Synopsis: Boone reflects over the island's many sacrifices.
Characters: Hurley, Boone, Charlie, Claire, Shannon, Michael and Walt.
Rating: PG-13 (dark themes)
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost. I'd be kinder to these characters.
The Whisperings of the Silenced
"Hey Dude..." says Hurley. "I wasn't expecting to see you."
Boone takes a seat at the picnic table. It's his first time visiting Santa Rosa. He thinks he'll come again if he gets the chance. It's not just Hurley; all the patients can see him here, though the doctors never meet his eyes and tend to walk right through him. The sane refuse to acknowledge these restless spirits that hang in the spaces around them, crying into the air they breathe, pleading for their little deaths to be remembered. It still means a lot to Boone when somebody sees him; when just one person pays him their respects, but he's been dead long enough to know what it is to be forgotten. The living might have their funerals, their eulogies, their ritual mourning...but it's only these certified crazies who'll let the dead whisper into their minds.
It's only Hurley who keeps their memories in his heart.
"Charlie's with Claire," Boone explains. "He's taking care of Claire."
Hurley nods. "Cool. I mean...that's good to hear."
Boone knows that Charlie visits Claire whenever her father permits him to see her. He's watched Charlie standing at the door of Jacob's cabin with fistfuls of flowers and pockets stuffed with seashells. Little gifts that Claire can use to decorate the confines of her dark creaking prison. Her father watches their courtship from his rocking chair, a stern yet curious expression on his face. Boone has peered through the broken windows to see Charlie whispering reassurances in Claire's ear. Aaron is coming back soon. You're supposed to raise him, Claire. You're going to be rescued together. Charlie still can't let go of the one happy ending that destiny promised him and then denied him. Claire listens, she smiles at his babbling...but her eyes are as empty as her childless arms.
When Charlie kisses Claire it looks like he's trying to breathe life back into her body. Boone has to remind himself that Charlie is the one who has died, while Claire is still living. Most days it seems like the other way around.
"What about the others?" asks Hurley. "The other people who died? Am I gonna start seeing them too?"
Boone raises his shoulder in a shrug. "I'm not sure. I guess...Mr Eko might visit you."
Hurley frowns. Boone doesn't tell him that the women aren't playing the island's game any more. As his sister often snaps at him...destiny is a misogynist prick. So many women shot down by the old phallic symbol of the gun. So many mothers killed by the seed sown in their wombs. So many daughters sacrificed as pawns in the wars of their fathers. Boone never thought that he would see the day when Shannon became a feminist.
He can understand their protest. They certainly have a point. It's only the men of the island who are assigned a destiny. It's only the men who are allowed their tiny moments of heroism and redemption, as futile as both might be. The women achieve no small triumphs through their dying. They can only play the parts of victims; their murders spurring the living men into further acts of rage and vengeance. It isn't the role they would have chosen for themselves. Now those women are forming a resistance against Jacob's masterplan. Boone doesn't know any more than that. He and Charlie have offered to help only for Shannon to hiss that this isn't their fight. Boone remembers her teasing him; saying he had already flunked in his attempt at being a hero. It was the girls turn now.
Boone knows only too well that Shannon can't win against fate anymore than he or Charlie could. But the rest is true enough.
She has a right to make a stand. And for once, he is proud of her.
"What about Michael?" asks Hurley. "Will he be appearing to me?"
Boone frowns. "Do you really want to see him? You know...after he sold you out?"
Hurley shuffles on his seat. "Walt came to see me yesterday."
Boone falls silent. He probably shouldn't say that Walt visits the island too. He's seen him several times in the jungle. Shannon says the next time she sees that damn kid she's gonna rip his little pecker off. Walt usually makes trouble for them. It might not be his fault. It might be the island that's manipulating him. That's what Boone tells the others at least.
Michael is pretty much the only one who hasn't seen Walt. The island is still making cruel sport of Michael, teasing him with hints that his son might return to him. Even Libby and Ana have pity for him now. Every day they hear his echoing cries. They hear him calling Walt's name. They hear him calling for his boy. He can't do anything else. Michael never realised how much he loved his kid until they took him away. The island brought them together only to rip them apart. Michael braved his enemies camp for Walt; he fought for him, he begged for him, he turned traitor for him...he even killed for him. But Michael was never granted more than a few brief minutes of Walt's love before he was asked to redeem himself by the same cruel force that had ransomed his child, ruined his life and driven him so far from his mind. Now Michael's spirit is a broken howling thing; a cry for mercy...never answered.
When Walt visits the island, he mostly comes to talk with Locke.
"Is Locke dead too then?" asks Hurley.
"I guess so," says Boone. "At least...he's supposed to be."
Hurley swallows. "And what about us? What about the Oceanic Six? We weren't meant to leave the island, were we?" He bows his head. "I think we're supposed to be dead too, right? Maybe we're dead already..."
"Don't freak yourself out with these questions, man."
"I feel dead..." Hurley adds; his voice small and hollow.
Boone places a hand upon his shoulder. He reaches out to Hurley with his mind. He crawls into the cracks of his big heart and tries to compensate for the loss of his own; no longer beating. There are no words he can use to explain. Silently he thanks Hurley for holding the dead in his memory.
Quietly, Boone mourns the living in return.
The End