Oh come on! Me!? Pshhhh! You guys didn't have to be scared of my Mod powers, you could have voted how you REALLY wanted to!
Thanks! *MANDANGOES!* to all!
*the crowd goes wild*
Voting was BETTER this week...but we still need MORE! MORE! MORE!
I now have gained the seat of honor in the hot tub on the LB!
and now the explanation and rules!
"So, it's Friday Fic, but you're posting on Wednesday?"
Well, "Wednesday Fic" doesn't sound as cool as "Friday Fic," also, we'll vote on the best starting on Friday.
So basic rules are:
1. You cannont start the story until the challenge is announced. (we cannot really enforce this rule, but since the challenges will be specific....it will be hard to have something prepped alrady.
2. post by friday NOON California time (that's 3 eastern). Basically you get ALL of Thursday (24 hours) with a bit of a grace period.
3. on Friday I will I will reopen the voting in the comment thread.
4. stories must comply with rules of this site, no cussing or overly explicit sex or anything, use common sense!
5. this thread is for posting the stories ONLY. Comments to go in the comment thread!.
6. keep in mind that the writers cannot legally read fanfic, so please don't go promoting this thread in the VIP lounge.
7. these are YOUR stories...you don't have to impress us with how much cannon you know or try to guess what will ACTUALLY happen . . . make it your OWN.
8. Please title your stories either at the top of the entry or prefferably in the subject line so when we start voting it's easier to vote.
now for the CHALLENGE:
Write an short fic (like i dont' care how long..it can be 100 words for all i care) centered around everyone's favorite wacky kid: Walt!
difficulty level - someone must say, "Jimminy Cricket that stung!" and....polar bear in a tutu.....don't ask, don't think, just let the words inspire you...polar bear in a tutu....
All right, my story is ready. Hope you like it, it's called:
Lock
"Walt."
He stirred slightly in his sleep.
"Hey. Walt. Walt. Wake up, Walt."
Walt stirred again, as the threads of his consciousness rose from their slumbering depths. It sounded like Mr. Locke. He opened one eye and saw Vincent standing beside him, staring down at him. He opened his other eye and glanced from side to side, searching for the source of the voice that had awoken him.
"Mr. Locke?" Walt sat up and looked around, but Mr. Locke was nowhere to be seen.
"Follow me," said the voice again.
It came from Vincent.
Walt's mouth fell open as he stared at his dog. "Get up, Walt," said Vincent, his mouth moving as if voicing the words. But the voice itself, including the intonations, clearly belonged to Mr. Locke.
Walt rubbed his eyes. "Mr. L-- Vincent? What... "
"Come on, Walt," said Vincent. "I have something I want to show you."
"I'm dreaming," said Walt. "You're a figment of my dream."
"Perhaps I am," answered Locke's voice. "But you need to follow me, Walt. There's something you need to see."
Walt slowly rose to his feet. He felt very sleepy and a little stiff. This didn't feel like a dream. "So what are you?" asked Walt. "Are you my dog? Are you Mr. Locke?"
Vincent smiled back a very thin smile that was very reminiscent of Mr. Locke and in no way reminiscent of a Labrador Retriever. "Think of me as your spirit guide, Walt. Come on, let's go."
Vincent trotted up the beach towards the jungle. Hesitant, Walt followed. A full moon glowed brightly on this strange night. It was well past twilight, yet Walt could see as clearly as if the sun had only just set. Vincent disappeared ahead of him into the thick foliage marking the jungle entrance. Walt continued to follow closely behind, parting the branches barring his way as he went.
"Now pay close attention to our path," said the self-appointed spirit guide. "You'll need to be able to find your way back later."
"Uh huh," said Walt. "I MUST be dreaming."
"But how can you be sure?" Vincent asked as he gracefully traversed the steep slope ahead.
"Because my dog doesn't sound like Mr. Locke," said Walt, wondering why he even bothered to state the incredibly obvious. He grabbed at several branches and awkwardly scrambled up the slope behind Vincent. "And if I see any more weird stuff, I'll KNOW I'm dreaming."
Vincent turned and stared back at him. "You mean like a polar bear in a pink tutu?" the spectral dog asked, then grinned a grin that made a shiver run up Walt's spine.
They continued to hike deeper into the jungle for nearly a mile together, neither speaking, until finally Locke's voice broke through the brooding silence.
"Have you ever read The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer, Walt?" the strange guide inquired.
"N--no."
"You should," said Vincent. "It's a fantastic book, with plenty of fuel for a young boy's imagination. It's about the adventures of two young boys. Tom Sawyer and his good friend Huck Finn. They search for treasure together, hidden deep within an underground cave by robbers."
"Yeah?" asked Walt. The shock of his dog speaking like Mr. Locke was beginning to wear off. It was being replaced by curiosity.
