This was written for a friend on LJ as part of a fic request meme.
Pairing: Boone/Locke-ish. Implied mentor-worshiping. XD
Line: "He really WAS the idiot with the pointy stick."
Words: 495
Disclaimer: Nope...I don't own LOST, I just obsess over it.
On an island of makeshift heroes it was difficult to be average, or worse, to be inadequate. Everyone had some elaborate secret past or else was a model of what was needed to survive in various unlikely packages. So for someone typical it could become impossible very quickly.
That was why he had begun to follow the self-appointed God of all things bizarre, Locke.
He reasoned that if he followed the 'Island God' it must make him some sort of deity in training, though the more he thought about it the more absurd the idea sounded.
Almost as insane as tripping over one's feet in the middle of a chase with monsters in one's own mind.
The simple truth was, he reasoned, this place was out to get him. And he found it rather unwarranted.
Hell, life was unfair; he had to deal with it.
But first he had to deal with the beach.
Facing the 'Island God' and the 'Doctor-savior' would be difficult, even the glassy-eyed rockstar wannabe looked like a saint compared to him right now.
He would have been annoyed at the world if he was not already too busy trying to dredged up some shred of dignity.
Useless perhaps, even dignity in this place was short lived and reserved only for those who earned it.
Which he had not, yet.
It was tempered indifference that helped him ignore the mutters while the others spoke of dangers in the dark and new plans he knew probably did not include him. He thought at first to speak up, but a stern glint in Locke's eyes told him in soundless syllables that now was not the time.
Fine, let his 'Island God' make the rules, he would be a follower for a while longer.
He was not tempered enough though to resist the sudden urge to smash that accursed stick into the ground.
Another bad move in a growing list of them apparently. And Boone swore to himself that in this place even the stones had a will of their own as the stick jerked neatly against rock, and he met the musty earth for the second time that night when his balance was thrown.
Perhaps life was mocking him. He really WAS the idiot with the pointy stick.
This time he debated staying on the ground, would have in fact, if not for the mutter of laughter. Some of it was without malice in tones, some just to smooth over the tense moment, but that did not matter.
He refused to let them laugh at him, it simply not going to happen.
Because here apparently some were meant to carry their roles with the glamour of mysterious wisdom or the rough glint of unspoken secrets in their eyes while he, on the other hand, was gifted by the laws of the island with…a stick
Life, Boone decided as he pulled himself up from the dust, just really had a vendetta against him.