(no subject)
He'd failed.
That much was obvious. Over the last month, he'd devoured every reel on the shelves he could. Action films and science fiction. He saw the man named Santiago. The man Mike Pinocchio and Florence feared so deeply. The tyrant wearing his face. Versions of himself, maybe. Futures that would never be fulfilled. Or maybe they had no connection at all.
He almost believed that, almost, until one morning when he pulled a reel from the shelf and read the sticky-tape label -- The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham. He set up the reel, his left leg still tingling as it had for months, and watched another version of a future that might never come to pass. His failure. His death. Charles Widmore as the kind, forthcoming ally, and Ben Linus as the sinister, murderous villain.
A sad, lonely old man with nothing to live for. For a time, that's all he was, nothing more. With death, his sins absolved and his faith restored? A death with a higher, purer purpose. A purpose fulfilled when all six of them got back on that plane. Maybe, but this future was no more real than any of the others.
When it was over, the screen went black, film reel flapping loose, and John Locke got to his feet, hobbled over to the projector and calmly pushed the whole thing over, clattering onto the floor.
[[OOC: This is a canon-puncture of sorts. He's just watched the latest episode, The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham. There's a synopsis of the episode here and your pup can have seen as much as you'd like. It's as good a time to meet him as any, and no, he didn't break the projector. That damn thing's probably indestructible anyway. ST/LT welcome.]]
That much was obvious. Over the last month, he'd devoured every reel on the shelves he could. Action films and science fiction. He saw the man named Santiago. The man Mike Pinocchio and Florence feared so deeply. The tyrant wearing his face. Versions of himself, maybe. Futures that would never be fulfilled. Or maybe they had no connection at all.
He almost believed that, almost, until one morning when he pulled a reel from the shelf and read the sticky-tape label -- The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham. He set up the reel, his left leg still tingling as it had for months, and watched another version of a future that might never come to pass. His failure. His death. Charles Widmore as the kind, forthcoming ally, and Ben Linus as the sinister, murderous villain.
A sad, lonely old man with nothing to live for. For a time, that's all he was, nothing more. With death, his sins absolved and his faith restored? A death with a higher, purer purpose. A purpose fulfilled when all six of them got back on that plane. Maybe, but this future was no more real than any of the others.
When it was over, the screen went black, film reel flapping loose, and John Locke got to his feet, hobbled over to the projector and calmly pushed the whole thing over, clattering onto the floor.
[[OOC: This is a canon-puncture of sorts. He's just watched the latest episode, The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham. There's a synopsis of the episode here and your pup can have seen as much as you'd like. It's as good a time to meet him as any, and no, he didn't break the projector. That damn thing's probably indestructible anyway. ST/LT welcome.]]