The Right of Mourning
Title: The Right of Mourning.
Rating: PG.
Character: Kate/Shannon.
Prompt: bikini.
Summary: Now that she’s at her tomb, playing with a handful of sand, Kate remembers Shannon, with her blonde soft hair and her flip-flops and her tiny bikinis, but, above all, she remembers how different from her she seemed and how similar to her she turned out to be.
N/A: fifth fic in English! I think I'm getting used to writing in another language.
Written for Lost Femmeslash Fic Battle at lost_femmeslash
The wind is blowing, shaking the trees around her, around the improvised graveyard they had to set too quickly for her taste.
Now that she’s at her tomb, playing with a handful of sand, Kate remembers Shannon, with her blonde soft hair and her flip-flops and her tiny bikinis, but, above all, she remembers how different from her she seemed and how similar to her she turned out to be.
At first glance, you could think Shannon was the typical poor rich girl from Los Angeles who had a serious problem in her relationship with her step-brother (although Kate had always believed they were more than that. She never had the guts to ask anyway). But that was just the surface, and Kate’s aware of the fact that very few people were invited to go beyond the limits, strictly marked by the make-up and the high heel shoes.
She was part of the fortunate ones, she realizes now. She hadn’t done before because Shannon trusting on her, telling her things (with the voice loaded of anger and disguised envy she used to utilize to speak with her) she’s pretty sure she didn’t tell anyone else on the island, appeared perfectly normal to her.
There was only one thing Kate could extract from their apparently random and non-sense conversations. Shannon was exactly as broken as she was, trapped in a spiral of self-destruction of which she couldn’t flee, and Kate feels guilty now for not being able to fix her shattered soul. Because Shannon’s gone and the only thing left Kate has to evoke her is the necklace hanging from the cross of her grave.
The salty breeze makes the necklace swing hypnotically and Kate rapidly gets up when she hears someone’s steps getting closer to the graveyard. She doesn’t spend more than four seconds on hiding in the bushes and she waits, feeling her heart beating strong against her chest just like it used to do before Shannon’s death.
It’s Sayid who appears into her range of vision and she gulps, because she’s not supposed to be there, staring at him the way she does, but she can’t help it. She watches carefully every movement of him: he sits down, he brushes slightly the necklace and, suddenly, he breaks down.
And there’s actually beauty in the breakdown, Kate thinks. She doesn’t need to see anything more (she’s seen and felt enough grief for today), so she glides towards anywhere.
She hasn’t, maybe, the right of mourning, but Sayid has. Because she never told Shannon about her sentiments, so there wasn’t in fact anything between them.
Stupid, stupid Kate. Always with that pathological fear of finding her twin soul, because it’d represent too much compromise, too much generosity for her.
Rating: PG.
Character: Kate/Shannon.
Prompt: bikini.
Summary: Now that she’s at her tomb, playing with a handful of sand, Kate remembers Shannon, with her blonde soft hair and her flip-flops and her tiny bikinis, but, above all, she remembers how different from her she seemed and how similar to her she turned out to be.
N/A: fifth fic in English! I think I'm getting used to writing in another language.
Written for Lost Femmeslash Fic Battle at lost_femmeslash
The wind is blowing, shaking the trees around her, around the improvised graveyard they had to set too quickly for her taste.
Now that she’s at her tomb, playing with a handful of sand, Kate remembers Shannon, with her blonde soft hair and her flip-flops and her tiny bikinis, but, above all, she remembers how different from her she seemed and how similar to her she turned out to be.
At first glance, you could think Shannon was the typical poor rich girl from Los Angeles who had a serious problem in her relationship with her step-brother (although Kate had always believed they were more than that. She never had the guts to ask anyway). But that was just the surface, and Kate’s aware of the fact that very few people were invited to go beyond the limits, strictly marked by the make-up and the high heel shoes.
She was part of the fortunate ones, she realizes now. She hadn’t done before because Shannon trusting on her, telling her things (with the voice loaded of anger and disguised envy she used to utilize to speak with her) she’s pretty sure she didn’t tell anyone else on the island, appeared perfectly normal to her.
There was only one thing Kate could extract from their apparently random and non-sense conversations. Shannon was exactly as broken as she was, trapped in a spiral of self-destruction of which she couldn’t flee, and Kate feels guilty now for not being able to fix her shattered soul. Because Shannon’s gone and the only thing left Kate has to evoke her is the necklace hanging from the cross of her grave.
The salty breeze makes the necklace swing hypnotically and Kate rapidly gets up when she hears someone’s steps getting closer to the graveyard. She doesn’t spend more than four seconds on hiding in the bushes and she waits, feeling her heart beating strong against her chest just like it used to do before Shannon’s death.
It’s Sayid who appears into her range of vision and she gulps, because she’s not supposed to be there, staring at him the way she does, but she can’t help it. She watches carefully every movement of him: he sits down, he brushes slightly the necklace and, suddenly, he breaks down.
And there’s actually beauty in the breakdown, Kate thinks. She doesn’t need to see anything more (she’s seen and felt enough grief for today), so she glides towards anywhere.
She hasn’t, maybe, the right of mourning, but Sayid has. Because she never told Shannon about her sentiments, so there wasn’t in fact anything between them.
Stupid, stupid Kate. Always with that pathological fear of finding her twin soul, because it’d represent too much compromise, too much generosity for her.