Post by Charlie Pace on Feb 5, 2009 23:59:00 GMT -5
It had been peaceful. For a brief second, it was complete and utter bliss, and he even remembered smiling slightly as his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. He could count the small little indentations on the surface of the ceiling, until it felt impossible to keep his eyes open.
He remembered closing them, and then he remembered the guilt. Libby. If Libby saw him like this...she'd kill him. No, worse. She'd leave him. She'd leave him forever and what would he be left with? Nothing but a bunch of dirty needles and broken memories. He remembered the tears that slipped out of his eyes at the thought, and he remembered somehow trying to stand, however, his legs shook and moved and finally decided against any movement at all other than complete and utter uselessness, and he remembered crumpling down on the floor. He rolled onto his back, eyes opening weakly to the ceiling, and he remembered a sigh that escaped his lips, and then...the darkness.
"Hiya. Y'want a blanket?"
"You don't scare me."
"Charlie. Get Aaron back."
"You are having hot jungle relations with a four-toed Island man, aren't you?! You dirty, dirty girl."
"Marry me. Just--Just marry me, we can--we can go somewhere and--and just live. We--we'll be away from everything a-and you don't even have to marry me but please--please don't leave me, too. Everyone's up and gone away and I'm looking around and I can't find anyone that I used to call my own. And I know I've pushed everyone away and I'm sorry but--but I can't do it anymore! I can't do this anymore, I can't live like this anymore. It's--it's so hard to live like this."
The pressure in his chest was too much for his brain to bare, and Charlie coughed hard, sending water up from his lungs, out his mouth and nose. He jerked up, hands flailing at the unknown attacker until Charlie realised that he was alone. He rolled onto his stomach, feeling the metal grating dig into his face. Coughing and gagging, he took in deep gasps of hair as he opened his eyes wide, trying to focus on where he was. And then, memories rushed back at him again, making him clench his eyes shut, stopping at one single memory, and three little words.
NOT PENNY'S BOAT.
He gasped, his eyes opening, as the mixture of memories made his head swim and stomach lurch, and he sat up quickly to find himself in the Looking Glass.
"Desmond?!"
Where the hell was Desmond?! Wasn't he--he was dead. He was dead...and yet, he had been alive, hadn't he? Libby. Where was Libby? "Libby?!" Charlie called, though as his mind muddled through the fog, twisting and turning through real memories and...what, were they fake? He forced himself to stand though his body shook. Why the bloody HELL was it freezing?!
It was then that he realised he was soaking wet. Turning to the door that was firmly shut, he looked at the spot that he had been laying at, shocked. Was he dead? Walking almost cautiously up to the small circular window, he slowly peered into the room, expecting to see the bloated and very dead corpse of...well, himself. But he saw nothing but water and bits of metal...and an black eyepatch. He placed his hand on the glass, a mirror image of what he had done on the other side.
The beach. He needed to get back to the beach. Turning, he rushed over to the lockers, loudly opening them to try to find any sort of scuba gear or oxygen mask or anything. "Scuba gear? You've never used Scuba gear in your life!" Charlie muttered to himself. "It can't be that bloody hard. Insert into mouth and suck."
His eyes caught the attention of a large form laying on the grating, and he realised it was one of the woman that had tied him up. Beat him up. Lashing out, he kicked the woman hard in her side. "That was my FACE made a mess of, you Stupid. Sodding. Vile. BITCH!" Charlie said, kicking her with every word. His actions left him panting for air, which was surprisingly painful, before he turned once more to rummage through he lockers. A small oxygen canister with a mouthpiece fell out, and Charlie tilted his head slightly as he picked it up. It had no dials, no indicator of how full or completely empty it was. He shook it like a child on Christmas eve, and frowned at the complete lack of result that brought. "Bloody useless." he whispered, however, he decided to test it. Plugging his nose, he stuck the mouthpiece in his mouth, and took in a breath.
Of surprisingly refreshing oxygen. Removing it, he smiled slightly. "Well, better than nothing, eh?" His hands were still shaking, but he knew he needed to get to the beach. Even as memories of Libby and Claire and Hurley shifted and screamed through his brain...he needed to get back to the beach. He stood at the large square hole in the middle of the Looking Glass, looking down at the water. He took a few breaths in, trying to both pump himself up and get enough oxygen in his lungs, before he took a giant breath, and dived into the water. His hand clutched onto the small grey canister as he frantically swam towards the surface. It felt like forever, and when his lungs burned and screamed out for air, Charlie brought the canister to his mouth. Bubbles floated towards the surface as he cleared his mouth of water before sucking in.
Nothing came out of the canister. Panic instantly rushed up in his body, flooding his veins, and he frantically clawed at the surface, desperate for air.
Our Father, who art in heaven...God, please don't let me die. Please. Please, don't let me die. I don't want to die. I want to live. I just want to--
Hands broke the surface of the water, and he jerked his head above the waves, sucking in a loud and deep breath as he thrashed, trying to gain air. Water sloshed up into his mouth, and he tried to raise his head high enough above the water. In the distance, he saw land, however, the beach was noticeably absent of plane wreckage. Where was the plane wreckage?!
He swam, though his muscles were exhausted and he prayed just to be on land so he could collapse, but soon, his feet touched the bottom of the ocean, and he staggered out onto the sand, collapsing onto the shore. Waves washed over his legs, and panting, Charlie lay exhausted on the beach, hand still clutching the canister of no-air. He tossed it away weakly before he dug his fingers into the sand, silently thankful that he was on land. Out of the water and on good, solid land.
