"Why me?" Desmond wondered for about the tenth time that day as he stared up at the low ceiling from his bunk. "Why am I the one to get stuck on this infected island, in a knackered old bunker, alone?"
He reluctantly climbed out of bed and walked over to the bookcase. His eyes were worn and bagged like an insomniac. The irony was that Desmond loved to sleep, heck, almost as much as he loved pushing himself. He remembered when he used to be able to run, fat chance of that now…even if he could go outside, he couldn't go anywhere far, not with the ever-counting clock. He hated that clock, but in this place, that clock was god, it decided when to push that button, not him…and for Desmond, a man who'd always been I charge of his own life, to be told when to do something was so unbearable.
He ran his fingers through the same albums he did every day; trying to remember which one he hadn't listened to for a few weeks.
"Why do yanks have such crap taste in music?" he said out loud.
"You're talking to yourself again Desmond," he said a few seconds later. "Of course I am, it's the only way to get a decent conversation around here." He laughed at the thought of this, though it was a laugh filled with despair.
He reluctantly picked The Beach Boys again, cursing Kelvin and his mates for not bringing more LPs.
There was the alarm again…the voice of god. Was it that time again? Desmond thought.
As he walked through to the control room, he thought about not doing it, like he had done every time since Kelvin had gone. He thought of some scientist in a lab, watching him on a monitor and laughing at his blind faith and he snarled in anger. But then he thought about the other possibility.
He could imagine the conversation with God, if the button did keep the world from dying.
"Desmond," God would say. "You do know that you had to push that button, right?"
"Yeah," he'd reply. "But I got bored…"
That would be his only excuse to the maker, if he was wrong about the button. What kind of excuse was that? He thought as he sat in the office chair.
He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Reluctantly, again, he input the numbers and hit "execute".
"And the world is safe for another 108 minutes," he said under his breath.