So…I tried a bunch of other ideas for a Lost story…didn't take. This is probably the only one that I realized clicked because I wouldn't have to worry about the storyline changing.

It's basically a journal from one of the Others' POV. From the time he joined them up until the crash of 815, and then onwards through the 90 days leading up the Season 3 finale.

And, like in the show, you're not gonna know right away everything about this guy. He'll be yet another unraveling mystery.

So, without further ado- enjoy.

(After the events of December 22nd-23rd, 2004, survivors of the Oceanic Flight 815 plane crash found one of the night assailants lying dead against a tree near where the second tent exploded. In his hands was this journal, which was taken back and restored to its original condition.)

(This is its owners' story.)

Entry 1:

I'm so excited and thrilled right now, because in a few minutes, I'm going to be leaving this troubled life behind and moving on to a new, better one.

I'm nervous about starting this new job. I mean, I have experience with guns and all that stuff- hell, I was military-bred, born and raised, so asking me if I know how to work a gun is like asking if I'm a virgin. I know how to work with other guys in the unit, I know how to defend a target. I know all of that stuff and more, oh so much more.

This is different, though. For one, it's extremely hush-hush- more hushed-up than anything I had ever done before. For two, it's taking me to some remote facility out in the middle of nowhere, near Portland. Though they didn't tell me which Portland it was- there's, like, seven in the U.S., and God only knows how many elsewhere- "middle of nowhere", to me, translates to Maine.

And three-it's for some sort of research project.

Which sucks, because I flunked high school science at least three times.

I guess I should be glad, though- if it weren't for this, I'd probably be dead by now instead. I'll remember it forever: There I was, awaiting my sentence, when suddenly, this plain-looking guy- Alpert, I think he said his name was- came to my cell. I had no idea what the hell he was doing there, and at that point in time, I really didn't want some loser-ass solicitor taunting me outside my cell while I was awaiting my death sentence. So I told him to piss off, in more ways than one- a few more verbal and physical ways- but he said he had a proposition, so, naturally, I listened up.

To go into the entire thing would be tedious and pointless. Basically, he gave me two choices- either I could stay here and be executed, or I could go with him. He had this company that he thought I could do a really good job in. Then he said he would give me a minute or two to think it over.

Took me about five seconds of contemplation before I asked him where I had to sign.

Give or take a second.

So now, here I am, about to begin my first day at my new job. He had me drive out to this large facility center inside Los Angeles, which is where I am right now. When I got here, Alpert and this other guy- a dude with mullet-brown hair and a weird face that goes by the name Ethan- were waiting for me, welcoming me with open arms. Almost like a family welcoming back a lost child. They treated me real nice, gave me a glass of lemonade-my drink of choice- and kept feeding me with all of this crap on how I was going to love it where I was going. I kept asking where that was, but they kept giving me the cold shoulder on that one. I figured it was best they didn't, anyway.

And then, of course, we had to get all the paperwork squared away. That took about forty-five minutes, give or take time for when I got a hand cramp. It was all "social security" and "have I ever been in any legal trouble?" and all that stuff. Then, finally, I got to the part where all I had to do was sign on the dotted line. I signed my name- J.T. Nelson, from Astoria, Oregon- and that was it. I was a full-fledged member of…whatever the hell this company was doing.

Then they left. But not before Ethan handed me this notebook and told me to record what I went through when we got there. He told me to record daily events, how I saw them happen, what I thought about them- that sort of thing. To me, it seemed like more homework. But I thought about it some more, and took it from him. What the hell, I figured. It might be alright.

I figured I'd start with this entry I've just finished writing. As I sit here, sipping on my lemonade and writing in here, I'm filled with happiness, relief, and excitement.

Maybe it's just my emotions all coming to me at once, but I'm also feeling kinda drowsy.

Now I'm feeling really tired…

What did they put in that lemonade?

I think I'm gonna…

That's all for now.

Review please!