Just curious to know what people think about OC stories, if anyone is willing to share their opinion? OC stories in this fandom are surprisingly hard to find and many go by unnoticed... I think it might be because this fandom isn't very active anymore as it used to, which is unfortunate. But hey-ho, I still am enjoying writing this story.

Also, thanks for the review, mysterious guest (mlo). May I add that some events/scenes that unfolded in the original episodes may be altered in my story, so don't freak out. I know things might look a bit boring now but please stay tuned, I have so many ideas!

When I began to stir, I honestly thought it was all a huge, mean joke. I even patted down my own body, just so that I could feel I was genuinely alive. Miraculously, I was fine, other than the stream of crimson coming from a laceration in my forehead, it trailing down along the curvatures of my face and dripping onto my clothes. The blood had began to form unpleasant, maroon-coloured patches on my jacket, so I discarded it completely.

I might not have cracked a bone, but my joints were killing me. So making my way through the evergreen was absolutely atrocious, but I pleaded to my muscles and bones to hang on in there until I reached the source of all the commotion I could hear nearby.

Before I could though, an odd rustling coming from somewhere behind froze me in my tracks. I waited patiently for the rustling to stop, just so that I could tell myself it was nothing to fear about, just the product of my overactive imagination or due to a concussion I may have gotten. Instead of the noise decreasing in volume or disappearing altogether, out of the swamp of bamboo and vine came Jack hurtling in the same direction I was. Needless to say, I was just as surprised to see him as he was to see me.

"St... Stacey?" he stuttered, attempting to catch his breath. Jack approached me with wide strides and instantly had my arms under his strong grip. "Are you okay?" The screams in the distance suddenly intensified tenfold, nabbing both of our attention.

"Jack? I would ask the same question, but I still haven't figured out if this is real." I glanced at the huge blood patch on his once clean, perfectly-ironed dress shirt and cringed.

"I think I can help you with that," Jack said, refering to the injury on my forehead. But instead of replying, a surge of unwanted memories in my mind came back to haunt me.

"Stacey? Stacey?" I hadn't realized Jack had removed his grip around me and began once again moving into the direction of all the chaos.

"Uh, yeah. I'll be right behind you," I replied rather absently.

"I think I can help you with that," my older brother, Brady, chirped, taking the handful of letters I had in my hand and taking them all to himself. He sat down on our miniscule excuse for a kitchen table and began going through them.

I watched him closely as he ripped through the enevelopes, dragged out the letters and piled them to the side. Initially, the pile resembled the mountain of laundry we had sitting idle in the middle of our living room, but it then tragically morphed more into something like mount Everest. All of those papers were bills and nothing else. Nothing nice like a letter from our mother or father. Typical.

Brady glimpsed at me from underneath the letter he was reading and grinned. "Why you looking so worried, sis? Finally, we can pay all the bills off this month with the money you and I collected. No big deal." I winced at the pile as he began making coffee for himself. Bringing his mug to the table, Brady noticed my distant looks and his expression went from sweet to sour in a matter of seconds. "Right?"

I gulped, feeling too much pressure to stay any second longer in that kitchen. I couldn't tell him yet, not now. But then I thought: 'When, Stacey? When are you going to own up about what actually happened and admit you're a weakling?'.The question lingered in my mind as I flounced out of the room, hearing Brady's aggravated yells after me.

Shortly after, Jack and I eventually came across the long stretch of beach where most of the bloodied survivors had landed. Many - without a single clue what to do - hollered in dispair, running in circles like headless chickens. Any others that weren't screaming were either still too stupefied to believe they'd lived through such a calamity... or they were already dead. The stench of human flesh burning began polluting the air, a putrid smell I'd never quite be able to describe.

Jack wasn't going to wait around though; he was the first to dart to those most in need, attempting to calm them down or stop them from falling into the hands of death, which was the case of the African-American woman who'd been seated close to Jack. He was desperately attempting CPR on her, a younger looking man also hunched beside Jack. I, on the otherhand, was acting a little like the cadavers hanging from the seats in the wreckage; motionless. I was absolutely clueless as what to do. I wanted to help someone, yet it was like my brain was short-circuiting and refused to let me move. I just stared blankly at everyone and everything and there was nothing I could do about it.

