Here is a little Sawyer oneshot that came to me when I was at the dentist. Incredibly conventional, I know. But when the dental hygienist (spelling?) was scraping my teeth, I heard one line from this story "the wind blow through the Alabama trees" and I was like "Sawyer is talking to me." not actual Sawyer, just the part of my brain where Lost Fanfics live and beg to be written. I believe that Sawyer said in The Brig that he was from Alabama. If not, someone please tell me and I will correct it. Sorry for the long author's note; now, on with the story!


Sawyer doesn't like to think about his childhood. He knows all the other castaways are probably curious – about what kind of child he must have been, to become the man he is now.


When he was young, he was an open book – his emotions written on his face, in his voice, in every line of his being. His favorite thing was to hear the wind blow through the trees of Alabama.

That was before what he called The Thing That Happened. He closed his pages after that. Shuffled from foster family to foster family – learning nothing of love and respect. No, he learned one lesson: Every man for himself.

Because no one ever held on to little James Ford – no, eventually everyone jumped ship. It's no wonder it's what he does – it's all he knows.


When he was in high school, he was the kid in the back of the room – he was the bad boy – the troubled one that all the girls wanted – the one that they all thought they could turn around. But none of them ever could.

No, he likes being bad. He likes who he is.

Or does he?

No. He just wants them, all of them, to think he does. He can't let anyone know that he hates himself with every fiber of his being as he listens to the wind blow through the trees of Alabama.


When he grew up, he did exactly what he hated himself for – he did what Sawyer did, even took Sawyer's name for himself. Why? He was bad – he wasn't that bad though. No, he didn't want husbands to kill their wives.

No, he just had no other way.

And he hoped someday to find the man that made him Sawyer.

A man named Tom Sawyer killed a little boy named James Ford.

James Ford was dead. And Sawyer was born.


After every con, he just felt emptier and emptier – his eyes dimmer and dimmer – but conning gets easier and easier. Because, after all, dead men don't care.


Everyone gets new life on this island. But not him, no, not Sawyer. No. He doesn't try to find James Ford again – that man is dead.

But if he listens hard enough, he can hear a wisp of wind whistling through Alabama trees.


So, what do you think? I don't really hear Sawyer as much as I hear Charlie Claire and Aaron, so this was kind of hard to write. But I love Sawyer...not as much as I love Charlie...so yeah. Well, just review and tell me what you think of this. Honestly, flames don't bother me. Just give me something to show that YOU, one person in the 1.6 thousand people who have read one of my stories this month, YOU SPECIFICALLY, have read my story :) Love always, Lily