Waking up on the island. Falling asleep on the island. Everyday. At this rate, rescue was never going to come. We had been here for five days and not a helicopter in the sky, no rescue boat off in the distance. Nothing.

I sat up. Every morning, I could hear the waves crashing on the beach. And occasionally, if I woke up too late, I could hear talking, sometimes arguing, too. Like today.

"What's your problem?" That sounded like Hurley. "Hand 'em over!"

"How 'bout no!" That was most definitely Sawyer.

"There's other people here! Don't you give a crap?" Hurley yelled. It sounded like he was trying to get something. Something that was just out of reach. With an exaggerated sigh, I lifted myself up off the ground and stepped outside. Sawyer held a back pack that he kept jerking away from Hurley. They were fighting over a bag? There must've been something important inside or else fighting over a bag would have been pointless and we wouldn't be in this predicament.

"Would you cut it out?" I yelled. Neither of them heard me. Or if they did, they didn't show it.

I noticed that people had started to form a group. Everyone stood around the two men, silently watching them. It was the most interesting thing that had happened so far since we had crashed here.

"If one of us wouldn't eat more then his fair share..." Sawyer retorted.

Hurley yelled at him, "Oh, that's bull and you know it!" Sawyer still kept the bag away.

"Come on, guys. Knock it off." Someone called. He wasn't heard either. I looked up and saw Boone standing there.

"You're not happy unless you're screwing over—"

"Knock it off!" Boone called again, louder this time. "Guys, knock it off!"

"Stay out of this, Metro!" Sawyer spat.

Finally, Jack decided to come out and resolve the conflict. He ran forward, yelling for them to stop. He pushed his way in between the two, attempting to separate them. Once everyone stood still and silent, Jack dropped his arms at his sides. "What's going on?" He panted.

"General, here's, holding the last of the peanuts." Hurley explained, out of breath.

"My own stash!" Sawyer pointed at himself. "I found it in there." He directed everyone's attention to the fuselage.

"What about the rest of the food?" asked Jack.

"There is no rest of the food, dude. We kinda..." Hurley hesitated, clearly ashamed, "…ate it all."

"What?" Shannon asked. People began murmuring and whispering amongst themselves. Disappointed and angry sighs were heard all around the vicinity.

"Okay, everybody." Jack spoke to everybody. "Just calm down. We're—"

"We can find food!" Sayid called out, walking forward. "There are plenty of things on this island we can use for sustenance."

"Exactly how are we gonna find this 'sustenance'?" Sawyer interrupted. He sat down in one of the seats that we had pulled from the fuselage. He had just sat back when a knife went flying through the air and met its target: the empty seat back beside him.

Everyone turned their heads toward an old man. He had thrown the knife.

"We hunt." The man explained. I kept looking from the knife back to him and back again. Where the hell had he gotten a knife?

Kate voiced my thoughts aloud. "How'd you get that knife on the plane?"

"Checked it." He said it so casually.

"You either have very good aim, or very bad aim. Mr...?" Jack trailed off. He handed the mysterious man his knife back.

"Locke. His name is Locke." Michael answered.

"Okay, Mr. Locke." Jack said slowly. "What is it that we're hunting?"

"We know there are wild boar on the Island. Razorbacks, by the look of them. The ones that came into the camp last night were piglets, 100, 150 pounds each." Piglets? They sure didn't look like piglets. But this man sounded like he knew what he was talking about so I wasn't going to argue. "Which means that there's a mother nearby. A 250 pound rat, with scimitar-like tusks, and a surly disposition, who'd love nothing more than to eviscerate anything that comes near. Boar's usual mode of attack is to circle around and charge from behind so I figure it'll take at least three of us to distract her long enough for me to flank one of the piglets, pin it, and slit its throat."

"And you gave him his knife back?" Sawyer asked Jack.

"Well, if you've got a better idea…" Jack left it at that.

"Better than three of you wandering into the magic forest to bag a hunk of ham with nothing but a little bitty huntin' knife? Hell, no! It's the best idea I ever heard." Sawyer replied.

Locke took a step back. I realized he had been standing by a metal case. He lifted open the lid with his foot to show us a set of six other knives. Each one was different, the colors of the handle, the handle itself. John Locke stood there with a sort-of grin on his face. Everyone else had a look of surprise on theirs.

"Who is this guy?" Hurley said and I'm pretty sure he was talking to himself.

A while later, the three that were to go into the jungle had been decided. Kate, Michael, and Locke. We were all getting ready, whether it was the trio going into the jungle or the rest of us here on the beach. I began picking up wood and placing it in the pile that continued to grow, slowly and gradually. When I stopped to take a break and catch my breath, I looked up and spotted a woman sitting by her lonesome ten, maybe fifteen feet away. It was Rose. She appeared to be fingering a small golden circle on a chain around her neck. It looked like a wedding band.

And I guess I wasn't the only one who noticed. Boone stood many feet away, looking in that same direction. He walked over to his sister and sat down in front of her.

"That woman's still sitting there." He said to her. Shannon just sat there working on a crossword puzzle. She didn't even stop to look up.

"Mhm-hm."

"Her husband was on the plane."

"Great." There was no tone of sympathy or worry in her voice. Come to think of it, there was no tone at all.

"Are you even listening to me?" He looked back at her, squinting.

"What's a four-letter word for 'I don't care'?" She still did not look up.

"I just think somebody should go talk to her."

