A/N: This fiction takes place during the first season of LOST. Nobody has died yet except for that lady Joanne who drowned. And please please PLEASE, for the love of God, don't take this seriously. It's just stupid humor, for cheap laughs. 'Kay?
The beautiful Australian lay in the cool shade of an airplane wing, mouthing various baby names under her breath.
"Dawn…Donna…Dianna…David…" She paused and gazed at the sapphire ocean, searching her mind for any other "D" names. The early morning was not yet hot enough to bother her, but she knew well enough that the warmth of the island would soon creep up from the coastline. The woman was so busy thinking of names that she didn't notice the frosted-haired young man walk up to sit beside her.
"Claire…" he said tentatively. Claire turned around, slightly startled.
"Oh! Hello, Charlie!" she said, beaming at him. Charlie, however, did not return her smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her for a moment before speaking.
"Claire…I…I…I…" Charlie tripped over his own voice, like a sputtering car or something.
"Yes?" Claire prompted, curious now.
"I l-love you," Charlie practically choked on the words. Claire gaped at him.
"What did you just say?" she squeaked. Suddenly, a huge, stumbling figure by the name of Hurley waddled furiously up the stretch of white seashore and promptly sucker-punched Charlie in the face. Charlie collapsed on the sand, whimpering like a puppy.
"Ow!" he spat. "What the fuck was that for?"
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Hurley screamed, bearing down upon Charlie and kicking him in the shins. He turned to Claire. "He's lying!" he gasped. "I love you, Claire!"
"Fuck!" Charlie moaned from the ground, trying to stem the blood gushing from his lip. Hurley kicked him again to shut him up. Claire looked bewilderedly from the bleeding man on the ground to his winded attacker. She had no time to speak, however, before a bald figure came barreling up towards them.
"Stop it!" Locke yelled, smacking Hurley on the arm. "Charlie's suffering from severe heroin withdrawal!"
"To hell with that!" Hurley snarled, and continued to beat the stuffing out of Charlie.
"Wait a minute-" Claire cried. "Charlie's addicted to-"
"Shut up, woman," Locke ordered. "And you- cut it out!" he added, smacking Hurley on the arm again. "If you keep kicking him, it might make him seizure, and then he might die because the stupid fucking doctor used up every last pill we have on that marshal who died anyway!"
"What?" The ever-present Kate stopped her sorting of underwear and rushed over to join the conversation. "What about my birth control?"
"I said he used every pill, hon, and I meant every last pill," Locke said matter-of-factly.
"FUCK!" Kate howled, kicking Charlie in frustration. "FuckfuckFUCK!" Unfortunately, that final kick forced Charlie into convulsions.
"Shit!" Locke exclaimed. "Not my pet project!" He dropped to his knees beside Charlie and attempted to stop him from choking on his own saliva. "Oh by the way, Claire," he said offhandedly, "I love you too." Claire raised her eyebrows.
"Jack!" Kate wailed, jumping up and down. "SOS! SOS! Help! HELP!"
"What do you want?" Jack called from the other side of the island.
"HELP!" Kate howled.
"Well, I'm kinda busy fighting fifty dangerous wild boars!" Jack replied. "Can you wait a minute?"
"Hold on; I'll check!" Kate shouted. "Can you wait a minute?" she asked Locke, who was trying his very best to keep Charlie from suffocating.
"Let me think- NO!" he barked. "Get Jack, goddammit!"
"Get Jack?" Sawyer slurred, staggering over to the group. "Ahhh, datsh easy! Here!" he offered Claire a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Here's Jack!" Claire glared at him.
"I'm pregnant, you arse!" she snapped. "Besides," she sniffed, "that bottle's only half-full."
"What the hellya talkin' about?" Sawyer mumbled irritably. "Itsh half-empty!"
"No, it's half-full," Claire retorted.
"HALF-EMPTY!" Sawyer hollered at the top of his lungs. He then proceeded to puke his guts out and pass out on the beach like a teenager at a Nickleback concert. Meanwhile, Jack tore down the beach at breakneck speed to rescue Charlie, who was slowly asphyxiating in a pool of his own blood.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God…" Jack panted, upon arriving. "Why the hell did I force-feed all that anti-seizure medication to the marshal?"
"You force-fed him WHAT?" Claire shrieked, tears of horror streaming down her cheeks. In all the confusion, Shannon, attracted by the sound of feminine sobs, wandered into the middle of the circle and began to scream her head off.
"Somebody shut her up!" Jack complained. "I can't concentrate!"
"Okay," said Kate brightly. She then pulled out a dart-gun, shot Shannon five times, cut off her arms, and rolled her into the ocean.
"That's better," Jack said. "Now, how did this happen?" he asked, as he cleared out Charlie's airway.
"Well, dude," Hurley stammered. "Uh…first, that dude told Claire he loved her, then I got mad and, uh, beat him up, because, uh, I love her, and then this other dude came up and told Claire he loved her, and…"
"WHAT?" Jack roared. "But I love Claire!" He abruptly stopped saving Charlie's life and tackled Hurley like an angry doctor-bullet, sending him crashing onto Locke, who joined in the fray.
"Stop!" Claire screeched. "Stop it! Have you all gone mad?" Unfortunately, the commotion had drawn the attention of the other survivors, who suddenly seemed to remember that they too loved Claire, for one reason or another, and began to fight for her. Soon the entire group was rolling at punching and slapping each other in one all-out killing brawl. While they battled, the forgotten heroin junkie died a painful and lingering death.
Claire stared bemusedly at the scene before her, unable to yell at them anymore. It was clearly useless. Then, out of the blue, the Korean guy burst out of the bushes, pulled out a grenade, and (screaming something that nobody could understand) dove into the center of the mosh-pit. Fortunately for Claire, she had just enough time to hide behind the airplane wing before the grenade exploded, instantly killing everyone. Five minutes later, Claire wandered out from behind her shelter as chunks of flesh rained down from the heavens.
"Oh no," she murmured. Suddenly, a loud throbbing noise reached her ears. Claire looked to the sky and saw a black helicopter drawing nearer and nearer. She waved with all her might, and two minutes later, the helicopter landed.
"Hey there," said the dashing pilot, taking Claire's hand. "Anybody else alive?" He surveyed the carnage. Claire shook her head.
"Nope," she replied, grabbing her suitcase and climbing into the helicopter. "Pity," she said cheerfully, as the pilot jumped into the cockpit and prepared for takeoff.
"We're off in T minus five…four…three…two…" The black helicopter soared up into the air, leaving behind forty-five mangled bodies on the beach. Thus ends LOST, the best television-show ever.