Author's Beginning Notes: Here's another one-shot from me, told in Sawyer's second-person perspective. (Basically, that means Sawyer is talking to himself.) I was just so inspired by the moment when Sawyer is shot in the finale, although absolutely terrified. (SAWYER CAN'T DIE.) I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave a review; feedback is always greatly appreciated.
Summary: (occurs during the "Exodus" finale) Sawyer's musings on his failure, told in a span of merely seconds.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, obviously, nor Star Wars, although it's just a quick mention here.
Too Slow
The bullet tears through, screaming "you lose" in your ears as if it were one of those damn video games with their flashing "game over" screens. You've found that bullets always scream, although the content is always different; you've heard bullets scream "mommy," you've heard them scream "bastard," you've even heard them screech a fervent "sorry," but this is the first time you hear a bullet waver a flag of mocking failure as insane giggles mingle in with the screaming.
Your sight is spinning around now, spinning around and around in darkness, distorted faces hovering above, a bunch of miniature Walts shouting in fear, and you see yourself reaching out for them, but you are fully aware it is a delusion, that your arms are currently lead weights incapable of conscious movement. You've felt this way before, all full of lead when Mother commanded you to hide underneath the bed's belly, as if it could protect you; your Mother was a fool.
Was Mike a fool for bringing Walt along on this damn fool idealistic crusade, in the words of old Obi-Wan Kenobi? No, you're much more the fool with the matter of the flare gun, and the lowering of guard in ecstatic relief, and the total lack of speed in firearms; unfortunately for you, there have been other instances as well proving you to be a fool, instances long before Craphole Island, as Sticks so eloquently put it... You should've given her back the bunny novel despite her protests, you really should have. Why in the world did she let you keep it?
Why did you look for Freckles? Weren't farewells already made, no matter how bitter and melancholy they were? Were you hoping for a kiss, a hug, something a little more substantial from Freckles to remember her by? Isn't that hope similar to an old one that has festered in you for so long, that wish for Mother to have left you something more for remembrance, something more than the deep and bloody cavity in her head? Walt has the white sterilty of hospitals from his Mom, he told you that once before, when the days on the beach were particularly stretching out just to be spiteful. The Kid hadn't been annoying then, and Old Yeller was being rather calm, and you didn't feel like bothering with the asshole facade, so simple conversation reigned. What reigns now?
You still try to figure out the answer to that quesion as your back finally breaks the water's surface, its greedy waves engulfing you, an insane impulse forcing your hand to spring out and grab the gun before it's lost, although what little good it will do you now. But it can help Mike, it can help Kato...Jin, his name is Jin, and Sticks is Shannon, and Freckles is Kate, and he was never Abdul or Aladdin, just Sayid. Would Sayid's glasses stop the world from spinning? The world spins still, but blue surrounds you now, but you're not sure if it's more comforting than the dark, and it's seeping within you, but there are no more miniature Walts hovering above, and that scares the hell out of you. Then you spot Jin's groping hand, and all you can think is "I was too slow, I was too damn slow."
Fin
Author's Ending Notes: I hope I was successul in portraying Sawyer's kinda scattered train of thought; I imagine Sawyer's thought processes wouldn't be perfectly orderly while being shot... I hope you enjoyed the story, and please leave a review; feedback is always appreciated.