"Yeah. Earlier in the story, Tom and his sweetheart Becky are sealed inside the cave, destined to die there. But Tom finds a way out. A way out that nobody else has ever discovered. He knows it's the only way out, and the only way back in. He also knows there's an amazing treasure hidden inside the caves. So he tells his friend Huck about it, and they return to the entrance that Tom has discovered. Tom says to Huck, 'Now Huck, from where we're standing you could reach out and touch that hole I got out of with a fishing pole. See if you can find it.'" Vincent suddenly stopped walking and gave Walt a steely gaze.
"Did he find it?" Walt asked.
Vincent smiled at Walt just as Mr. Locke had many times while telling him stories. "No, not at first. It wasn't until Tom told Huck that the hole was hidden under a thick sumac bush that he finally discovered it." Vincent sat and looked up at Walt expectantly, not moving from his spot. Walt noticed that they had stopped in a small grassy clearing. The nearest foliage was a large bramble shrub.
Understanding dawned on Walt, and he slowly walked towards the large bramble. He reached out and grabbed a prickly shrub branch to push it aside. "Ouch!" cried out Walt, letting go of the shrub and shaking his hand. "Jimminy Cricket that stung!" He sucked on his finger for a moment, then got down on his hands and knees to examine the ground beneath the shrub. He squinted, trying hard to see through the shadowy twilight that the moonlight failed to penetrate.
"I see it!" exclaimed Walt. There's a small hole in the ground. A very small hole... why, I can't fit down there!" he looked back up at his guide.
"Yes you can, Walt. In fact, you're the only person on this island small enough to fit down that hole. It's surrounded on all sides by solid rock, there's no way to excavate it. No, you're the only one who can get in."
"No way!" exclaimed Walt. "I'm not going down there. It's dark, I won't be able to see anything. And I'm afraid of the dark."
Vincent nodded. "I don't expect you to go down there right now, Walt. I'm just showing you the entrance. It's up to you to come back later with candles, when you know you're not dreaming." He turned and trotted away.
"Wait!" cried out Walt. "Where will I find candles?"
Vincent turned and looked back at him. "Try John Locke," he answered, then vanished silently into the jungle.
"But what's down there?" Walt asked. "What's down there?"
Eight days later, Walt found himself crawling through the narrow rocky underground passageway. Candle in hand, he wormed his way deeper, somehow finding strength and courage he didn't know he had possessed before, fighting to overcome his fear in this dark and scary place. Bruised, scratched and bleeding, he forged ahead.
He had suddenly awoke from his previous jungle hike in the same place where the mysterious apparition had first awoken him. Clearly, it had all been a crazy dream... but it had seemed so VIVID! And why did he still sense the prickly stinging sensation of the bramble shrub in his thumb?
A couple of days later, Walt slipped away during midday while his father was constructing the raft. His father was much too busy to notice his son's absence, as long as Walt wasn''t gone too long. He snuck away from the beach with Vincent and attempted to retrace the route of his dream, but he quickly became disoriented and confused. He had nearly given up and decided it was a crazy idea when he noticed a familiar rock that he remembered from the dream. Yes, he has passed this rock... he had BEEN HERE. He removed a large piece of cloth from his pocket and ripped off a strip. He tied it around a nearby tree, then traced his way back to the camp on the beach, periodically marking the path.
He continued to worm his way deeper into the ground. Suddenly, the passageway beneath him began to widen very quickly. Too quickly. Walt lost his footing and felt himself slip and begin to fall. His body scraped over the sharp rocks as he slipped rapidly and dropped into the large cavern below.
Three more expeditions into the jungle with Vincent had followed the first, allowing Walt to discover other familiar markers and make it closer to his ultimate goal. Would he find that large bramble shrub? Would there be a small hole in the ground beneath it? It defied all logic to believe such a thing, but somehow Walt KNEW he would find it.
And find it he did.
Now the path was clearly marked. There was only one trip left to make, and Walt would need supplies for this final trip. He paid a visit to Mr. Locke and asked if he had any candles. In response to his question, Mr. Locke handed Walt a small bundle of them, each one hand-crafted by Mr. Locke himself. He gave Walt a warm and at the same time unsettling smile. It was very strange. It was almost as if Mr. Locke had been expecting Walt's visit all along.
Walt rolled over and coughed. He lay on his side in the dark cavern, the only light coming from the candle that flickered wildly from where it had fallen next to him. It was about to go out.
Walt reached out for it quickly and gingerly turned it back upright. Without light, he'd never find his way out again, and this would forever be his tomb. Reaching into his pack, he withdrew a couple more candles and lit them off of the end of the one he had just saved. He pressed one candle hard against the ground, squishing the soft wax into a base shape that the candle could balance upright on. He stood up and walked a few steps. He was surprised to realize that the ground he now stood on was almost perfectly level.
He lit more candles and distributed them around the floor of the cavern. He could now see most of the interior around him. He could also see the hole up above him through which he had dropped. It was too far up; there was no way for Walt to climb back out. I'm trapped, thought Walt. I may die down here.
