James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
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Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Aug 28, 2008 17:20:08 GMT -5
He could hear a baby crying. Through the darkness and the fog he could hear Aaron crying. He didn’t remember falling asleep... didn’t remember much of anything, really, but he must have drifted off.
Something wasn’t right. Beneath him wasn’t the soft mattress in his hotel room, but something harder yet more unstable and as sleep began to fade he noticed another sound that threatened to drown out Aaron’s cries. A loud, familiar, repetitive sound. It was the sound of waves crashing on the beach.
His eyes snapping open, Sawyer took a few deep breaths. The air that filled his lungs was sweet, pure and untainted by human technology. Hesitantly he turned his head to the side. Golden sand sloped down to the bluest water he had ever seen. No, he had seen water like this before, not long ago. Water clear and blue like this; exactly like this.
Another shriek brought the southerner out of his shocked state and to a sitting position. Turning his head quickly to the other side, he felt like all the air had been stolen from his lungs. The crying was coming from a crib, a homemade crib crafted by the hands of John Locke.
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
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Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Aug 28, 2008 18:05:28 GMT -5
For a moment he could only sit there, frozen and dumbfounded. This had to be a dream. Looking down at his hand, Sawyer closed it around the sand at his side. Raising his fist, he watched the sand fall, felt it slipping between his fingers. It felt so real.
When Aaron cried again, the conman forced himself into action. Struggling to his feet, his legs felt like jelly but he managed to stumble toward the crib and the surrounding makeshift shelters they had thrown together using branches and tarps. Some of the tarps held water from a recent rainstorm, and the sunlight caused them to shimmer.
“Shh, c’mere squirt,” Sawyer said gruffly, lifting the small child up into his arms. Holding Aaron against his chest, careful to support the baby’s small head, the man looked around with a worried and confused expression. There was a different sky above him, one much bluer than the one he had been under for the past two weeks. Aaron’s cries lessened, but he continued to fuss.
“Hey, is anyone here?” Sawyer called out, turning around to scan the beach and the surrounding tree line. “What tha hell is goin’ on here?”
The only answer he received was the continuous breaking of the surf.
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Post by shannon on Aug 29, 2008 10:19:03 GMT -5
The sound of waves crashing on the shore was the first thing she became aware of. At first she thought that the silly white noise machine that Boone had bought her in a vain attempt to help her sleep had been left on the wrong setting. She usually set it to “amazon rain,” not “ocean waves.” The ocean waves always made her feel a little queasy. They reminded her of something.
She breathed in deeply, trying to ignore the glare of sunlight that shone in her face. Had she left the curtains open, too? But as the scent of warm, fresh scent of clean, open air filled her nostrils, she knew something wasn’t right. She never left the window open. And the air in LA did not smell this clean. What the hell?
She opened her eyes, and immediately had to squint against the bright sunlight. Where the hell was she? She obviously was not in her apartment.
Moaning softly, she struggled to sit up. Her body felt limp, and her limbs were heavy, so she moved slowly, pushing her hands against soft, warm sand.
Sand. Ocean waves. Oh, shit.
As she finally sat up, she looked around through the bleary eyes of one who has just awakened from a deep slumber. It had to be a nightmare, she told herself immediately. It had to be. She couldn’t be here… not again.
But she was. It was the damned island. Smooth, golden sands stretched out in front of her and on either side. Ahead of her was the ocean, crystalline blue and sparkling. How the hell had she gotten here? She remembered… well, actually her memory was a bit fuzzy. She remembered chasing the dog, seeing Walt, hearing the gunshot and feeling the pain in her abdomen. Falling into Sayid’s arms. And then somehow… being back in LA. She didn’t remember getting there… it was as if she’d been there all along. Which made no sense at all. And being back here now made even less sense.
She rubbed her eyes and pinched herself, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. If it was a dream, she sure hoped she’d wake up soon.
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
|
Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Aug 29, 2008 18:50:53 GMT -5
His calls had gone unanswered, and as night settled in Sawyer soon realised that the answers he sought would not be forthcoming. Settling in for the night instead, he made himself comfortable in Claire’s old tent, Aaron’s crib close by. He had slept fitfully at first, but once the dreams started the time passed quickly. He dreamed of the jungles, both tree filled and concrete. He dreamed of monsters, both tangible and within.
And he dreamed of her.
When he awoke this time it was to the rumbling in his stomach as opposed to that of the waves, and if he was this hungry he could only imagine how Aaron was feeling. That presented a whole new problem, one big enough to keep his mind off of why he was here. The kid was, what, three? Four months old? What the hell did a kid that young eat? Milk, right? Where the hell was he supposed to get milk here? It wasn’t like there were cows just roaming around the Island.