He remembered closing them, and then he remembered the guilt. Libby. If Libby saw him like this...she'd kill him. No, worse. She'd leave him. She'd leave him forever and what would he be left with? Nothing but a bunch of dirty needles and broken memories. He remembered the tears that slipped out of his eyes at the thought, and he remembered somehow trying to stand, however, his legs shook and moved and finally decided against any movement at all other than complete and utter uselessness, and he remembered crumpling down on the floor. He rolled onto his back, eyes opening weakly to the ceiling, and he remembered a sigh that escaped his lips, and then...the darkness.
"Hiya. Y'want a blanket?"
"You don't scare me."
"Charlie. Get Aaron back."
"You are having hot jungle relations with a four-toed Island man, aren't you?! You dirty, dirty girl."
"Marry me. Just--Just marry me, we can--we can go somewhere and--and just live. We--we'll be away from everything a-and you don't even have to marry me but please--please don't leave me, too. Everyone's up and gone away and I'm looking around and I can't find anyone that I used to call my own. And I know I've pushed everyone away and I'm sorry but--but I can't do it anymore! I can't do this anymore, I can't live like this anymore. It's--it's so hard to live like this."
The pressure in his chest was too much for his brain to bare, and Charlie coughed hard, sending water up from his lungs, out his mouth and nose. He jerked up, hands flailing at the unknown attacker until Charlie realised that he was alone. He rolled onto his stomach, feeling the metal grating dig into his face. Coughing and gagging, he took in deep gasps of hair as he opened his eyes wide, trying to focus on where he was. And then, memories rushed back at him again, making him clench his eyes shut, stopping at one single memory, and three little words.
NOT PENNY'S BOAT.
He gasped, his eyes opening, as the mixture of memories made his head swim and stomach lurch, and he sat up quickly to find himself in the Looking Glass.
"Desmond?!"
Where the hell was Desmond?! Wasn't he--he was dead. He was dead...and yet, he had been alive, hadn't he? Libby. Where was Libby? "Libby?!" Charlie called, though as his mind muddled through the fog, twisting and turning through real memories and...what, were they fake? He forced himself to stand though his body shook. Why the bloody HELL was it freezing?!
It was then that he realised he was soaking wet. Turning to the door that was firmly shut, he looked at the spot that he had been laying at, shocked. Was he dead? Walking almost cautiously up to the small circular window, he slowly peered into the room, expecting to see the bloated and very dead corpse of...well, himself. But he saw nothing but water and bits of metal...and an black eyepatch. He placed his hand on the glass, a mirror image of what he had done on the other side.
The beach. He needed to get back to the beach. Turning, he rushed over to the lockers, loudly opening them to try to find any sort of scuba gear or oxygen mask or anything. "Scuba gear? You've never used Scuba gear in your life!" Charlie muttered to himself. "It can't be that bloody hard. Insert into mouth and suck."
His eyes caught the attention of a large form laying on the grating, and he realised it was one of the woman that had tied him up. Beat him up. Lashing out, he kicked the woman hard in her side. "That was my FACE made a mess of, you Stupid. Sodding. Vile. BITCH!" Charlie said, kicking her with every word. His actions left him panting for air, which was surprisingly painful, before he turned once more to rummage through he lockers. A small oxygen canister with a mouthpiece fell out, and Charlie tilted his head slightly as he picked it up. It had no dials, no indicator of how full or completely empty it was. He shook it like a child on Christmas eve, and frowned at the complete lack of result that brought. "Bloody useless." he whispered, however, he decided to test it. Plugging his nose, he stuck the mouthpiece in his mouth, and took in a breath.
Of surprisingly refreshing oxygen. Removing it, he smiled slightly. "Well, better than nothing, eh?" His hands were still shaking, but he knew he needed to get to the beach. Even as memories of Libby and Claire and Hurley shifted and screamed through his brain...he needed to get back to the beach. He stood at the large square hole in the middle of the Looking Glass, looking down at the water. He took a few breaths in, trying to both pump himself up and get enough oxygen in his lungs, before he took a giant breath, and dived into the water. His hand clutched onto the small grey canister as he frantically swam towards the surface. It felt like forever, and when his lungs burned and screamed out for air, Charlie brought the canister to his mouth. Bubbles floated towards the surface as he cleared his mouth of water before sucking in.
Nothing came out of the canister. Panic instantly rushed up in his body, flooding his veins, and he frantically clawed at the surface, desperate for air.
Our Father, who art in heaven...God, please don't let me die. Please. Please, don't let me die. I don't want to die. I want to live. I just want to--
Hands broke the surface of the water, and he jerked his head above the waves, sucking in a loud and deep breath as he thrashed, trying to gain air. Water sloshed up into his mouth, and he tried to raise his head high enough above the water. In the distance, he saw land, however, the beach was noticeably absent of plane wreckage. Where was the plane wreckage?!
He swam, though his muscles were exhausted and he prayed just to be on land so he could collapse, but soon, his feet touched the bottom of the ocean, and he staggered out onto the sand, collapsing onto the shore. Waves washed over his legs, and panting, Charlie lay exhausted on the beach, hand still clutching the canister of no-air. He tossed it away weakly before he dug his fingers into the sand, silently thankful that he was on land. Out of the water and on good, solid land.