The others would be able to track him to the hole under the bramble shrub. He had left a note attached to Vincent's collar for the adults. If he didn't make it back, Vincent would return to the beach with the note, and they would find Walt's path markers. But what then? Who would they send in to the narrow hole to save him?
Hurley, thought Walt, but the joke didn't cheer him up much.
Why had he come here?
What was down here?
Why?
In the far corner something caught Walt's eye. Candle in hand, he walked over to investigate. Something was protruding from the rock wall of the cavern.
It was metal. Old, rusty metal. It looked like a piece of machinery.
Pipes, knobs, and gears jutted forth from the rock wall. A large lever protruded from the center of the mysterious device. Walt flipped the lever.
Nothing happened.
A small glass cube sitting atop the machine reflected Walt's candlelight. It was about two inches deep on each side. He picked it up and looked at it closely. Inside the glass, Walt could see a complex configuration of electronics. Connected to the electronic web within the cube, two brass conductors protruded from the cube - one on each side. Walt turned the cube slowly in his hand and studied it from all sides. On one side, etched into the glass, was a number. The number 49.
Walt carefully searched the area surrounding the machine and found dozens of these glass cubes scattered within the vicinity. He gathered them together and studied each of them carefully. There were about 50 of them total. It was obvious that each cube had its own unique electronic configuration.
Each cube also had its own number.
Walt inventoried all of the numbered cubes. He stacked them up, counting one through fifty. Only one number was missing from Walt's collection of cubes. The number 42. Walt searched some more, trying to find the missing cube. He looked more closely at the machinery and noticed a panel next to the large lever that he hadn't noticed before, with a small handle on it.
Walt turned the handle and pulled back. Putting all of his weight into it, the old rusty panel finally gave way as the hinges groaned and squealed. The cover of the panel swung outward, revealing six slots inside. Each slot was two inches square. The first five slots were empty. The sixth slot already contained a numbered glass cube.
Here it is, the next part of my story! And this time, I am putting in the final draft instead of the rough draft!!
a small lesson learned
Walt looked over at Sayid. He was still sitting by Shannon who hadn’t said anything since she’d been hit by a tree. In fact, he didn’t think she had woken up yet.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked Michael.
“I don’t know. Jack is going to go take a look at her in a few minutes though when he gets done bandaging up the people who are bleeding.”
Walt wandered over to where Sayid and Shannon were. She looked very pale and tired, although she was already sleeping from the look of it. Sayid just looked up at Walt with kind of a sad smile.
“Can you go find Jack for me and see how much longer he is going to be?” Sayid asked Walt rather absent-mindedly, like he had been asking everyone to do it.
Walt nodded and went in search of Jack. He liked helping the other survivors. It made him feel a little better. He got so lonely being the only young person there. And he was tired of everyone assuming that because he was a kid that he couldn’t help. There were lots of things he could do. They just didn’t know it yet. Not even Michael.*
“Michael, time to come inside.” He heard his mother yell.* “Dinner’s ready!”
He looked around. He didn’t want to go inside. His friends were all looking at him. They didn’t have to go home. Why did his mother insist on calling him in? She yelled for him again and so he ran into the house.
“Why, mom? Can’t we keep playing outside? I am not even hungry.”
“Too bad. Sit down and eat.”
He sat at the table and began to angrily munch on his potatoes. Just then, squealing of wheels and a horrible crunch loudly interrupted their dinner. He and his mom ran to the window overlooking the street where he had just been playing.* He saw one of his friends lying in the street not moving. His mom quickly moved him away so he couldn’t see.
Walt saw Jack ahead of him, wrapping someone’s arm in a sling. He wasn’t sure what her name was, but he was pretty sure that she was the one he saw writing in her journal practically every day, even more than Claire did before she was taken.
“Jack, Sayid wants to know how much longer you’ll be.”
Jack looked at Walt. He looked so tired. “This is the last bandage I have to do, then I will be there.”
“Is Shannon gonna be alright?” Walt asked quietly.
“I don’t know.”* Jack looked closer at Walt. “Does that hurt?” He asked, pointing at Walt’s arm.
Walt looked down. His arm was bleeding quite a bit. He hadn’t even noticed it. “Nope. It must have happened when I was moving some of the branches.”
Jack finished wrapping up the girl’s arm and she walked away, probably to go get her journal. He went over to Walt. “I am gonna put this stuff on your arm to disinfect it, ok? It might hurt a little.”
“I don’t need it. It really doesn’t hurt at all.” He had barely got the words out of his mouth when Jack poured some liquid on a piece of cloth and touched it to Walt’s arm. “Jiminy Cricket that stung!"
“I told you it might.” Jack smiled at him.