"I nominate you, Captain America. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Yeah, well, at least you don't have to worry about starving with me taking care of you." He responded.

"I'm not going to starve." She fired back.

"Right, what are you going to eat?" He questioned her, testing her.

"The ocean's full of fish." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was.

"I hate to break it to you—the ocean is not going to take your gold card." I had to laugh at that.

"You really don't think I can't catch a fish?" At this, I nearly burst out laughing so hard, I had to contain myself. It was to prevent my receiving a death glare from Shannon. Boone shook his head and walked away.

As the pile of wood accumulated and grew, I was proud to say that I had helped and I had actually done something productive. The rest of the day was too boring to describe. The doctor had gone to see if Rose was okay and Michael and Kate had returned; Michael had a bloodied leg. But there was no sign of Locke.

"Dad!" Walt yelled. He stood up and ran towards his father. Sun stood up from where she had been watching over Walt and Vincent. Everyone sort-of gravitated toward the sweaty, bloody people, curious as to what had happened in the mysterious jungle.

"So, like, what happened out there?" Hurley walked closer and grabbed hold of Michael, keeping him on his shaky feet.

"Dad!" Walt repeated. He had finally reached his dad and he looked pretty excited.

"Hey, hey!" He patted his son on the back and forced a smile on his face so as not to worry Walt.

"Your leg's all messed up. Does it hurt?" He looked up at his dad with genuine interest. It was a cute moment. I think Walt and his father were growing closer; a father-and-son relationship was finally born.

"It's okay. It's not as bad as it looks."

Kate walked away from the crowd and Sawyer went after her.

"The mighty huntress returns. What's for dinner, hon—" Sawyer said, his Southern accent ever present.

"Not now." She cut him off and continued on her way, trying as hard as she might to avoid him.

I turned my attention back to the small family reunion. Walt was firing one question after another, jumping up and down like an excited child about to receive a bag full of sweets.

"So, it was like a boar fight?" He questioned.

Michael shook his head and laughed, replying, "Not too much of a fight. It was more like me getting gored." There was a small silence before Walt asked a question that I had been wondering, too. I think we had all been anticipating this question.

"So, um, where's Mr. Locke?"

Shannon had asked Charlie to help her catch a fish earlier, before Kate and Michael had returned. Charlie, as it turned out, could not fish, so he had asked Hurley to help him catch it. But when Charlie handed Shannon the fish, she began to argue with Boone and they both walked away, leaving Charlie confused and not having a clue as to what had just happened. Shannon's motives were to have someone else catch a fish for her and then she would show it to Boone, 'proving' that she could catch a fish and fend for herself. But at least Charlie had gained a friend from this series of events: Hurley.

I stood amidst the many other people who had gathered for the memorial service we were having. It was for all the people that had died immediately. It was sad to think that those people hadn't had a chance to survive. What if I had been one of them? I just couldn't imagine it. I shuddered despite the sun's rays beating down on us.

I turned around to survey the gathering crowd. I noticed Jack and Kate standing off to the distance, talking. I weaseled my way through the congested group to get closer. Jack looked off onto the distance, like he had seen something or someone. He ran off, Kate not too far behind and they entered the jungle. I made it past all the people and ran after them. I don't know why, I just thought I should. I didn't reach the jungle in time, though, as Jack and Kate soon exited. And Locke walked behind them. Jack and Locke both carried a large boar, like the ones we had seen last night, between them and Kate followed from behind. I also noticed that's Locke's face and shirt were partially covered in blood, probably from the slain wild boar.

When the sun had set and the moon had risen high into the sky, we all gathered together to begin the memorial service. Claire was reading the names off of passports or personal items and doing the eulogy for almost every person. An occasional other would step up and say something about a person, even if he or she had only known that person for five minutes or five hours on Oceanic 815. Boone stood on Claire's right, holding a torch. Hurley stood on Claire's other side, standing there silently, looking over her shoulder at the papers in her hands.

"Judith Martha Wexler," Claire spoke, "from Denton, Texas. I guess she was going to catch a connecting flight. Um, she wore corrective lenses and she was an organ donor, or at least would have been. Steve and Kirsten, I don't know their last name, but they were really in love and were going to be married. At least, wherever they are now, they're not alone." Everyone would occasionally nod there head sadly.

"Emmanuel Rafael Ortiz? He was from Los Angeles. I guess he had children. There was a…video store receipt. Lists his overdue charges for Willie Wonka and A Little Princess. Looks like he hadn't traveled much... as far as I can tell from his passport." She continued. "Wollstein, Harold, seat 23C. That's all we have on Harold, his name on a boarding pass... I just wish there was something more... Goodbye, Harold."

I could overhear Michael and Locke's conversation.

"Nice work." Michael said, his arms folded over his chest.

"What?"

"The boar. Nice work, you know, killing it." Michael elaborated. "Just thought I should say something. So that thing, the monster, whatever. She said it was headed right towards you. Did you see anything? Get any kind of look at it?"

Locke shook his head. "No."

I focused back on Claire speaking. "Millicent Louise D'Agostino…from Teaneck, New Jersey. There's, um, a picture of her cats in her wallet..."

After the service, everyone had dispersed, going their separate ways and walking into their tents. I still had a small melancholy feeling. Hearing those names made me think. Those names belonged to real people. People who had freshly cut lawns and money, beautiful children and friendly neighbors, lives, hopes, and dreams. And those lives were cut short because of some faulty machinery and a large plane flying over the South Pacific.