Monday
by Got Scots?
Note: Although I wish Desmond, Sawyer, Charlie and Claire were mine, they are not. However, one of these characters IS mine! An actor named Ewan! All you need to know about him is that in my world, Ewan shares a tent with Desmond and is an actor (as previously mentioned) and that's about it. Enjoy!
"What day is it?" Desmond didn't even bother to look up from the script that Desmond was reading. After spending three years re-reading every book on the shelf down in the hatch, Des's eyes lit up at the sight of something fresh and new.
"Who cares?" Ewan glanced over to see how Desmond was enjoying the script from Guys and Dolls. He watched as the lines on his forehead furrowed in concentration. His tongue stuck out between his lips and he was hunched over the stack of papers as if he were examining it. This was always the way Des looked when he was reading. Ewan turned back to his sushi.
"Well is it a weekend? Or a Friday?"
"Who cares?" Ewan repeated.
"It must be a Monday," Desmond joked.
"Why?" Ewan looked over at him.
"Because you're so snappy," Desmond grinned.
He stood up and leisurely made his way out of the tent and closer to the water. As he reached the damp sand that felt like brown sugar under his feet, he let out a deep breath. It was his morning ritual, Monday or not, to let the cool water rise to his ankles and wake him. He shut his eyes and let the sun soak his body in warmth.
Desmond could not believe that Sawyer actually wanted to be his boar hunting partner. He had been trying to be nice about it, but his next sentence just sort of slipped out. "So what's your angle, brotha? You never speak at all to me and suddenly you want to go boar hunting?" Des bit his lip as he heard the sentence escape his lips. He was beginning to sound like Ewan in the morning.
Not only had Sawyer randomly requested to accompany him, but he had been annoying the entire way. He kept calling Desmond "Scottie" and making fun of his accent. Why me? Desmond kept thinking. If he had to be surrounded by people all day, why did it have to be irritating people?
"I gotta give the people what they want," Sawyer began a short monologue about himself. Desmond felt like rolling his eyes. He could easily poke fun at Sawyer's twangy, grating Southern accent. Why couldn't the people around him be more considerate?
Choosing to ignore Sawyer's speech, Des shut one eye and aimed for a boar only a few feet away. His eyes narrowed even more and bang! Desmond felt his muscles relax and a grin spread across his face. It felt really good to shot something right then. He saw Sawyer's eyes widen at Desmond's perfect shot and hoped that out of respect, Sawyer would stop annoying him.
"Where's my whiskey?" Desmond snapped. He was referring to the three miniature bottles of whiskey he received from Sawyer for helping him shoot a boar. Or shooting the boar for him, rather.
"I don't know." Desmond hated when Ewan pulled the innocent face. His baby blue eyes got all wide and his ginger eyelashes batted against his pale cheeks. He was reading one of Sawyer's magazines which may have been half the reason why he was looking so innocent.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Desmond growled. "I was saving those. For a day like this." He furiously searched under every blanket and suitcase in the tent.
"A day like what?" Ewan asked, his face still childlike as ever.
Desmond flung two books and Ewan's script up in the air and they pelted against the shiny, blue tarp. Desmond grunted in frustration. He was planning on saving those bottles of whiskey for a day where Charlie kept nagging him about what his death would be like. A day when Ewan lost A Tale of Two Cites to the ocean tide. A day when Claire would shoot him the flirtiest look a girl ever shot him, and Charlie's glaring eyes would notice. A day when Desmond was whirled into the future where he watched an argument between Charlie and Claire. The argument, of course, was about him.
"My script!" Ewan cried as he raced to get the stack of pages which were barely stapled together. He looked up at Desmond once Guys and Dolls was safe in his arms. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Desmond stomped out of the tent without a backward glance to see how bloody pitiful Ewan's eyes would be in the sunlight.
Reflecting on a lousy day was one of the most difficult things to do, but Desmond had finally brought himself to do it. He inhaled deeply as he patted the decaying log that he was seated on. Just as he was about to replay his vision of the future, he saw a chubby man making his way down the shore. Desmond couldn't exactly find the words to greet Hurley as he drew closer.
Words weren't necessary, thank God. Hurley simply grinned and extended a plate of food towards Desmond. An immediate grin spread across Des's face as he nodded approvingly at Hurley.
Suddenly his day was made ten thousand times brighter as Desmond brought the plate in towards his lap. Hurley moved on to greet some of the other survivors, but Desmond couldn't get that cheery man's expression out of his mind. The smell of fresh boar and pineapple manoeuvred up to Des' nose and forced his grin even wider. Did Hurley know he just turned back the calendar on Desmond's Monday? Probably not. All Desmond could do to return Hurley's good deed was devour the delicious meal as fast as he could.