Walt liked Jack. He was always really nice and didn’t treat him like the rest of the survivors did. Actually, like the rest of the world did. His thoughts wandered back to the car accident when his friend had been hit. His mom wouldn’t let him go to the funeral. Instead, she packed him and his stepfather up and moved them away from that place. No explanations or anything. She just said that they needed a change of scenery. But he had overheard her once talking to his stepfather. She had said that strange things happened sometimes around Walt. And he was confused about that. He didn’t know what she meant then. And he still really didn’t know now.
He and Jack slowly walked back to Shannon. Jack looked down at Walt. “Are you okay, Walt?”
“Are we ever gonna get off this place and back home? I don’t like this place.”
“Are you scared?”
Walt nodded. “I am scared that the polar bear is going to come back.”
“Well,” Jack smiled down at him, “let me let you in on a little secret of mine. I get scared too. And when I do, I try to make the scary thing less scary. What would make the polar bear less scary to you?”
Walt thought for a minute. Just as they were reaching Shannon, he looked at Jack. “The polar bear wouldn’t be scary if it was part of a TV show and it had to wear a ballet outfit or a clown suit.”
Jack smiled. “Yes. A polar bear in a tutu couldn’t hurt you, could it?” He smiled at Walt.
Walt walked away, feeling a little less scared.
"You just have to hold it tighter Walt. You're not trying. Put a little effort into it."
Michael's words were harsher than usual, or maybe this was usual. When he thought about it, Walt realized he really didn't know what usual was for Michael. This guy may be his father, but he was still just as much a stranger as anyone else on the island. Even moreso than some. Walt wondered if he would ever be completely comfortable around this man. He wanted his mother. He wanted ...
***A seven year old Walt examined the lines in his palm as if they were a treasure map as he sat in the school office waiting for his mother to arrive. He hoped she wouldn't be angry, but he was afraid she would. She didn't like fighting. He had heard her say so lots of times. And now here he sat, in trouble for fighting on the playground. She would probably be angry and when Brian found out, he would probably get that wierd look on his face and go to his room for the whole night. Brian was always doing that. Whenever Walt did anything bad, Brian would always go to his room and shut the door. Then his mother would end up going after him and they would spend half the night in there talking in whispers.
Susan spoke briefly to the principle when she arrived. She seemed visibly relieved to hear that no one was injured in the scuffle. 'It was just a spitball.', Walt thought. 'How in the world could anyone have gotten injured from a spitball?' Bobby Donovan screamed, "Jiminey Cricket! ... that stung!". Then he came flying off the swing, running straight toward Walt, when he suddenly tripped over something and fell. Bobby yelled that Walt had spit a pumpkin seed at him and then pushed him, but it wasn't true. Walt had blown the spitball that hit Bobby, but he hadn't really been aiming at him, and Bobby hadn't gotten close enough for Walt to have tripped him. And now Walt had a new enemy. all this trouble over a stupid wad of chewed up paper.
"I didn't mean ...", Walt began pleadingly when his mother's attention finaly turned from the principle to him. Susan silenced him with a quick finger to her lips and a slight squeeze of his little hand.
They walked quickly and quietly through the big double doors at the front of the school and across the small yard to their car. They lived very close. The trip took less than five minutes, but it seemed like hours to Walt. 'She's really mad.', Walt thought. 'No talking at all.'
When they got home. susan sat on the couch, sat Walt in her lap, hugged him tight and held him there. "Now tell me what happened, Pumpkin.", she said in a comforting low voice.
She didn't seem angry at all ! And she called him Pumpkin ! Wow, she hadn't held him tight and called him that in a long time. She only did that when he was sick or hurt and she was trying to make him feel better, and he wasn't sick or hurt now, but it sure was nice. Walt loved being comforted by his mother. It happened so seldom these days. In fact, that's exactly what Walt had been absent mindedly thinking about when the mess on the playground started ... but he didn't tell her that.
Walt told his mother what happened as she cradled him and slowly rocked back and forth on the couch. He explained that he would never have done anything to Bobby Donovan on purpose because Bobby was so much bigger than him and he was a little afraid of Bobby.
When Susan finaly spoke, she didn't say anything about the actual incident at all. She talked about fear and being afraid of people. "I'll teach you a trick.", she said. "Whenever you are around someone you are afraid of, close your eyes for just a second and picture them, in your mind, in a polka dotted tutu. Then they won't be scary anymore."
They both laughed and then just sat there on the couch for a long time. 'It was worth getting in trouble at school.', Walt thought.***
"AARGGHHH !", Michael screamed as the mast fell again. "Forget it! Go back to the caves! I'll do it myself ! I'll find someone else!"
"I'll try to try harder.", Walt sputtered. "My foot slipped !"
"Never mind. Just go on. I'll be up later." Michael looked completely disgusted as he turned and walked away toward the ocean. Walt watched him for a few seconds, trying to think of something to say that would make a difference, but he couldn't. He didn't think anything could make a difference. Michael got so angry so fast sometimes. Walt closed his eyes for just a second. Just long enough to picture his dad in a bright orange polka dotted tutu. He opened his eyes, glanced once more toward Michael, laughed and headed into the jungle.
