(no subject)
One moment bleeds into the next. The days split into perfect blocks, one after the other. One hundred and eight minutes ticked by, only to begin again. Weeks of this, and Locke no longer remembers where he started. Where he's going. He sleeps. He wakes. He pushes the button. There's help, always, but it's his station. It belongs to no one but him. His destiny, his responsibility. The island... Maybe one day they would belong to each other again.
On a Tuesday, just like any other day, Locke dozed while sitting at the computer, a book cracked open on the table in front of him. He'd forgotten the title. The characters. The plot. He was dreaming. Daydreaming. Nightdreaming, until his forehead knocked against the tabletop and he startled awake with a gasp.
The timer was frozen on 58:34.
He stared for a long time. Waited. Wonders if it was possible for time to move so slow. "No... no," he muttered, pushing to his feet, chair dropping to the ground with a dull thud. John tapped the keys, pressed Execute, but the screen was gone blank. The motors no longer whirred. They'd lost power.
Alone in the cabin he'd built, John stumbled away from the computer, followed the cords over to the harddrive in the corner and ran his hand over cold, dead metal. Then came the panic, wild eyes darting around the empty, dimly lit room, waiting for the world to end. Waiting for the island to implode. Waiting... for nothing.
He took off through the trees, following the tightly bound bundle of cords, and when he broke through the trees, he was more than prepared to find a crater where the Compound had been.
He was wrong.
It stood there peaceful, full of life, and somehow ominous, as it always did. It stood there, people milling in and out. Safe. At the end of the line, the electrical plug lay in the grass, disconnected from the outlet.
Crouching down and curling his hand around the disconnected cords, John Locke looked down at the plug in his hand... and laughed.
[[OOC: Find Locke at the Compound, laughing at a power outlet. He's just figured out that his beloved button does a big damn nothing. Not a GREAT time to meet him, but come right along if you're brave enough.]]
On a Tuesday, just like any other day, Locke dozed while sitting at the computer, a book cracked open on the table in front of him. He'd forgotten the title. The characters. The plot. He was dreaming. Daydreaming. Nightdreaming, until his forehead knocked against the tabletop and he startled awake with a gasp.
The timer was frozen on 58:34.
He stared for a long time. Waited. Wonders if it was possible for time to move so slow. "No... no," he muttered, pushing to his feet, chair dropping to the ground with a dull thud. John tapped the keys, pressed Execute, but the screen was gone blank. The motors no longer whirred. They'd lost power.
Alone in the cabin he'd built, John stumbled away from the computer, followed the cords over to the harddrive in the corner and ran his hand over cold, dead metal. Then came the panic, wild eyes darting around the empty, dimly lit room, waiting for the world to end. Waiting for the island to implode. Waiting... for nothing.
He took off through the trees, following the tightly bound bundle of cords, and when he broke through the trees, he was more than prepared to find a crater where the Compound had been.
He was wrong.
It stood there peaceful, full of life, and somehow ominous, as it always did. It stood there, people milling in and out. Safe. At the end of the line, the electrical plug lay in the grass, disconnected from the outlet.
Crouching down and curling his hand around the disconnected cords, John Locke looked down at the plug in his hand... and laughed.
[[OOC: Find Locke at the Compound, laughing at a power outlet. He's just figured out that his beloved button does a big damn nothing. Not a GREAT time to meet him, but come right along if you're brave enough.]]