TM # 268 . . . The End
The End
“The end,” the woman unlaced her short but elegant fingers and stood up from beside the child’s mattress.
“That’s it?” the curly haired boy peeped up from under his blanket. The woman’s naturally stern lips turned into a brief smile as she crouched down and tenderly touched him on the head.
“My little Sayid, everything comes to an end.” Retracting her hand gently, she stood once more and headed for the door. The young boy’s voice stopped her in her tracks once more.
“I didn’t like the ending,” he murmured, his quiet voice muffled by the blanket drawn up over his lips. Considering the size of his eyes and his small shoulders drawn up to his ears it had taken all of his courage to voice himself. She turned from her halted position and smiled at her wide-eyed son.
"My little Sayid," her reply was heartfelt and quiet as not to wake any others, "not everything ends the way we would like. Imagine a different ending." She drew the curtains back leaving the room in complete darkness. In the distance a brief disquiet of gunfire erupted. The young boy drew up but had nowhere to look. There were no windows in the room- the only light came from the interior of the house and was subdued by the curtain. The cotton barrier was thick, but not thick enough to eliminate the hurried voices of his parents. His father's was harsh and raised as usual, his mother's pleading but not nearly as effective. The gunfire picked up, louder this time, along with strange voices.
There was a piercing high-note followed by the scream of both his parents. His mother was terrified. His father was a mix of violent fury and a new kind of fear that made the fine hair on the boy's neck stand on end.
Panicked, Sayid shot up in his bed shouting out loud. He looked around hurriedly, hand immediately wandering to the gun underneath a pillow. This was not Iraq. This was not the island. A few course breaths escaped him as he got his bearings. He was on the couch of a hotel room.
A hotel room. With Hurley. He had been protecting Hurley.
"Uh, dude? You okay?" a voice from the bedroom caught his attention. Hurley was poking his head out of the doorway looking perplexed.
"I'm fine," Sayid managed to breathe out as if he were happy to hear himself say it. He looked away to replace the gun and hoped the other didn't notice the sweat on his brow or any further anxiety.
"Didn't sound okay," Hurley ventured but didn't sound like he was going to pursue it any further. "Maybe you shouldn't sleep on the couch. I mean...there's two beds in here and all. I don't snore that loud."
"I'm," Sayid repeated with a certain firmness that insisted he wanted to be left alone. "All the possible entrances to this suite are to my front. I'm keeping watch." He refrained from rubbing his eyes and chose to instead give Hurley a firm look. "Try to go back to sleep."
"Whatever, man," Hurley frowned and headed back towards the bed. Sayid could hear him muttering something to himself about someone (assuming it was him) being worse than his "abuela". Once he was alone Sayid sat back on the couch half watching the door, half wondering what had conjured up the mental image.from his childhood that had never happened.
The long day was at its end. He needed rest, but not when endings even haunted his sleep.
“The end,” the woman unlaced her short but elegant fingers and stood up from beside the child’s mattress.
“That’s it?” the curly haired boy peeped up from under his blanket. The woman’s naturally stern lips turned into a brief smile as she crouched down and tenderly touched him on the head.
“My little Sayid, everything comes to an end.” Retracting her hand gently, she stood once more and headed for the door. The young boy’s voice stopped her in her tracks once more.
“I didn’t like the ending,” he murmured, his quiet voice muffled by the blanket drawn up over his lips. Considering the size of his eyes and his small shoulders drawn up to his ears it had taken all of his courage to voice himself. She turned from her halted position and smiled at her wide-eyed son.
"My little Sayid," her reply was heartfelt and quiet as not to wake any others, "not everything ends the way we would like. Imagine a different ending." She drew the curtains back leaving the room in complete darkness. In the distance a brief disquiet of gunfire erupted. The young boy drew up but had nowhere to look. There were no windows in the room- the only light came from the interior of the house and was subdued by the curtain. The cotton barrier was thick, but not thick enough to eliminate the hurried voices of his parents. His father's was harsh and raised as usual, his mother's pleading but not nearly as effective. The gunfire picked up, louder this time, along with strange voices.
There was a piercing high-note followed by the scream of both his parents. His mother was terrified. His father was a mix of violent fury and a new kind of fear that made the fine hair on the boy's neck stand on end.
Panicked, Sayid shot up in his bed shouting out loud. He looked around hurriedly, hand immediately wandering to the gun underneath a pillow. This was not Iraq. This was not the island. A few course breaths escaped him as he got his bearings. He was on the couch of a hotel room.
A hotel room. With Hurley. He had been protecting Hurley.
"Uh, dude? You okay?" a voice from the bedroom caught his attention. Hurley was poking his head out of the doorway looking perplexed.
"I'm fine," Sayid managed to breathe out as if he were happy to hear himself say it. He looked away to replace the gun and hoped the other didn't notice the sweat on his brow or any further anxiety.
"Didn't sound okay," Hurley ventured but didn't sound like he was going to pursue it any further. "Maybe you shouldn't sleep on the couch. I mean...there's two beds in here and all. I don't snore that loud."
"I'm," Sayid repeated with a certain firmness that insisted he wanted to be left alone. "All the possible entrances to this suite are to my front. I'm keeping watch." He refrained from rubbing his eyes and chose to instead give Hurley a firm look. "Try to go back to sleep."
"Whatever, man," Hurley frowned and headed back towards the bed. Sayid could hear him muttering something to himself about someone (assuming it was him) being worse than his "abuela". Once he was alone Sayid sat back on the couch half watching the door, half wondering what had conjured up the mental image.from his childhood that had never happened.
The long day was at its end. He needed rest, but not when endings even haunted his sleep.