Michael was on his tiptoes doing a pirouette in Walt's imagination when Walt saw Locke sitting cross legged in the grass. "Hey, Mr. Locke!* Are you busy? Can we do some target practice?"
"Never too busy for a friend.", Locke responded as he stood up. "Has your Father changed his mind about you learning to throw?"
"Not exactly.", Walt confessed. "But he's at the beach with the raft right now. I don't think he'll be up this way for a while yet."
Locke considered the child. What if his suspicions about this boy were true? He would be an invaluable asset, and not one who you would want to offend. 'I need him.', Locke thought. That was the deciding factor.
Locke smiled and extended a hand to Walt. "Come on. Let's find a tree with two good targets." And off they walked. Away from the path and hopefully any unexpected interuptions from Michael. "So what is it you were laughing about when you ran into me?"
An hour or so later they were startled by a womans ear splitting screams coming from the direction of the beach. Quick as a flash, Locke snatched the two knives from the tree, grabbed Walts hand and they took off at a run toward the screams.
When they reached the edge of the jungle they stopped.
"Stay here until I call you.", Locke instructed Walt. Walt was too afraid argue, but then ...
A man was laughing ... and laughing hard. The screaming had died down, but there was still a commotion on the beach, just out of sight. Locke turned and he and Walt both looked up to see Sawyer wiping tears from his eyes as he laughed.
"I knew Sticks would be the first one to crack!", Sawyer exclaimed and disolved into a giggle fit.
Locke grabbed Sawyer's arm. "Who? What are you talking about? What's happened?"
Sawyer caught his breath, looked down at Locke's hand on his arm, then looked Locke straight in the eye. "Shannon. She's gone insane." He looked down and up again. "Do you mind?" Locke released his arm.
"She's gone insane?" Locke quizzed. "How so?"
"She came flying out of the jungle a few minutes ago screaming she was being chased."
"And that makes her crazy?"
"In my book? Yeah." Sawyer took a couple of steps, then turned back. "Being chased is one thing, but Mohammed's little princess insists she was being chased by a polar bear ... in a tutu. If that don't qualify as crazy, I don't know what does."
Sawyer walked off down the beach. Walt just stood there staring in the direction of the commotion.
Walt didn't notice that Locke's full attention was focused on him.
It wasn't fair, Walt thought.* He was bored. And tired of working on a raft he
didn't want to build. To replace the one HE set on fire.* He didn't want to
leave the island. Only Mr.Locke knew this and of what he had done.* HE trusted
Mr. Locke.* And, he supposed he trusted his dad. But, he couldn't tell him that
he wanted to stay.* His dad, Michael, was SO SET on getting them off the
island.* And Walt was trying to be obedient and helpful.* But he was so bored.*
He threw the stick that he was carrying, and Vincent chased after it, retrieved
it, and brought it back to Walt.* The boy patted the dog on the head and
smiled. He was glad he had the dog atleast.* Since there were no other kids to
play with.*
"Dad? I'm gonna walk back to the caves to get some water and some fruit, ok?"
Michael stopped chopping the bamboo shoots he was working on. Sweat poured down
his cheeks - his shirt was soaked.* Jin, their Korean friend, was sitting
closer to the water, braiding kelp and seaweed into ropes. Michael looked from
Jin to the raft to Walt.
"Ok, son, but DIRECTLY to the cave and back.* And, take Vincent.* Would you
bring some water for me and him?" he asked as he nodded in Jin's direction.
"Sure,dad!" Walt said as he was already running towards the jungle. "Be right
back! C'mon Vincent," he said as he ran up the path.*
About halfway to the caves, Walt stopped running.* He and Vincent were
strolling along, and like kids do, he became preoccupied with nothing.* He
dragged his stick along in the dirt, making a long thin channel up the path as
he went.* This ended when he found a piece of coconut shell to kick, like he
used to do with trash on the street back home.* Walt wove from side to side,
kicking the shell.* He kicked it too hard, and it sailed off the path.* He
walked into the thick to grab it.* Suddenly, Vincent's ears went up, and he
uttered a small whimper, as to alert Walt to some sort of presence.* Walt
noticed the whimper, and peered around.* The trees were still. He listened.* He
didn't hear anything strange.* He looked down, spotted the piece of shell, and
picked it up.* For no reason at all, he threw it, as hard as he could, into the
jungle.* He was just about to turn and head back to the path when he heard a
voice and stopped dead still.
"OW!"
Walt started to run.* He made about 4 steps when something grabbed his arm.
Firmly.* Walt screamed.* Vincent barked.
"Now, hold on a sec, Tattoo. Don't freak out."
It was Sawyer.* He was rubbing his cheek, which had a large red welt forming on
it.* "Jiminy Cricket, that stung! What were you trying to do - take my eye
out?"
