That's Why My Hand Was Shaking by Teenage Anomaly
You are one of God's mistakes,
You crying, tragic waste of skin,
I'm well aware of how it aches ,
And you still won't let me in.
Now I'm breaking down your door,
To try and save your swollen face ,
Though I don't like you anymore,
You lying, trying waste of space..
You were mother nature's son ,
Someone to whom I could relate ,
Your needle and your damage done,
Remains a sordid twist of fate.
Now I'm trying to wake you up ,
To pull you from the liquid sky ,
Coz if I don't we'll both end up ,
With just your song to say goodbye.
Chapter Four: Making The Thread
Day Forty-Nine
The weather on the day of Shannon's funeral was cruelly gorgeous, sunny and windy and a little cooler than normal. Unfortunately, I wasn't out on the island enjoying it, because, at the moment, I was sitting on the table in the hatch, my legs dangling over the side, my shirt off and my left bra strap resting on my shoulder as Jack intently cleaned the bullet wound.
I hissed, wincing, my fingers curling on the metal of the table, searching vainly for something to clench.
"Sorry," he said.
"This may come as a shock, but I've decided I don't like being shot."
He laughed as he dabbed gingerly at the small hole on the left side of my chest with rags soaked in hydrogen peroxide.
"On the plus side, the stitches look clean, and you're not bleeding anymore."
"Hallelujah."
"You can say that again."
"Are you going to the funeral?"
He hesitated, now bandaging me up, his long fingers very tender and very practiced, before his eyes flickered up to mine.
"I don't know," he said, looking back down to the ugly red hole. Another scar to add to my collection. "If Kate wants to go, I'll stay here with Sawyer."
"How's he doin', by the way?"
Jack shook his head and we both looked in the direction of Sawyer's room. "He's better than he was-"
"But that's not saying much, is it?"
"Look, Katty, why do you have to ask? Don't you just know whether or not he's gonna get better?"
I shrugged, which was a bad move. Wincing in pain, I replied, "It's one thing to know somethin's gonna happen, see it on TV. It's a whole 'nother world, however, t' live it."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I bet it is."
"It's weird. I mean, I know what's gonna happen, but I forget the little details, cause it all looks so different when you're living it. It's not just episode names and events and characters anymore, it's your life."
"Episode names?"
"Yep."
"What was this episode named?"
"I have no idea. But the last one was Collision- I think. Dude! I remember! This episode is called 'What Kate Did'."
He stared at me.
"Creative genius, right?"
"What was your favorite episode?"
"Dude, I don't even know," I replied, my brow furrowing as I thought, staring off into space. "Whole bunch from the third season- we're in season two now, it started on day forty-six- a few from this season and loads from four and five."
I looked at him innocently, nodding, and he simply stared at me, nonplussed. I pulled my shirt on and hopped off the table.
"Katty… what is this show, the show about us, called?
I hesitated, looking at him. "It's called 'Lost'."
-
Jack and I walked down to the beach together, laughing and talking, telling each other stories, stupid things we'd done.
"- so he actually managed to convince me to get up there and sing it."
"Toxic."
"Yep," said Jack, nodding, not looking at me, a smile across his thin face.
"By Britney Spears."
He laughed. "Yeah."
"There wouldn't happen to be a recording of this event anywhere?"
"Not on the island."
"Well, darn it."
-
Everyone was solemn and quiet and sad as we approached the blanket-covered body of Shannon. My eyes strayed to the grave, just next to it, freshly dug, and I felt the stabs of pain and despair.
Sayid stepped forward, holding a flower. His hair was pulled back and his eyes were red, his dark face oddly drained. His posture was tense and defeated as he slowly approached the grave and I saw him look down inside it, slowly, warily, painfully, and I had to bit my lip to hold back a few tears. Jack stood next to me, no traces of our jokes or laughter on his somber face.