Eventually Sawyer had rounded up a few coconuts and was now fighting to open the first one. With an extra loud growl of frustration and an extra hard shot with an extra large rock, he manage to crack it in half, the juices splattering everywhere.
“Son of a bitch!” he cursed loudly, before catching himself when he heard Aaron laughing nearby. “Not you. Yer mama’s a sweet woman and... why tha hell am I talkin’ to ya, anyways? It ain’t like ya understand a word I’m sayin’, do ya?”
To that Aaron just gurgled and sucked on his tiny fist.
Slumping down on Claire’s bed, Sawyer held half the coconut in each hand. “How’d she feed ya all this time, anyways? There musta been somethin’ here... Oh, right.” He held the coconut halves to his chest. “Mama had her own coconuts ta milk.”
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Post by shannon on Aug 30, 2008 11:27:16 GMT -5
The beach seemed to be deserted. There should have been people everywhere, but as far as the eye could see, there wasn't a single sign of life. She thought she might be further down the beach than she was used to, but back when she was here before, the encampment had stretched pretty far down. The fuselage of the plane had long since been washed away by the tide, yet she could still picture it there, like the twisted shell of a giant creature left to rot in the elements.
They'd moved down the beach to a different spot after the encroaching tide had threatened their camp... so maybe they were still around somewhere. Maybe they'd had to move again. Slowly she got to her feet, wobbling dangerously for a moment. Her legs still felt weak, and the mere idea of walking through the hot sand seemed incredibly painful. But she couldn't very well stay out here alone. She needed food and water, and if she found the camp, she could get both. How she would explain how she got there would be another story entirely... but she'd have to figure that out when she got there.
Shannon began to walk perpendicular to the water, shielding her eyes again the blinding glare of the sun. Why was she here without her sunglasses? Her feet sank down into the sand as she walked, filling her Manolos with sand. After a few torturous steps, she stopped and took off her expensive shoes, which would certainly be of no use here. In fact, her entire outfit at the moment was completely impractical. She'd been dressed for job interviews, so she was wearing a blouse and pencil skirt. When she got back to the camp, she'd have to see if any of her own clothes were still around. Or maybe she could borrow something from Kate, who would at least be closer to her size than Claire.
As she thought of her fellow survivors, it brought a whole new flash of memories and a fresh new batch of confusion. She had been on the island... Boone had died, and she'd tried to kill John Locke. Then Michael and his kid had taken off with Sawyer and the Korean guy on the raft. Walt had left her the dog. Then she had been seeing Walt everywhere, talking backwards. And then... the gunshot. She remembered the sound of it, and staggering backwards, but it was strange... she didn't remember feeling any pain. And after that... she was somehow back in LA, as if she'd never left. And Boone was there, too.
It didn't make sense... it wasn't possible for her to be remembering things the way she was. She couldn't be in two places at once. She certainly shouldn't be standing here in her interview clothes getting sand in her Manolos. Maybe she'd OD'd on some island drugs or something and was still tripping. Her head certainly hurt badly enough.
Up ahead, in the distance, she finally saw a flash of white. Like a tent, blowing in the hot island breeze. She still didn't see any people, but maybe it was just early. Or maybe most of them had gone on a hike through the jungle. Her legs still felt like jelly, but she was desperate to get back to the camp and figure out what the hell was going on. Her stomach was also rumbling, so she knew she needed to eat something soon. So she hitched up her skirt and took off at a run towards the tent.
"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?"
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
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Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Aug 31, 2008 13:29:08 GMT -5
Even Sawyer, conman, killer an hardened criminal couldn’t help but smile, his dimples pronounced, when Aaron laughed and squealed in delight. Or that’s how the southerner took it, anyway. For all he knew the kid just had some gas.
“Just don’t expect me ta be puttin’ on no grass skirt any time soon,” he said. Just then he heard a sound, the faintest whisper of a voice on the wind. The first thing he thought was that he was hearing things much like he had in the jungle all those weeks ago. Setting the coconuts aside, he got to his feet, listening closely. Then he saw it. There was a figure running toward him down the beach. Looking around quickly, he found a decent sized stick nearby and snatched it up.
“Just stay quiet, munchkin. Uncle Sawyer gotta check somethin’ out,” he said, more to himself than the kid as he started toward the figure. It was closer now, and he could make out that it was a woman, with blonde hair and horrible taste in beachwear.
