Its Everything I Wish I Didn't Know

I had always thought he would be there. Sure I'd be impolite… maybe even obnoxious. That's what he said anyway. But I didn't hate him. I mean, he had been my brother. Step-brother, whatever. Of course I would miss him.

Returning with Sayid from a surprise picnic he'd planned had me in high spirits. I hadn't been happier since arriving on this hellhole of an island. I'd saw Jack up ahead walking in our direction. He had his eyes on me and his expression reminded me of other doctors I'd seen – doctors in hospitals. The ones who knew they were the bringer of bad news. Sayid and I stopped in our tracks just as Jack reached us, and there was something in my stomach than began to unsettle. He struggled with words. Even though I was the one he looked at, I could never have prepared myself for the words that passed from his lips.

"Uh, Shannon." His eyes remain downcast and he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. As soon as he had stared speaking, he hadn't seemed able to look me in the eyes. "Boone uh. Boone passed away… last night. He was badly injured; we did all we–"

That was all I had heard. Silence fell on my ears. I blocked everything out – Jack, the wind, the waves. Each word he had said swirled around in my head, disconnected and meaningless. It took me what felt like hours to finally string them into a coherent order. Boone had died. Died. He was dead.

I staggered backwards, my grip of Sayid's hand weakening. I felt everything inside me go limp – succumb to gravity. Nothing felt right. My stomach churned and my mind pounded and all logic moved out of reach. I had just seen him the previous day, I told myself. He had been right there. I looked at Jack and he wasn't talking anymore. Neither Sayid nor myself had said anything; we stood in silence.

All I can remember is running as fast as I could – the longest strides I could muster. I had no recollection of losing contact with Sayid's hand, or of leaving him and Jack behind on the beach. All I could think about was that I refused to believe it. Twigs scraped against my legs, fallen branches almost tripping me as I hurled myself towards the approaching cave. Stumbling inside, my legs faltered as my body, mind and emotions went on standby.

There he was, lying under a blanket on the rocky floor. My brother, Boone. Who knows how long I stood there: I don't. Eventually, of their own accord, my legs moved forward and I loomed closer. I sank to my knees for what felt like an eternity – people had always told me I had long legs. Before I knew it my face was less than a metre from his.

I'll always feel something for him.

That something burned suddenly stronger than ever inside me. I waited for his chest to rise and fall gently in his slumber, but he was still, unmoving. He was so pale and lifeless that it shocked me. I had never been in the same room as a corpse before. I'd always refused funerals. The cogs in my mind turned like rusted joints, processing slowly. I realised I would never see his vibrant, blue eyes staring into mine, whether out of anger, disgust or sorrow. I would never hear his voice, whether to criticise my superficiality, pass on messages from my step-mother, or to ever-so-sarcastically call me "princess."

With all my feelings flowing back into place, there was suddenly nothing that could stop me, and my mind filled to the brim with emotion, unable to remain contained and needing to overflow. There was nothing stopping me: I cried. I cried for hours, looking down at his now-blurred face while tears flowed as if I was pouring out all the oceans. Seizing control only strengthened the flow.

I don't think all the sympathy in the world would have done anything but get in the way of my grief at that point. I had prayed he would come and shake me out of what I wanted so desperately to be a nightmare. He never did come. I remained there, stroking his hair as I dwelt in the storm clouds of my mind.

People probably thought it selfish of me to refuse saying anything at his burial; the truth was I couldn't bear to open my mouth for fear or opening emotional floodgates. Losing Boone on this island had been like losing everything you owned and loved back in reality. For the greater part of our time here so far, I didn't do much else but sit on the beach. The only expected curves in the road came when he would sit alongside me, or pass by with a comment. All I had ever done was reply with my own snide remark and hope (or so he thought) that he would hurry himself up and move along.

To be honest, I had enjoyed those moments. And right now, I wish I could have him back. The sky and the ocean remind me of his deep iris blue, and reminds me of what I lost every single day. I wish I could escape such harsh reminders, but they are difficult things to escape in a place such as this.