"Shannon and I were strangers," said Sayid quietly, still looking down into the grave. "We never would have met if- we wouldn't even have spoken if-" He trailed off, screwing his eyes shut, and I felt an odd, painful emotion rising in my throat, making my eyes blur. I wasn't the only one who was tearing up. "But we did meet and… we did speak. At least... I loved her."
Too overcome to continue, he turned and strode away, every movement, every jerk of his arms saying, quite clearly, not to follow him.
So I followed him.
I chased after him, ignoring the pain in my chest, my bare feet kicking up sand, trying to hurriedly wipe the tears out of my eyes.
"Sayid!"
He stopped but didn't turn around and I came to a stop next to him, panting a little, my good arm swinging by my side. He still didn't turn.
"Sayid, I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Shannon. I'm sorry about yesterday."
Nothing.
"I know- how it feels. Believe me. I know."
"You know?" he hissed, whirling suddenly, his eyes unbearably pain-filled and angry. "Your Boone has been dead five days and you're already laughing again, flirting, living, moving on- what could you possibly know of my grief?"
"I didn't have a choice, Sayid," I said softly, trying to keep the pain and shock out of my voice, my eyebrows pulling up as I stared up into his broken face. "I didn't have a choice. He deserved better- someone to mourn him, really mourn him- but I can't. I don't have that luxury, I gotta shake it off, like it's- like it's nothing, cause I've got things I have to do. I have to live without mourning him and that- that's the real tragedy."
He stared down at me and I looked evenly back up at him, trying not to cry.
"Believe me," I continued quietly, blinking back the stinging tears, "I miss him. More than I'da thought was possible. Every time I got to my tent and he's not there, every time I go to our lake without him, it's like a knife. It hurts, physically. I know about pain, Sayid, and I'd hoped that you wouldn't have to go through this, too."
For a second, I thought he was going to forgive me, and we'd go back to being best friends, and he'd let me help him. For just a second, there was a wavering in his black eyes.
But then his face hardened and he said, very quietly, his voice made of steel, "If only the world revolved around you and your hope."
And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me feeling worse than before.
-
"You look like shit," said Ana Lucia, raising an eyebrow and I plopped myself down next to her with a sigh.
"Yeah, fightin' with your best friend does that to you."
"The Arab?"
"I tried t' tell him that I knew how he was feelin', Boone and all, and he just… he doesn't get it," I shook my head, tracing patterns in the sand with my forefinger, staring off into the bright blue waves of the ocean.
"Guys are idiots, Ana."
She chuckled as she pulled out a mango and tossed it to me before taking one for herself and biting into it.
"You can say that again."
"I just wanna... I wanna help him, y'know? Be there for him, cause you can't do somethin' like this on your own."
"You did."
"I didn't have a choice."
At that she looked over at me, a heavy black brow quirked, mango juice running down her hand and she said, quietly, in her hoarse voice, "There's always a choice."
She finished her mango and pulled out a blunt stick and a piece of metal and began sharpening it. We said nothing, her working and me staring off into the blue sky.
It may have been minutes and it may have been hours later that Jack approached us with the intention of talking to Ana, two mini alcohol bottles in between his fingers. Ana glanced up at him and the ironic smile of hers slid across her dark features as Jack sat next to her and offered her the bottles.
"I'll see you two later," I said, rising to my feet. Ana turned and nodded at me and Jack gave me a short little wave, so I brushed the sand off the back of my pants and made my way to my tent, with every intention of getting some sleep.
-
A few hours had passed and I was deeply immersed in the fourth Harry Potter when someone kicked sand at me. I looked up, absolutely enraged, to see Sawyer standing over me, looking a little worse for wear, his hair sticking up everywhere, much paler than normal, but he was grinning, even as he clutched his arm.
"Hey, Katty."
With a squeal that would have better suited a pig, I leapt to my feet and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his chest, grinning like a lunatic. He sighed and wrapped his good arm around me.
"Missed you too, kiddo."
