"It doesn't matter what we do. Whatever happened, happened." — Daniel Faraday
The island was quiet. Sure, the birds were singing and the large rainforest leaves rustled in the light wind, and the faint melodic din of the ocean's waves crashing against the sandy beach could be heard in the distance. Though to Benjamin Linus, it was still quiet. The silence radiated inside of him, rattling his bones. It's time to bring someone new here, he thought. The silence was getting to deafening to handle.
He's been on this godforsaken island since he was twelve years old. He's lived here his entire life, and there has always been sound; a low din that could not be heard, only felt. The din of what Oceanic flight 815 called "The Others." The din of the survivors of the flight themselves. Even before that, the din of the Dharma Initiative. And from what felt like the beginning of time itself, the whispers could be heard. No, felt. Even the whispers were quiet now.
The immortal felt the island in his bones; he was the new Jacob (or should he say Hurley) and in a way, he was the island itself. Benjamin felt its inhabitants. That's why it was quiet. The island was empty. It had been nearly a millennium since Oceanic flight 815 crashed here. About 950 years since Rose and Bernard peacefully passed, 980 since Rousseau did. And it had been two decades since Hurley (that big idiot) decided to cannonball himself to death after the last ragtag group he brought to the island returned to the mainland. Yes, it was time once more to hear the sound of new people.
He felt a hovercraft zooming overhead. Ben stoically looked up into the sky dark night sky, and a pregnant pause filled the air. He slowly brought one grime covered hand up, and snapped his fingers, the (nearly sonic) sound echoing louder than possible. Then the craft fell down to earth. "Project Rebirth, phase one." He announced to nobody. And then, the redemption began.
A little less than 1,000 years earlier
"If we can't live together, we're going to have to die alone" -Jack Shephard
"Dude…" Hurley started, "I'm, like, the new Jacob. I'm a freaking a Jedi. And you're like, Richard now." A wide grin took over his face, and Hurley started to jump up and down like a little kid who was told he was going to Disney World.
Ben scoffed, "Yes, yes, we are. And please stop doing that, your 600-pound self will cause an earthquake." Ben knew that the comment was not nice and unneeded. He frankly didn't care.
"But maybe I should." He thought, "Jumbotron, here, gave me a genuine position of power. One that I couldn't turn down. And out of appreciation, too, not mockery."
"It's 400 pounds, actually. And… omigod, dude! Can I cause an earthquake? Can I, like, summon seismic tremors?" He squatted a little, his hotdog-like fingers wiggling out in front of him in a weird form of jazz hands.
Ben stared at him, expressionless. "Yeah. How 'bout you start a mega-quake and kill us all with your 'Jedi' powers. You go do that. I'm going to go…" He struggled to come up with something to say, "take a walk or something. You know, find Rousseau, apologize for kidnapping her child. Better than witnessing…" He gestured at Hurley, whose eyes were squeezed shut, his hands outstretched in front of him, trying to harness the power of earthquakes.
"That." He finished. He started to confidently walk away, although he had no certain direction nor destination. He stepped over a damp and rotting log, while simultaneously ducking beneath a long tendril-like branch, wet with condensation.
"Wait! Come back!" He heard Hugo's loud voice chorus behind him. Directly behind him. Ben jumped.
"What did you do that for? Give a man a warning, next time, Jesus."
"First of all," Hurley began, slightly short of breath, "Did I make you pee yourself? I made you pee yourself, didn't I?" Ignoring Ben's protests, Hurley continued, "And second of all…" His voice took on a more sing-song and mimicky quality, "payback for the hot pocket incident! Huh, huh? Remember that?"
"Can you stop?" It came out harsher than he meant it too, "Yes, you're the new Jacob now. You've got to have legitimate responsibility, Hugo. Figure out who's coming to the island next, whether you're going to ask people to come, or strand them here. There are decisions to be made. Decisions that are up to you. Sure, I'll help where I can, but it's your call, so at least dial the numbers!"
There was a pregnant pause. "Yeah," Hurley says, looking down at his feet. "I do have to make choices. No offense dude, but you can't. At least not yet. Come on, let's go talk to Rose and Bernard. Rose always gives the best advice." They stood there silently for a moment, before trekking east, calling Vincent's name so the Yellow Lab could show them where his masters lived. "Not yet." Ben thought. "I wonder what he meant by that."
About 980 years after the crash of Oceanic Flight 815
"I'll see ya in another life, brotha," -Desmond Hume
Were people inherently good? That was the question in which Jacob and the Man In Black fought over, and in MIB's case, killed for. Still, it was interesting: to ponder this question while listening to the humans solve their problems with guns and punches. Interesting indeed.
