The Locke and the Key

Chapter Three

The jungle was big. The messy, wild plants sprawled across the grass carpet. There were countless tree trunks stabbing into the earth. It was easy to get lost.

And so Ewan was. "Jack?" he called. He had been searching for at least an hour, now. The sun was getting ready to set and Ewan knew he didn't have much time until the trees would morph into menacing, dark shadows. "Jack!" he called again, this time more frustrated. "Jaaa---"

A large, strong hand had wrapped itself around Ewan's ankle. It was cold and hard and rough and it was THEN that he realized it was a paw. "Help!" Ewan screamed as the paw dragged him across the jungle floor. His head propelled upward and he took his first glance at the fifteen foot tall polar bear.

The paw clawed at Ewan's leg and dug into his skin. Ewan yelped at the pain oozing below his knee. The polar bear continued dragging Ewan towards him until his large mouth filled with sharp teeth hovered just above Ewan's head. "Don't--no!" Ewan cried as he reached for a stick nearby and swatted at the polar bear with it.

The bear roared and Ewan got a good look at the dark depths of his hungry mouth. Then he lifted up his huge paw and clunked it across Ewan's face. The last thing he remembered was the polar bear's razor sharp teeth getting nearer and nearer...

"Hey. You alright, brotha?"

Ewan blinked a few times and the face of the man hovering over him became clearer. He had tangly, wavy brown hair that reached his chin and relaxing, brown eyes. His long nose stopped before it reached the stubble above his lips. "I... yeah," Ewan replied.

He sat up and rubbed his forehead which he realized was wet. The man must've been trying to wake him up with the water bottle he was holding in his right hand.

Glancing around, Ewan realized he was in a clearing. Trees circled around him in a ring and the sun was directly above his head. He must have been unconscious throughout the night. "Where'd it go?" Ewan asked.

"What? Where'd WHAT go, brotha?"

Ewan gathered that the man spoke with a distinct Scottish accent and was, therefore, undoubtedly Scottish. This made Ewan smile as he answered, "The polar bear."

"What POLAR BEAR?" the man asked.

"The one you saved me from... you DID save me from a polar bear, didn't you?"

"As fantastic as that sounds, no. I just found you lying here, unconscious. So I waited for you to wake up."

Ewan just nodded and continued scanning the tree line for the monstrous polar bear. There was an awkward silence between them. They were both DYING to ask the same question, "Who ARE you?"

The man asked, "Are you one of the people who crashed on the plane?"

"Yes."

"My name's Desmond."

"I'm Ewan."

"Are you from..."

"SCOTLAND? Yes! I was born in the wee, little town of Crieff."

"Ah. I think I've been there, brotha."

"Hey, Jack?" Locke pulled Jack Shepard out of the bedroom where Michael was laying, out cold.

Wondering what was so important, Jack followed. He asked, "What's the problem, John?"

"Did Ewan ever get his Tylenol from you?"

"Tylenol? No."

"I haven't seen him in a while, have you?"

"No, not in a while, no."

When Ewan awoke the sky was water coloured indigo with speckles of bright white. The towering trees cast black shadow pools over the dark violet jungle plants. Ewan knew he was not far from the shore; he could hear the distant washing of waves.

Desmond and Ewan had traveled at least eight miles throughout the course of yesterday afternoon. Desmond had said before they stopped for a final rest, "We're about a mile away, brotha. We can make that in the morning."

Ewan sat up and gazed around at the stars for a second, wishing he could be back home with his family--and his fame. The fantasy lasted for merely twelve second until he began searching the ground arond him. "Desmond?" he whispered. "Desmond?"

His eyes searched for a body sleeping silently in the grass. He could've SWORN Desmond was RIGHT beside him. RIGHT on his leftside. "Desmond!" Ewan stood up and rubbed his arms for warmth. He dare not call out because of his fear of "the others" that some of the survivors spoke of.

He began slowly feeling his way to the left. Crawling on the ground, the dew on the grass spread across the knees of his jeans. He patted the ground still whispering, "Desmond, where are you?"

After about twelve minutes of searching, Ewan gave up. He leaned against a tree trunk and sighed. He was without supplies and without direction. He thought, perhaps, he would follow the sound of the ocean. But even from teh beach, he wasn't sure which direction to go. He was going to have to be able to take A LOT of good guesses.

Locke had been wanting to sleep outdoors for three nights now. Finally, he was relaxing on the beach, his head resting on the cool sand. He gazed up at the sky and listened to the relaxing waves, taking in the beauty of nature.

Then, there was rustlning in the bushes behind him. Locke quickly turned his head and body around to face the jungle. He looked like he was in a military base. The rustling stopped for a second and then continued. John heard a familiar voice squeal, "Ow!"

John raced to the jungle line and didn't even have to move a twig to see Ewan recovering from a fall. He stood up, brushed off his blood stained pants and looked directly at Locke with his unexpecting wide eyes. "Uh... I tripped."

"I can see that," Locke said, "But surely THAT was not caused by your trip." He was eyeing the splashes of blood under Ewan's left, grass-stained knee.

"Uh... no. C'n I go to the hatch, maybe?"

"Sure. It DOES look like you could use some bandages."

Sorry, it's not much but I'm working on it! I have a lot of big tests coming up this week so the enteries will be short. But hey, at least they're entries right?

And of course I had to bring my precious Desmond into the story. He's my favourite LOST character, yeh know?

PS: I forgot to addthe endpartof the chapter. I'm so upset with my self. How could I forget this? Oh, well. If you're reading this again because of my forgetfulness I'm sorry.