fic, Lost: Anger at Lies Lasts Forever (dead!Boone, sort of Locke), PG13 for un_love_you
So this is basically what I write when I need to write reaction fic and don't even try to be remotely objective about it. Blame it also on frustration with the local news and physics research.
Title: Anger at Lies Lasts Forever
Rating: pg13
Pairing: undead!Boone, sort of Locke
Word counting: 1070 or so
Disclaimer: if Lost was mine, a certain thing last episode wouldn't have happened. Which means, Lost is not mine.
Spoilers: it presumes having seen 5x04.
Summary: The point is that words can indeed kill; and putting together a sentence that can kill you even if you’re already dead is pretty remarkable.
A/N: for un_love_you #17, I hate you, you jerk (well, it was bitch but I conveniently switched). This is just me dealing with that certain sentence. If Locke is your favorite character or you didn't mind a certain thing he said last episode then this isn't what you want to read. I mean it. Also, second person POV.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
The point is that words can indeed kill; and putting together a sentence that can kill you even if you’re already dead is pretty remarkable.
No one knows you’re there; but whatever is happening, you are being affected, too, and where the living go, you all go. You stuck around Locke and Sawyer mainly because they’re the only ones you know (Charlie was with Rose and Bernard last time you saw him and Shannon was, too; some others are trailing behind just because you don’t have many other options here). You shouldn’t have.
A sentence can’t literally kill you when you already died, but it can be as sharp as a knife as it virtually cuts through your skin and stabs you in a heart that stopped beating three months or ten minutes ago, it depends on how you count time. Not that it matters. It can make you feel a burning, aching pain when you were sure you could never feel something as strong ever again. You wonder if maybe it means you could also feel the contrary, but you doubt that anything could ever bring you any kind of joy in this sort of limbo you’re all stuck in. It makes your stomach turn and twist and your hands shake with rage, it makes you almost feel alive with anger and you hate it, you hate it as much as you hate him right now because it’s an illusion, nothing more than an illusion and he isn’t allowed to give you any. Not after this.
You never hated anyone your whole life. Just sticking to the last month and a half of it, you never hated Shannon (and you had your reasons: conned, used, tossed away like a damaged good, and she also broke your heart in the process), you never hated Sayid for taking her away (she never was yours in the first place), you only pretended to hate Jack when he saved your life for the first time (well, that was stupid), you never hated Sawyer for the inhalers story (it was also your fault and the guy obviously had issues and the punishment he got was one you abhorred), you never really had any reason to hate anyone else you’ve known (and you never thought hate was a good policy anyway), you never hated John until now, even if you had reasons. He brought you there, he knew, he lied to Jack, then you were a sacrifice the island demanded; and it wasn’t even a quick and painless sacrifice, for that matter. Nonetheless, you never hated him. You just never did because after all maybe there could be a reason. He always knew better than you. He could have been right. You don’t know, it’s not like death made you wiser in that sense. Your death might have had a sense that you still couldn’t grasp.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
But then... you had thought he’d have cared, for a while. That he’d regret it just a little bit, at least. That if given the occasion, maybe he’d have done things differently. After all, you did trust him with your life (and well, not the smartest policy).
What he said before wasn’t good, not really, but this? This means you were a mean to an end which doesn’t mean anything nice at all (hey, isn’t John saying he’s going to die here or what?), that you just died for nothing since he practically said it meant nothing, that he just never gave a damn and if he ever did once, why, it was destiny. And the best thing is that John probably doesn’t even know what exactly he needed that pain for. You hadn’t needed it. Not really. You’d have rather gone without suffering like that. It’s just pretty much fucking great to hear he needed it.
You regret the second you said you were relieved (you lied; you really never were anyway); you regret the second you didn’t go straight to Jack to tell him about that hatch, you regret ever listening to him when he wouldn’t tell you what was up. But the most terrifying thing is that when that aching pain fades, something else starts burning from some place inside you and you might have never hated anyone but you recognize a first time when it happens. There’s a first time for everything, after all.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
And I think I really, really hate you, it’s what goes through your head in endless, spinning circles and you almost feel ashamed for it, but the point is that you do. You just do and you wonder if he’d say the same thing to your face. You almost wish you could cry, except that you can’t, dead people don’t cry, even if you can remember how it felt once when tears burned there in your eyes, ready to burst out.
You never even thought about it since you died; but now you can recall it exactly and you don’t know if you hate John more for being the one that led you where you are or for giving you this disgusting, faint, delicious and tragic illusion of life that you know won’t ever turn into reality. For a fleeting second you think you’ll give him a hell of a welcome if and when he joins your ranks; then you realize that it wasn’t only rightful anger, but also mean and cruel and a lot of other things you never thought you were or could be. Because come on, you might have had your share of flaws but you never were mean or cruel, but it looks like you can be that way. And it’s so scary that you’d throw up, if you weren’t, well, dead. Throwing up is reserved for the living, as crying is, as feeling involved should be, as feeling anything more than quiet resignation and acceptance should be. But now you do feel it and you can’t even show it and it’s his fault. Of course it is. And yours, too, because this just means you still haven’t accepted being gone (you thought you had. Wrong. Indeed). You just know that with your illusion of acceptance any sort of peace you might have achieved with much effort will be gone, too; and guess who took it away. You don’t know if this makes you just hate him even more.