The people of the high-tech submarine (dubbed 0D3SSY), which Hurley crashed here, reminded him oh-so-terribly of the Oceanic Flight survivors. Strong, stubborn, would tear eachother apart without authority, but coincide peacefully with. Ben received major deja vu. The survivors were on a quest to save the island from its ultimate demise under the hands of too-nosy treasure and bounty hunters. Something wasn't right, though. Something was missing in order for them to succeed. Ben had a sneaking feeling on what it was; something he wasn't ready to admit just quite yet. That didn't matter, though. Hurley beat him to it.
"Listen. I've thought about this, long and hard. Like, seriously, for hours on end, and I've come to a conclusion on what needs to be done."
"Oh?" Ben prompted with a quirk of an eyebrow, somehow portraying non-existent indifference. He was internally screaming. Hurley, don't you dare do it, you big oaf!
"It's my time, dude. It's my time to, you know, like… die. I don't know why, but I need to die in order for them to succeed. My- my reign is over. Now you're gonna be the one with the crown, not me!"
Ben tried to keep up his stoic facade, but ultimately failed. He scoffed. "I don't know what you're thinking buddy, but the crown's going to stay put on your head, not mine, you hear? You're not leaving, Hugo, I'm not ready-"
"But you are! Remember all those years ago? When I first became ruler of this island? I told you that you weren't ready. Well, Ben, now you are! So I'm gonna go die and you're gonna keep your sorry butt planted right here! Right here, on that funky looking rock, okay? Right here!" He kept on motioning to the rock, repeating himself ('Right here, okay? Right here!') over and over again, making himself look like an utter fool.
Ben breathed in deeply through his nose, sweat dripping down his neck. He began to frantically shake his head, his jaw silently moving up and down in words unfound. Hurley slowly made his way to cliff's edge, tremoring. Ben made his way up to stand beside him, equally as slow.
"I swear to you, Hugo- Hurley. I swear to you that I will not stop you. Just know that you will be remembered…dude. You'll have a legacy greater than I could ever even wish to receive. Do it, Hurley." He snorted and couldn't believe what the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "Do it with style."
Hurley took a long look at him before his mouth split into a wide grin. "See ya in another life, brotha," he exclaimed in the worst Scottish accent Ben had ever heard. And then he jumped.
He got surprisingly far off the ground, for a man his size, and his big clumsy form looked almost majestic. The light of the sun shone behind him, lighting up his body like a gigantic halo, as he pulled his knees to his chest.
"CANNONBALL!" He shouted, the words echoing endlessly off of the surrounding rocks. His face was a one of pure ecstasy. The splash could've broken a world record. The turquoise blue water flew up around his sinking form like a fountain, splattering the sides of the rocks with wetness. As Hugo Reyes's arms limply detached from his calves, as he sank into the endless ocean, Ben smiled in remembrance.
"See you in another life, brother." He turned away, holding back tears.
1,000 years later
"You see this little hole? This moth's just about to emerge. It's in there right now, struggling. It's digging its way through the thick hide of the cocoon. Now, I could help it - take my knife, gently widen the opening, and the moth would be free - but it would be too weak to survive. Struggle is nature's way of strengthening it." - John Locke
Ben was dying. Blood flooded his lungs while he heaved around the scimitar nestled in his abdomen. His eyes jerked around, finding the blurry and blotty figure of his assailant. The man (Mark, perhaps?) looked at him sadistically with a power-hungry look in his deep-set eyes. With his eyes still locked on his murderer, Ben was still somehow able to smile and choke out his next words.
"Are you stupid? You're not going to become the new ruler. No ones the ruler of the island but the island itself. And sweets, the island won't want you." The last words were strangled whispers, laced with a chuckle stuck in the back of his throat. Unlike many moments in his past, Ben wasn't bluffing. Blood trickled out the corner of his neck and down his jawline. His eyes stared up at the canopy, yet he did not see the leaves. An alternate reality flashed in front of his eyes: a life without Dharma and the island. He, the Oceanic Flight 815 survivors, Rousseau: they all lived normal lives.
He saw the scot, Desmond, approach him. Run him over with his car. Twice. But after his second spurt in the hospital, and his dinner with Danielle and Alex, he realized what Desmond was trying to tell him. This wasn't a normal life he was loving. No, this was death. He was in some sort of purgatory, a limbo between life and forgiveness. So when Jack invited him into the church where he knew all the others would be waiting, he declined. After all, one person still had to forgive him: himself.
"Not yet, Jack," he stated although Jack had already disappeared into the church. "But maybe later."
"I did not ask for the life that I was given, but it was given nonetheless, and with it, I did my best."— Mr. Eko