I know exactly where I'm going with this story now! A lot of you guys mentioned how you felt kind of distant from the character, and that's what I was going for with this story. As you'll find out in this next section, the main character is insane, and driven to depression by the plane crash. I'll try to steer clear of the general direction Lost is going, so yeah. I hope you like this part!
-
Alexandra stood in a grove of trees, conversing quietly to Ash Paul, the youngest survivor. Her back was turned to me, so I couldn’t read her lips. Ash, who rarely talked anyway, barely moved his lips, so they were virtually unreadable.
I was not spying.
I was merely watching.
Getting frustrated, I stood up from where I was sitting on the cold beach and slowly walked closer to them. Ash’s eyes flickered to me, and I froze. He looked back at Alexandra, and I drew nearer. I could hear her voice.
“—bodies? Kyle doesn’t know what to do with them. Lena and Yuri, the older Russian couple, can barely manage to walk, and No Name, I think, is insane. Did you see how he tried to—“ Alexandra’s voice decrescendoed into a whisper, and I couldn’t catch the last part of her sentence.
“Ash, you, Kyle and I are the only ones that can make the decision. Either we burn them, or we throw them into the sea,” Alexandra said. Ash frowned and looked over to the pile of bodies. His dark locks hung in his eyes.
“Can’t we bury them?”
“That would take too much time, and we need all the time we can get. We will have a proper ceremony for the dead, but we need to spend all the time we can to start finding shelter. Getting some food, you know.”
There was something bubbling inside of my heart. Some kind of foreign anger that needed to be unleashed.
They were thinking of letting go of Lydia.
I imagined her corpse burning in the stinking pile of bodies.
I imagined her slender body drowning in the freezing water.
No.
They weren’t going to take my Lydia. If I had to steal her myself, I would, but I would not let them take her away from me.
I took ten steps in the direction of the pile of bodies, and Kyle appeared from behind a tree.
“Where’re you going?”
I didn’t reply; instead, I kept walking.
“Lydia’s dead, isn’t she?”
I stopped.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Kyle continued. “You think this is hard for you? I lost two of my older brothers the same way you lost your Lydia.” His voice wavered.
“She’s not dead,” I whispered, my fingers curling into my hand and forming a fist.
“As much as we’d all like to think that—“
“Lydia is not dead!”
“Yes she is!”
My boiling anger steamed out through my fists and my knees and my eyes. Kyle stepped back, trying to defend himself.
“Get away from me, you freak!” he cried, but I didn’t hear him.
No.
I didn’t want to hear him. There's a difference.
By the end of the day, I knew, there would only be five survivors.
Kyle thought otherwise.
Fighting back with all his strength, he slugged my stomach, and I toppled over. He sent a mighty kick to the back of my head, and darkness was beginning to overtake my vision.
“Try that stunt again, freak, and I’ll put your lights out like I shudda done yesterday,” he spat, and walked away, leaving me to my throbbing pain.
I cried.
I hadn’t cried since Mom died, twelve years ago.
*
They burned Lydia while I was out cold. The air stunk for the rest of the night.
When I awoke, I was alone.
*
I pulled myself up from the muddy beach and staggered over to the other’s ashes.
(i went down, down, down into the burning ring of fire. and it burns, burns, burns. this ring of fire. this ring of fire)
“Lydia?” I whispered into the night. The stars overhead drooped a little lower than they usually did, and they didn’t shine as brightly as they had before.
Lydia didn’t answer.
“Lydia?” I asked again. “Lydia, where are you?”
My bare feet walked over the black ashes, and I could almost hear the sound of Death, slaughtering my Lydia again and again and again
(and it burns, burns, burns. this ring of fire. this ring of fire)
and again.
“What have they done to you?” I asked the ashes. They swayed with the cool, night air.
I dropped to my knees, and my hands clasped together.
I bowed my head, thinking about the Lord and Jesus and the Virgin Mary.
“Why?” I asked them. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”
They didn’t reply, because they were dead, just like Lydia. In all those years that Mom had brought me up in the Catholic Church, she taught me that God hears every prayer. He answers every prayer.
Where was he now, in my greatest time of need?
(and it burns, burns, burns. this ring of fire. this ring of fire)
I cannot wait for the next one!
