"METEMPSYCHOSIS."
Disclaimer: I don't own "Lost". Beta: Fanfictionfan123456 - thank you a lot :-)
Evening settled softly over the island, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and crimson. The horizon seemed to stretch endlessly, the sea shimmering under the glow of the setting sun. Claire sat on the warm, golden sand, the rhythmic crash of waves filling the air. Beside her, Aaron played quietly, his small hands carefully molding the sand into a castle.
A tender smile touched her lips as she watched him. Her son, usually so lively and full of energy, had changed in recent weeks. He had grown quieter, more introspective, as though a weight she couldn't see had settled over him. Claire couldn't pinpoint when it had started, but the shift in his behavior left her with an unshakable unease.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, the salty breeze tugging at her hair. Memories of the past crept in, unbidden. The day Aaron was born felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memory of Boone's death on the very same day was still vivid, a shadow that lingered no matter how much time passed.
Aaron suddenly stopped his work. Without a word, he stood and ran toward the water, his small legs kicking up sand behind him. He knelt at the water's edge, his sun-kissed face reflected in the rippling surface.
Claire sat up, her heart skipping a beat.
"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" she called, keeping her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
Aaron didn't respond at first. His gaze remained fixed on his reflection, his expression oddly thoughtful—far too mature for a child his age. When he finally turned to face her, his eyes carried a weight that sent a chill down her spine.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, his voice calm but distant, "I feel like I'm someone else."
Claire froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aaron tilted his head, considering her question. "I remember things," he said, "but they're not my memories."
Her heart began to race. "Aaron, honey, what are you talking about?"
He hesitated, his small hands balling into fists at his sides. When he finally spoke again, his words were deliberate, as though he was piecing them together with great care.
"That's not me," he said, gesturing toward his reflection in the water. "That's not my face. And my hair… it should be dark."
Claire's body tensed as a chill ran down her spine.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Aaron turned to her fully, his expression serious in a way that was both unsettling and heartbreaking.
"My name isn't Aaron," he said softly.
Claire's breath hitched.
"Then… what is it?"
For a moment, the only sound was the gentle lap of waves against the shore. Then Aaron looked directly at her, his small shoulders squared, his eyes filled with a gravity far beyond his years.
"Boone."
The name fell from his lips like a stone, and Claire's world tilted.
She stared at him, her mind racing to make sense of what she had just heard. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach, but Claire barely noticed. Her son—or whoever he was—stood before her, unshaken, as if waiting for her to respond.
Claire opened her mouth, but no words came.
The End.