It's Day Four, and her meds have worn off. She didn't notice until the first voice started talking to her. Jade, wouldn't the fire and your skin look beautiful together? Straight away, she agrees. The orange, lapping flames against her pale skin. They complement each other.

Outside the shelter, it's dark. Night. Starless night. Her skin rises in little bumps as it is hit by the cold. She's only wearing a tank top and a pair of underwear, but that's not relevant. Not when the voices are telling her to make skin. Fire. Art.

There's no one around on the beach. They've all either gone to sleep, or just back to their shelters. Doctor Jack's probably looking after someone. His compulsive need to fix everyone makes the voices angry. Some people don't need to be fixed. Doctor Jack's never made art out of skin and fire. Not like Jade can. Not like Jade will.

She's reached the fire now. The sand tickles her toes and she giggles softly. It's funny when it tickles. Always funny. The voices are funny. She's funny. She sits by the dancing streaks of orange and doesn't hesitate to plunge her arm in.

Her mind closes, and there's nothing now. Nothing but the voices. She can't feel the flames on her skin; she only watches as she burns. Blisters.

It's beautiful, Jade.

Watch how your skin changes colour.

Remember how you used to dance like those flames?

The hell are you doin'?

She frowns. That's not one of the voices. It's too… present. Too close.

'Are you fuckin' crazy?'

Something yanks her backwards, and suddenly the feeling of her roasted skin becomes all too real. She screams, agony flooding her arm. Her entire body. The voices are silent now, but they're angry. The Monster is angry, too. She can feel it, behind the burning pain in her arm. She's hoisted into someone's arms, and she feels herself being carried somewhere. There's a screeching sound flooding her senses, and it takes her a while to register that she's the one making it. So she stops. And so does everything else. The last thing she registers before she falls into welcome, numb darkness is the feeling of cold water soaking her arm, and a Southern accent murmuring something.

'You gotta be crazy.'

She sleeps for now.

A/N: I… I really don't know what to say. I'm re-watching Lost from the beginning, so this came to me. If I've made any glaring errors, I apologise. I've been at work all day and I'm shattered.

So, an idea came to me involving an original character and Sawyer. I'm sorry if this isn't your thing, but feel free to tell me so.

I was thinking of expanding this into a full story, but I don't know. Feedback is always, always appreciated, whether it's positive or critical.

I don't claim to know much about mental illness, but I know enough.