Walt realized that he must have hit Sawyer with the piece of coconut shell when
he threw it.* He was relieved it was Sawyer who had his arm, and not the
monster.* Or those people who took Claire.
"Well? Aren't you gonna say anything? Like 'Sorry' or something?" Sawyer asked,
a bit irritated. "And what are you doing out here alone for anyway? You runoff
from your dad again?"
Walt pulled his arm from Sawyer's grip and rubbed it.* He had been holding on
kind of tight.* "Sorry.* I was just throwing that shell to throw it.* Didn't
know you were out there. And yes, my dad knows where I am.* I am going to get
water at the cave to take to them out at the raft." He remembered that Sawyer
was supposed to be helping with the raft too, but had not been working too
hard. "SO, what are YOU doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be helping my
dad with the raft?"
"Well, smallfry, for your information, I was headed that way when someone
pelted me in the face with a flying coconut," he smirked at Walt."But I think
maybe now I should head back to the caves with you and make sure you get that
water and back to your dad safely."
"I can handle it.* And, I have Vincent.* I don't need you." Walt walked up the
path, with Vincent at his heels.
"Well, just in case..." Sawyer said, as he followed the boy.
"How are you gonna save me? And nothing is gonna happen to me. Ethan is dead,
and I'm not afraid of the animals." Walt sounded tough, but he knew how scared
he had been when the polar bear had trapped him in the trees.* Having Sawyer
with him wasn't a bad idea, but he wouldn't let HIM know that.
"Well, like I said, just in case...ya never know 'round here. Might get jumped
by a polar bear in a tutu any minute."
Walt turned to Sawyer and grinned.* That was funny.* He imagined a polar bear
in a tutu in his mind, dancing and twirling to one of those classical songs you
hear in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.* Sawyer saw the smile and he ruffled the top of
Walt's head.* The two walked up the path, with Vincent in the lead.* They took
turns kicking a rock back and forth up the path, in the same fashion as Walt
had the shell.* Suddenly, Vincent stopped.* Dead still.* Sawyer and Walt froze.
Vincent began to bark, and the trees began to rustle, and both the man and the
boy had seen this before. Something was coming.*
"Run, boy, RUN!" Sawyer screamed, as they turned around and ran back the path
to the beach.* Walt kept yelling for Vincent, but the dog was still bringing up
the rear, barking at whatever was chasing them.* Walt turned to look for his
dog. And stopped running.* Sawyer, realizing he was running alone, stopped and
turned.*
Standing in the path, not 30 feet behind them, was a polar bear in a tutu.
"All this happened, more or less." -- Kurt Vonnegut
"As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot. " --John Lennon
"Without deviation progress is not possible." --Frank Zappa
"He who laughs most, learns best." --John Cleese
"Here lies David St. Hubbins... and why not?" -- D.St.H.
He hated this place. It reeked of cleaner. Not the lemony or flower scented kind that Alicia used at their house, but one with a strong, sharp, and unpleasant smell. Everything seemed cold too. It wasn’t just the air conditioner either. The walls and furniture added to the feeling. Someone painted all the walls white, a bland impersonal kind of white, probably the most cold kind of white available. Boring blue patterned seats sat on dull chrome chair legs, and the tables were topped with a grayish shaded material that was like the table’s he’d seen at Denny’s. The room he sat in had carpet, grayish blue, of course, but white and pale blue speckled tile ran in random patterns down the rest of the hallways. Walt figured that the person who was supposed to make the place calming and comforting failed big time.
He shifted in the uncomfortable seat, trying to find a better position. He wished Vincent was with him, but his dad had said that they didn’t let dogs in hospitals. He supposed his father was right, but things would seem better with Vincent around. At least the dog would try and comfort him. For the last hour, Brian had just paced and kept casting Walt strange looks. Actually his dad had disappeared 10 minutes ago leaving him sitting in the cold, stinky, boring, ugly waiting room all by himself. He wanted his mom.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Walt spun to see Brian finally returning. The man shuffled to him carrying a couple of books, a soda, and a coffee.
“Um, How are you doing?” Brian asked hesitantly.
Walt ignored the question and shot out one of his own. “Can we see Mom Yet?”
“No. The doctors aren’t done yet.” his dad answered, his gaze drifting down the hall.
“When can we see her?” Walt tried again.
“I don’t know, Walt.” The man set the soda and books on one of the little tables. “Here. I thought you might want a cola, and I found these books.”
Walt flicked at the thin picture books with his fingers.
“Bernie goes to the Circus?” He asked incredulously, picking up one with an illustration of a cartoon kid dressed as a ringmaster in the center ring with a bear in a tutu. “These are baby books.”
“They were the only kid books I could find.” Brian defended. “It’s not like they have a huge library here.”
Walt huffed, and grumpily flipped through the pages. He could feel his anger building. This place sucked. He wanted to be home. He wanted to see his mom. He wanted his dad to stop treating him like a stupid baby.
