.
The girl beside Matthew stifled her tittering.
An Arab man named Sayid looked at her reproachfully before turning toward Hurley. "That sounds like a good idea."
A general murmur of consensus went around the group, some nodding their approval, others mumbling, "Yeah."
"No," a girl named Shannon cut in. "Rescue will deal with it when they get here."
"But what if they don't come?" Alvie started up again. "What if they never get here? What if we're all trapped on this island for the rest of our lives?"
Michael released a sigh of annoyance and cast a glance back toward Walt to find him still occupied with the sand. Matthew was about to rebuke Alvie's theory by saying that all planes have a black-box which would send a signal to the rescue boats telling them right where the plane crashed; however, Jack, the doctor, walked up at that moment and all conversation stopped.
"I'm gonna go out and look for the cockpit," he said, addressing the group as Hurley had done. "See if we can find a transceiver to send a distress signal to the rescue team." All but Shannon and Alvie nodded their approval.
"I'll come with you," Charlie said suddenly, standing up. "I wanna help."
"No," Jack countered. "No, I don't need any more help."
"No, it's cool," Charlie persisted. "I don't really feel like standing still. Come on, it'll be fun." He turned to face the group. "Anyone else want to come?"
Jack was about to object, but before he could open his mouth the girl beside Matthew Bradley stood up and said, "I'd like to come if you don't mind. It'll be good to stretch my legs."
"Great!" Charlie said. "Anyone else want to join us?"
"No. No, we're good," Jack asserted. "Any more people is just going to slow us down."
"I'm telling you, man," Alvie began again in a frenzy, "you can't go out there with that thing on the loose. You guys aren't going to come back alive! Seriously, yo! It's going to kill you!"
"Well, we'll take our chances," Jack said, dismissively. He looked to Charlie and the blonde girl. "We leave in ten minutes."
"Excellent," Charlie said, following Jack who looked as though he wanted to be as far away from Charlie as possible.
The blonde girl made to follow the two men, but Matthew gently pulled her aside out of earshot of the group. "Hey, are you sure about this? You heard that thing last night, are you sure want to go out there?"
She looked up at him and Matthew saw the beginnings of tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She fought to keep her composure. "I have to," she stated determinedly. "Matthew, what if someone I know was sitting at the front of the plane? You know, what if they can tell me who I am? I don't remember anything that happened before the crash, not a damn thing. And it scares the living hell out of me." Despite her efforts, a single tear rolled down her cheek. "I need to go. I need to know if there's anything in that cockpit that can give me a clue of who I was before this. Hell, I don't even know my own name. Isn't that reason enough to want answers?"
"Of course it is," Matthew said. They had gone over all of this the day before, after he had pulled her out of the water. Who she was, what she remembered, why she was on the plane, but every question had come up empty. He had hoped her memory would have returned by now, or that at least rescue would have arrived. But with neither prospect any closer to being fulfilled, it was her right to look for answers. If she wanted to go with Jack and Charlie, he couldn't stop her. "But please be safe. Stay close to Jack." He found himself wanting to wipe away the tear that had fallen down her cheek but he held himself back. "And if you see that thing… run."
A.N.
So what did you think? Good aspects, bad aspects? Which characters do you like and dislike? Any feedback is appreciated.
Also, I'm going to leave it up to the readers as to whose flashback you want to see in the next chapter. All characters are up for grabs… well, except for the girl with no memory (who from now on will be referred to as Doe). Can't really write her flashback if she can't remember who she is now can I?
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave feedback! Feedback gives me the energy to write more!
So, yeah, that's it. Leave a review with the person whose flashback you're interested in seeing! Thanks!