I guess I still hadn't wrapped my head around the fact that I was alive. Noticing the tail section of the plane was no where to be found, a chill went down my spine at the thought that I would have potentially been dead had it not been for my mishap back at the airport.

"Are ya' gonna just stand there or what?" a shaggy haired redneck drawled around an unlit cigarette, disregarding the chaotic scenes unfolding before us. He dug into his trouser pocket, evidently looking for a lighter, but he looked up at me when he revealed a pair of empty hands. "Happen to have a lighter, sweet-cheeks?"

I frowned at the cheap nickname he was giving me but also at his strangely relaxed demeanor. "You're sick." The sound of metal creaking immediately grabbed my attention towards two individuals lying directly underneath a large slab of fuselage. I plodded into their direction as quick as I could.

"I'll take that as a no then, shall I?" the redneck hollered bitterly while I was still in earshot.

"Come on, help her up!" I begged the chubby male sitting beside the heavily-pregnant woman. He was quick on his feet, although he wobbled and struggled to get up with all the weight he was carrying. Before the wing collided with the sand below, he and I had sucessfully moved the woman to a safe spot.

I landed on the sand with a thud. "Thank you..."

"Hurley," he added, noticing my hesitation.

"Hurley. I'm Stacey."

He glanced at the piece of wing that was now resting on the sand. "Dude... If you hadn't come help me, we'd be mashed potato right now."

I chuckled but noticed Claire's uneasy expression, her hand gently cradling her swollen stomach. Before I could ask her if she was okay, Jack beat me to it. "You guys stay with her, okay?" he said in a calm and authoritarian fashion.

Hurley nodded without hesitation. "I'm not going anywhere."

And once again, Jack darted off without another word, albeit this time I curiously followed his trajectory to a random, lonely suitcase sitting on the sand. He rummaged desperately through it and marched off with a small rectangular box in his hand once he was finished. I muttered an 'I'll be back' to the two, but I doubted they had heard what I said over their conversation. I followed Jack to a more secluded part of the beach, which raised alarm bells. Most of the passengers were concentrated on the beach, still stunned and fighting for their lives, but yet this guy seemed calm and collected enough to go through people's luggage and wander off. Sounded a bit like someone I knew...

"What's that in your hand?" I asked suspiciously once I'd catched up to him. Clearly, Jack wasn't expecting anybody to trail after him, if his confused expression was anything to go by. But he showed me what he had been carrying to reveal a small, compact sewing kit. Still, my suspicions wouldn't wear off. "I don't think this is the time to play seamstress."

He shook his head, shedding the bloodied dress shirt he had on and throwing it to the side, revealing a tattoo on his bicep and chiselled physique. "Are you squeamish by any chance? Don't like the sight of blood?"

Dubiously, I replied, "I don't mind it. Why you ask?"

"Good," he said, pointing to the injury on his back, the same one that had stained his shirt with a deep red. "I'll help you with that cut you got on your forehead and then you'll help me stitch this up."

"Wait, with this sewing kit? Are you out of your mind?"

He laughed, looking off into the water. "Unfortunately, no. Look, I'd do it myself, I'm a doctor, but I can't reach it." I grimaced at the sharp needle he extracted from the little kit. Instinctively, I reached out for my forehead still spilling out some blood. "Don't worry, no needles for you. Just don't touch it," said Jack automatically, "you dont want any nasty infections. Let me clean it up for you."

Jack, now crouched on the sand, ushered me towards him with a hand gesture. Hesitantly, I walked over to his spot and positioned myself next to him. "Well, doctor, I just wonder what medical equipment you're going to pull out of the hat now."

NOTE: I am not in any way attempting to replace Kate. Please read the next few chapters so you can see it for yourselves!