“Who are you?” he called out, his voice gruff and accusing. Until she got close enough to get a good look at her and his mouth dropped open. “Shannon?” That was a face he’d never expected to see again, then again he never expected to see this Island again either. That left only one explanation, a simple one that made more sense than any other. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or travelling here because he hadn’t fallen asleep. He had no idea what had happened, but he must be dead. It was the only explanation. He was dead and this was the ninth circle of hell.
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Post by shannon on Sept 2, 2008 14:49:53 GMT -5
She could have cried with relief when she saw the figure up ahead. That is, until she cam closer and realized it was Sawyer. He would hardly have been her first choice. But, since she didn't know anyone had ever left the island, she assumed that his presence meant that the others were nearby.
And if he was alone, well, as annoying as Sawyer was, at least he had pretty good survival skills. It would certainly be preferable to being here alone.
Her breathing was ragged from running, so she stopped just a little short of where he was standing. While she tried to catch her breath, she mopped the sweat from her brow. She certainly hadn't missed the heat on this wretched island!
"Sawyer," she said, still gasping for breath. "Where's Jack?"
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
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Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Sept 2, 2008 18:21:56 GMT -5
Great. Just beautiful. Even in hell he was second best to good ol’ Doctor Jackass. Maybe this wasn’t just hell, but his own personal hell.
“He ain’t here,” Sawyer replied simply, lowering the makeshift club that he held. Was that a business suit she was wearing? There was more material in that one suit than her entire wardrobe the first go around, not that he had ever complained. He could have done without ever talking to her back then, but he sure never minded looking at her.
But now? He could do without seeing her. It only made things even more confusing.
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Post by shannon on Sept 11, 2008 21:19:01 GMT -5
Shannon stared at him for a minute, trying to make sense of this situation. But it wasn't possible. Nothing about this made sense. The last thing she remembered was being in L.A. And now she was back here, at this godforsaken hellhole. With Sawyer, of all people. There was no possible explanation for this.
"OK... so Jack's not here. Is anyone here? Or is it just the two of us, here in our own private hell?" Her voice raised to a higher pitch as she spoke. "Do you at least have some supplies, so I can change out of this stupid outfit and into something a little more appropriate for this heat?"
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
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Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Sept 18, 2008 19:43:35 GMT -5
The fact that Shannon was freaking out as if she had just arrived here left Sawyer’s head spinning even more than it already was. If this was their own private hell, shouldn’t she have been here for a few months already? He had been at death’s door himself when she had been killed but he had seen the grave, had heard all about it. So what the hell was going on here, now?
“I ain’t exactly had chance ta look around yet,” he admitted honestly, too confused to even think of a snappy comeback or a new nickname. Could it possibly be that they were really back? That somehow, some way, they were alive and well and back on the Island?
Impossible.
“Looks like it’s just you an’ me, sweetheart,” Sawyer replied before a sharp cry broke through the still air. “Oh, and tha kid.”
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Post by shannon on Sept 29, 2008 16:12:31 GMT -5
Shannon's eyes darted past him and noticed the hand-built cradle sitting a few feet behind him. "The kid?" she repeated, horrified. "You mean Claire's baby? Why is he here without her? You're not gonna, like, stick me with the baby are you?"
Shannon was not good with children; she never had been. Her time as an au pair with Laurent had proven that. And there was something vaguely creepy about being stuck on this island again with no one but Sawyer and the baby. Like they were expected to be some kind of demented makeshift family.
"Damn it," she hissed. "How the hell did we even get back here? The last thing I remember is being back in LA... I was going on job interviews, of all things. Then I was being followed in the park... and then I woke up here. How the hell is this even possible?"
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James "Sawyer" Ford
administration.
Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst
Posts: 248
|
Post by James "Sawyer" Ford on Oct 1, 2008 14:13:37 GMT -5
Turning his back on Shannon as she started in with the twenty questions, Sawyer walked back over to where Aaron had started to cry in his crib. He wouldn’t deny that the thought was tempting, she was a woman after all, but she struck him as the type that was barely able to take care of herself, let alone another human being. Maybe he wasn’t the best candidate for daddy duty, but he found himself very protective of Aaron and wasn’t about to hand the baby over to just anyone.
“I wish I knew, Sticks, but you’re the first person we’ve seen since yesterday, and last thing I remember I was takin’ care’a tha kid back in my hotel room, then I woke up here,” he explained, uncharacteristically straightforward. Now was not the time for his usual games.
Picking Aaron up from the crib, Sawyer cradled the child in his arms carefully. “And tha last thing I remember about you was that ya died, right here, on this island.”
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