“ ‘Jiminy Cricket! That stung!’ ? Nobody talks like that!” He groused, tossing the kids book hard across the little table. “This is stupid! Where’s mom?”
Brian let out a frustrated sigh.
“I don’t know anything yet Walt.” He grated out. “So stop making a scene. I won’t know anything until the doctor comes out.”
As if on cue, a doctor appeared in the waiting room with a clipboard.
“Mr. Porter?” He called out. “Mr. Brian Porter.”
Both Walt and Brian shot to their feet.
“I’m Brian Porter.” His father answered making his way to the doctor with Walt at his heels.
“I have some news on your wife, Mr. Porter….” The doctor paused looking down at the boy.
Brian’s eyes followed and silently picked up what the doctor was conveying.
“What?” Walt asked puzzled.
“Walt, go sit down. I need to talk to the doctor.” Brian told him flatly.
“But I want to know what’s going on.”
“Walt, let me talk to the doctor. This is adult stuff.”
“I’m not a baby! I want to know too!”
“WALT!” Brian shouted. “Sit. Down. Now.”
Walt could feel his face harden. He shot a glance at the nervous doctor, and then his adamant and angry father. He felt a growl escape his throat as he turned, stomped back to his seat, and threw himself down.
He had every right to know. He wasn’t a baby and was sick of everyone treating him like one. He craned his neck around to see what was going on between his father and the doctor. They whispered so he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the physician had one of those looks on his face. The kind of look Walt had seen on his mom’s favorite TV show, ER. He felt butterflies popping to life in his stomach. He twisted around in the chair, sitting in it backwards on his knees leaning over the back for a better look. His father’s head started to droop. He shook it sadly. The butterflies grew to full-sized hawks flapping frantically.
“Where’s Mom?” It took him a moment to realize he had whispered the question.
Walt slowly moved from the chair, his eyes never leaving the doctor and his father. A combination of anger and panic pressed up from his stomach into his chest.
“Where’s Mom?” he asked more clearly.
Brian’s head swiveled in his direction.
“Walt.” He said firmly. “I thought I told you to sit down.”
Walt barely heard him and didn’t really care either.
“Where is Mom?!” He said more loudly as he approached.
“Walt!” Brian tried again. “I am talking to the doctor about your mom, okay. You need to sit down and I will talk to you about it in a minute.”
“NO!” Walt shouted.
Somewhere a glass vase got knocked from a counter and shattered on the floor.
“I WANT TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!” He continued, his rage building.
A book a woman in the waiting room was reading got knocked from her hand and thudded loudly on the floor.
“WHERE. IS. MY. MOM.”
A gurney skidded down the hall and rammed into the vending machine with a loud crash.
Everyone jumped at the sound. A flustered looking orderly ran to the gurney, flashing everyone apologetic looks.
“Sorry Everyone!” He mumbled embarrassed, “I though I put the brakes on this stupid thing.”
The interruption seemed to drain away some of Walt fury. He took two deep breaths and kept his eyes locked on his father.
Brian’s head snapped from the scene to Walt. He looked almost scared.
“I want to know. I want to see mom.” Walt pleaded this time, his voice lowered.
Brian stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide. Finally he shook himself from his stupor.
“Um…Okay.” He stammered, running his fingers through his hair. “Let’s...uh…see if the doctor will let us see your mom. Okay? Then he can tell us what is going on.”
For the first time that evening, Walt felt relieved.
That night he learned his mother had a mysterious life threatening disease. Ten miles away Alicia felt shivers down her spine as a lone golden dog howled sorrowfully into the night air.
The scene opens to Walt and Hurley paying backgammon on the beach.
Walt is holding the cup and shaking it while saying” C’mon baby, Walt needs a new 58 inch plasma TV with surround sound for his room”. He rolls a 6 and a 1, which was just what he needed to win the game.
“Jimminy cricket, that stung! Dude, you are gonna have to clue me in on your secret sooner or later” Hurley pleaded.
Walt looked up at Hurley with a big smile. “Like I told you before, I am just lucky! The luckiest kid in the world.”
The thing was, Walt knew it wasn’t luck. Somehow he was willing the dice to come up like he wanted. He had a way of making things happen. At first it was somewhat random, like with the bird. He didn’t even realize at the time that he made that happen but now as he looked back he realized a lot of things happened when he got angry or scared. He didn’t really want to think about it now.
He took out his little notepad that he kept track of his winnings on and after some careful calculations he blurted “ AND, that is now $178,000 that you owe me! Ready for another game?” Walt asked. He knew that Hurley would say no as he always bailed after 2 games.
“No dude, I am gonna have to pass for now, at the rate you are beating me I will owe you a Million before we even get close to getting off of this island” and with that, Hurley got up and started walking away. After a few steps he turned back and said “Hey, you will take a check right?”
