Lost story, Jack's POV. Lost belongs to all those people, this story isn't to be distributed without my permission. Thanks. Enjoy.
Lost – Who Needs Sleep
By Mystic
January 2005
We've been here a couple of weeks. For the first while, I could barely sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, I imagined what I didn't see. The tail end of the plane being ripped off in mid-air, people sliding down the aisles and out into the blue skies with nowhere to go but down. The thought of the pain they had to have endured, not to mention what they saw before they died kept me awake at night.
Sometimes though, I see the true eyes of those who are stuck on this island and I wonder which would have been worse. If I'd died, I'd be at my final place, wherever that is, and I wouldn't be stuck on this island trying to keep order, trying to keep myself in order.
It's the worst part of it all. When I woke, my back stinging, my legs tingly, my arms and back throbbing, it didn't register. Was it a dream? The dog in the field stared, panting and the world snapped into focus. That's when the screams broke through the fog and I realized something was very wrong.
From the moment I stepped out onto that beach and saw the pieces of fuselage thrown about, the one engine that still stirred every so often emitting smoke and wind and an eerie screeching, I took action. It's what I was trained to do. To assess the situation and plan a course of attack where the most amount of people would survive. I saved the man with his legs caught under wreckage, letting myself believe we'd be in a hospital soon. I brought Rose back to life. I pulled a pregnant woman from impending doom. I shouted orders and people listened. I fell into the routine I was used to back at home and it almost seemed like everything would be alright.
Stumbling away from the wreckage, having done all I could think to do, I fumbled through my jacket pockets and found the alcohol, removed my shirt and tried to inspect my own injuries. The cut was deep, I'd need to sew it up, but how? Kate looked almost as dazed as I knew I must have looked. Her eyes searched the horizon through the trees for the source of all the commotion as she rubbed her wrists. Her hands were smudged with red from small cuts and her hair blew around in her face. I wonder if she'd been thrown from the plane like I obviously had.
I don't even remember seeing her on the plane. I must have been sitting in front of her, didn't even notice her. I was in my own world then, thinking about bringing my father back home to be buried. Then I became distracted by Rose's panic, by the plane crash. I raised a hand, I tried to explain. She seemed to understand and even though her words spoke of reluctance, her hands didn't hesitate.
I should have known then she was a liar.
Her concentration was amazing. Her precision just the same. It was hard to believe this was the first time she'd done something like this, or at least the first time in a long time. Every girl I knew had taken home economics, or had grown up in a household with a mother who taught them how to sew. It's just how things were when I was young. My fingers felt the area where the stitches had long since been removed. I probably have pieces of fiber floating around in my body. The scar was smooth.
And I haven't stopped dreaming of her.
In the beginning they were sweet dreams, dreams more about being home than being with her. I dreamed that a plane would see us, would take us aboard and take us back to the mainland. I didn't even care if it was back to Australia. We would hold hands on the plane and smile and laugh to ourselves just knowing we were going home. Then she'd be sad. My dreams always end with her being sad. It used to boggle me. Then I realized Kate had more secrets than a priest with thirty years under his collar.
Or so it seemed.
She cries when no one's looking. Buries her head in her knees in the middle of the night while everyone's sleeping. I've caught her a few times, more so after the briefcase incident. I wish I could just ask her what was wrong, but I don't think I'd believe the answer. So I dream she tells me the truth and it burns my chest in the morning. I see her with Sawyer, see that grin she gives him and I know what Sawyer doesn't - she tolerates him, she pities him. Maybe Sawyer knows and he won't accept it because he's Sawyer. Cocky son of a bitch.
Lying my head on a rock in the cave, I close my eyes after a long day, but I don't get to rest because I hear her give a sigh as she plunks down closer to me than she's sat in a long time. And it hits me, she's not on the beach tonight.
"Jack?" She asks softly.
"Hmph," I moan.
Kate doesn't say anything and I look at her. She's lost in thought. I didn't think that could happen so fast, but this place does that to people. There have been days when she'll sit alone on the beach for hours just staring at the horizon. I wonder if she's looking for a boat, or a plane. No one's seen anything since we crashed.
"You alright?" I ask, hesitantly.
She nods, then gives me a grin that's supposed to tell me she's ok, but her eyes reveal her lie. There's a question there, but I don't ask what it is. Just wait until she looks away.
"Liar," I tease.
Kate laughs. It's quiet and she stops herself quickly. The wind in the forest dies down a bit and we both take notice, listening intently for anything moving in the jungle. I notice a few others tense in their sleep, as if they're also waiting. Then a breeze blows harshly through and it begins to rain. It's the first time I can remember a soft rain instead of the torrential downpours I've become used to.
She stretches and moves to lie down. Kate seems almost satisfied. I start to get the feeling the only reason she's here is to keep out of the rain. But then, she could have sat anywhere. Laying her head down, she glances at me as I close my eyes and I wonder what she's thinking. After a moment, I open my eyes and look over at her. She's curled up on her side, breathing softly. Sleeping.
Finis