End.
Title: Anger at Lies Lasts Forever
Rating: pg13
Pairing: undead!Boone, sort of Locke
Word counting: 1070 or so
Disclaimer: if Lost was mine, a certain thing last episode wouldn't have happened. Which means, Lost is not mine.
Spoilers: it presumes having seen 5x04.
Summary: The point is that words can indeed kill; and putting together a sentence that can kill you even if you’re already dead is pretty remarkable.
A/N: for un_love_you #17, I hate you, you jerk (well, it was bitch but I conveniently switched). This is just me dealing with that certain sentence. If Locke is your favorite character or you didn't mind a certain thing he said last episode then this isn't what you want to read. I mean it. Also, second person POV.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
The point is that words can indeed kill; and putting together a sentence that can kill you even if you’re already dead is pretty remarkable.
No one knows you’re there; but whatever is happening, you are being affected, too, and where the living go, you all go. You stuck around Locke and Sawyer mainly because they’re the only ones you know (Charlie was with Rose and Bernard last time you saw him and Shannon was, too; some others are trailing behind just because you don’t have many other options here). You shouldn’t have.
A sentence can’t literally kill you when you already died, but it can be as sharp as a knife as it virtually cuts through your skin and stabs you in a heart that stopped beating three months or ten minutes ago, it depends on how you count time. Not that it matters. It can make you feel a burning, aching pain when you were sure you could never feel something as strong ever again. You wonder if maybe it means you could also feel the contrary, but you doubt that anything could ever bring you any kind of joy in this sort of limbo you’re all stuck in. It makes your stomach turn and twist and your hands shake with rage, it makes you almost feel alive with anger and you hate it, you hate it as much as you hate him right now because it’s an illusion, nothing more than an illusion and he isn’t allowed to give you any. Not after this.
You never hated anyone your whole life. Just sticking to the last month and a half of it, you never hated Shannon (and you had your reasons: conned, used, tossed away like a damaged good, and she also broke your heart in the process), you never hated Sayid for taking her away (she never was yours in the first place), you only pretended to hate Jack when he saved your life for the first time (well, that was stupid), you never hated Sawyer for the inhalers story (it was also your fault and the guy obviously had issues and the punishment he got was one you abhorred), you never really had any reason to hate anyone else you’ve known (and you never thought hate was a good policy anyway), you never hated John until now, even if you had reasons. He brought you there, he knew, he lied to Jack, then you were a sacrifice the island demanded; and it wasn’t even a quick and painless sacrifice, for that matter. Nonetheless, you never hated him. You just never did because after all maybe there could be a reason. He always knew better than you. He could have been right. You don’t know, it’s not like death made you wiser in that sense. Your death might have had a sense that you still couldn’t grasp.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
But then... you had thought he’d have cared, for a while. That he’d regret it just a little bit, at least. That if given the occasion, maybe he’d have done things differently. After all, you did trust him with your life (and well, not the smartest policy).
What he said before wasn’t good, not really, but this? This means you were a mean to an end which doesn’t mean anything nice at all (hey, isn’t John saying he’s going to die here or what?), that you just died for nothing since he practically said it meant nothing, that he just never gave a damn and if he ever did once, why, it was destiny. And the best thing is that John probably doesn’t even know what exactly he needed that pain for. You hadn’t needed it. Not really. You’d have rather gone without suffering like that. It’s just pretty much fucking great to hear he needed it.
You regret the second you said you were relieved (you lied; you really never were anyway); you regret the second you didn’t go straight to Jack to tell him about that hatch, you regret ever listening to him when he wouldn’t tell you what was up. But the most terrifying thing is that when that aching pain fades, something else starts burning from some place inside you and you might have never hated anyone but you recognize a first time when it happens. There’s a first time for everything, after all.
I needed that pain to be where I am now.
And I think I really, really hate you, it’s what goes through your head in endless, spinning circles and you almost feel ashamed for it, but the point is that you do. You just do and you wonder if he’d say the same thing to your face. You almost wish you could cry, except that you can’t, dead people don’t cry, even if you can remember how it felt once when tears burned there in your eyes, ready to burst out.
You never even thought about it since you died; but now you can recall it exactly and you don’t know if you hate John more for being the one that led you where you are or for giving you this disgusting, faint, delicious and tragic illusion of life that you know won’t ever turn into reality. For a fleeting second you think you’ll give him a hell of a welcome if and when he joins your ranks; then you realize that it wasn’t only rightful anger, but also mean and cruel and a lot of other things you never thought you were or could be. Because come on, you might have had your share of flaws but you never were mean or cruel, but it looks like you can be that way. And it’s so scary that you’d throw up, if you weren’t, well, dead. Throwing up is reserved for the living, as crying is, as feeling involved should be, as feeling anything more than quiet resignation and acceptance should be. But now you do feel it and you can’t even show it and it’s his fault. Of course it is. And yours, too, because this just means you still haven’t accepted being gone (you thought you had. Wrong. Indeed). You just know that with your illusion of acceptance any sort of peace you might have achieved with much effort will be gone, too; and guess who took it away. You don’t know if this makes you just hate him even more.
End.