"You alright?" I asked him, pulled back and looking up into his beloved face. He grinned.
"Got shot."
"Me, too."
His eyes widened for a split second before narrowing dangerously and his big hand, which had run down my arm to interlace his fingers with my arm, tightened its grasp.
"You better tell me everythin' right now."
So I told him. Told him about trying to save Shannon, failing, told him about my fight with Sayid and my forming friendship with Ana, which made him narrow his eyes.
"I'm gonna kill her. I swear, I'm gonna kill 'er-"
"Don't. It's was an accident, and she feels bad enough already."
"Kat, she could be dead and she wouldn't feel bad enough," he growled, turning to look at me after sweeping the beach for Ana.
"I'm alright," I said simply. "It'll heal. Now, the bastard who shot you, however- I meet him, and it's going down."
He chuckled, although the anger in his eyes had not left completely and he pulled me in tight for another one armed hug, his lips brushing my cheekbone.
"Thank god I got you lookin' out for me, midge."
-
Richard, for the first time in a very long time, felt oddly excited. There was a weird energy flowing through his ancient veins that wouldn't allow him to sleep, or even stop moving. He was pacing inside his home, one hand on his hip and the other pressing his forehead. Elliot, who was lying on the couch, groaned.
"Richard, calm down."
"Can't," replied the darker man, still pacing. Almost absentmindedly, he pulled the aged photo out of his back pocket- the photo of a kind-faced bald man and the teenager who, when she distorted her face like she was doing, bore a definite resemblance to Quasimodo.
From reflex, his eyes swept the picture, looking for something, anything- proof that these two seemingly ordinary people were what they were thought to be- extraordinary.
Katty, well, there was no doubt the girl was special. She was somehow a product of the collision of worlds, of the zipping of a fabric that should have never existed- she existed in two worlds, simultaneously, or at least she had, until the twenty-second of September, when she was somehow transferred from her world to theirs. It was odd, but not unheard of- there were odder things that had happened.
If the time-traveling John Locke hadn't mentioned her fifty years ago, it was doubtful they'd even have heard of her. But John Locke did mention her, and as such, Elliot watched her grow up.
Richard's brow furrowed as his bare feet (he'd always hated shoes) slammed against the floor as he paced. Elliot sighed.
Elliot had watched her grow up and it soon became obvious that Kathryn Ivey Sherman was not ordinary. She was quick to believe but not easy to deceive, paranoid but trusting, cold but very compassionate- and that was only scratching the surface. She'd seen things others couldn't and believed things she shouldn't. There was obviously something very special and different about her. She'd always behaved much older than her years.
Richard's pacing slowed.
Could she be-?
No. It was too fantastical, too crazy. Even for a pair of ancient men, this… it couldn't happen.
And then there was John. There had to be something very, very special about him, if his spine was healed by the island. The island sped healing and was even known to cure near-sightedness (although it had a nasty habit of causing far-sightedness), but something of this magnitude could only happen by direct involvement on Jacob's behalf. And Jacob, for the most part, didn't get involved with "ordinary" men and women. He waited, biding his time for the extraordinary- like Richard and Elliot. And, apparently, John and Katty.
"I know what you're thinking," said Elliot loudly, and Richard looked over at the younger immortal, who was fixing him in that dark stare that they both had. "About her."
"What about her?"
"She's not like us," said Elliot quietly. Richard said nothing as he dragged his eyes away from the blonde immortal lounging on his couch, and thought to himself:
Not yet.
LOST
"Song To Say Goodbye" by Placebo. Sayid and Katty
A/N: I'm back! Just got home a few hours ago, and guess who I met in London? KATTY SHERMAN. We happened to be going at the same time so we met up and hung out and it was SO COOL. It was like... meeting a fictional character. She is just like this Katty. It was amazing and really weird.
Sorry this chapter's short. The next one isn't that long either, but It's pretty darn interesting.
Love,
Sarah