I was reading Zombicorn today and I had the urge to write some Zombie-fiction. This is LOST distopia, post season 6, forgetting all about the flash-sideways, because I didn't really buy into that - and this is my story now isn't it? I of course do not own Lost, things would have ended quite differently if I had TRUST me. Lost belongs to the writers, produces, ABC, you know the drill.
This is Skate (Sawyer/Kate) if you don't like the pairing - or if you don't like Zombies - then this story probably isn't going to be for you is it? This is just an introduction, I hope that people will find it enjoyable, I don't invision it being one of my longer pieces, and I do promise to carry it out to the ending, because I sort of like the ending planned for this one a lot.
Please R&R, because Reviews make me a happy writer and happy writers tend to keep with it longer and get chapters out quicker. And well - Reading makes Reviews much better I find. ;)
You live on Hell Island long enough you just kind of assume that the worst years of your life are behind you. And then they come along and you realize all over again that you had no idea how bad things could get
I had separated myself from that life - I got Claire, moved her into my lavish off-island home and taught her how to become the only woman in her son's life. She caught on fast - it was a relief and it was the worst day of my life. I knew I couldn't stay - so I suggested we all take a trip to the zoo - then as they loaded up into the car I excused myself with a migrane and waved goodbye. Aaron was so excited to see the Lions he barely even muttered a goodbye. I watched Claire drive off, listening to the boy's animated descriptions of the path they were going to take this trip (I knew what he was saying because I heard it all before - I could probably word-for-word it if I could stomach thinking back on those times with Aaron long enough.) and as soon as the car dissapeared over the edge of the hill I went back in and gathered the bags I'd packed, left the note, and took off. Going on the run wasn't as easy as it had been before the plane crash, lots more people called in and reported sights of the celebrity fugitive who had skipped out of town three years before her probation period was over, but I was a much better runner too. I wasn't just running from the cops, I was running from the press - memories. Jack's lips, cracked and so utterly imperfect against mine in that last kiss - then there were all the kisses before that - the ones that had resided in that house I'd abandoned his sister and nephew in, trying to abandon them as well. The memories of his hands, wandering, fixing, loving, still follow me though, always chasing me, no matter how far I traveled or how fast I tried to get there, I could be certain that they would be waiting there, hiding someplace under my pillow or tucked between the covers, to pounce on me as soon as I let my guard down and fell asleep.
Well they used to, you know, back when I used to sleep. Now the only rest I get is when I pass out from sheer exhaustion and you don't ever dream in that kind of sleep. Or if you do, I never remember it when I finally come to. I'm never quite sure of how long I've been out, and honestly I know it's not the safest way to go about trying to survive this thing (ask me if I even believe that's a possibility anymore), but it's the way I do things. And honestly, if I'm going to be found and torn to pieces in my sleep - I'd rather be so exhausted that even the agony of muscles tearing and bones popping out of place - flesh giving way - wouldn't wake me up.
Yeah - completely unconciouss, emotionless and memory-less - that's the way I'd want to go. It'd make the transition that much easier. Falling asleep as the last human on earth and waking up to finally fit in with the crowd for the first time in my exsistance. To shamble on to - whatever end a zombie sees once there's no one left to put a bullet in their brain or to decapitate them anymore. Just like everyone else.
That's kind of what I'm doing now anyways isn't it?