This caught Walt off guard but he laughed and said “Yeah, a check is good but I would rather have it all in cash! And with that he got up himself and started walking down the beach.
As he walked he saw his father in the distance. “Hey dad! How’s it going?”
Michael looked up from what he was doing and waved at his son. “It is coming right along. Make sure your things are packed because we will be leaving soon”
We suddenly flash back to Walts home.
Walt is walking through the living room when he sees a polar bear in a tutu on the TV and stops to watch.
Michael is tying up loose ends as he has just gotten off the phone. “Ok, tickets bought, phone calls made. I think we are ready to go” he says to himself.
“Walt, Make sure your things are packed because we will be leaving soon”
“Aw man, do we have to? I don’t want to go to your house, why can’t we stay here? I have friends here, do you know how hard it is to make friends? HUH? Do you? I don’t want to go.” Walt turns his attention from the TV and focuses on Michael.
“Come on little man, we talked about this already. I thought you were ok with this” Michael knew this was hard on Walt and just wanted to get him back to the states and settled in to his new home so they could start to get to know each other.
“Ok, with this? What, that my mother is dead and my father doesn’t want me and I have to leave my home and everything that I know? I am not ok with this! Walt felt his frustration building and tears welled up in his eyes. He plopped down on the couch and started crying. “I hate this, I hate leaving here and I hate that you are making me leave and I HATE YOU!”
As Walt finished his statement the TV popped and sparked, the picture went to black and smoke started rising from the set.
Michael, hearing the noise, came running over to the TV,. “What the heck happened to the TV?” Quickly realizing that his attention should be focused on Walt, he turned around and sat down on the couch next to him.
“Walt, I am sorry, I know that this isn’t easy for you. I know that you miss your mother. I wish that we could stay but I have a job and a home that I need to get back to. I promise it is not going to be as bad as you think. Once we get settled in you will make new friends. Things are going to be ok.” He knew that Walt wasn’t happy and just didn’t know what to say to make it better. He wished that he knew his son better, that he could make things all right for him. With time, he felt certain that Walt would learn to trust him and that they would finally get a chance to be Father and Son.
Walt and Michael finished packing up the car and drive to the airport. They are both sitting quietly, waiting for their flight to arrive.
Walt is feeling scared. He doesn’t want to leave and it is getting close to the point where he is not going to have a choice.
“I am not going. You can go and just leave me here. I’ll be all right. Go ahead, just leave me here! Please!” Walt is starting to cry again.
“Walt, come on man, you know I can’t leave you here. I am your Father whether you like it or not. I have a responsibility to take care of you. How you gonna survive, where are you going to live?” Michael is scrambling, trying to think of something to say that will make Walt feel better but he is just too new at this Father thing and he feels like he is failing miserably.
Walt is now in full panic mode and feels like if he doesn’t do something that he will be stuck leaving his home and going with this man. “NO! I don’t care what you say. You can’t make me go! DO you hear me? YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!!
Outside we suddenly see a plane engine engulfed in flames. Emergency crews are called to put out the fire and for the moment Michael leaves Walt to settle down and focuses his attention to the chaos going on outside the window.
15 minutes later a voice is heard over the intercom.
“I am sorry to announce that flight 803 to Los Angeles has been cancelled. If you hold tickets for this flight, please see come up to the ticket counter and we will make arrangements to get you on the next possible flight.”
Walt is relieved at this latest development and sees it as another opportunity to make his pleas. “ HA! See, now we can’t go. If that isn’t a sign that I am supposed to stay here then I don’t know what is”.
“Not so fast little man, you just sit tight and let me go figure out what we are supposed to do now. I’ll be back in just a minute. YOU stay here!” And with that, Michael gets up and walks off.
After dealing with the airline, Michael has arranged for them to take the next flight out. They will be taking flight 815, which leaves in 2 and a half-hours. They grab some food, argue some more and are now seated in their proper seats.
Walt has fallen asleep and Michael is reading a magazine. Walt is dreaming now, dreaming of his mother. He loved his mother so much and was about as happy as he had ever been. They used to spend time watching TV together, reading together. Walt and his mother are playing a game on the living room floor and Walt is winning as usual.
“Ha! I won again! Walt said proudly
“Yes son, you won again. How about letting your mom win every once in a while? You must be the luckiest kid I have ever seen!”
“No mom, its all skill. Play again?” Walt asked eagerly
“I think we will call it a night, you have school tomorrow” His mother said
“AW Mom! Come on, one more game and then I’ll go to bed, please? Walt asked
“No Walt, it’s really getting late. Now come here and give me a big hug and then off to bed!”
Walt gets up slowly and walks over to his mom and throws his arms around her. He gives her a big hug and then pulls back to look at her. She sits there looking at him and smiles. He starts towards her to give her a kiss and her face suddenly turns to bone. She morphs into a hideous skeleton right before his eyes.
“Look what you have done to me son. LOOK! You killed me! You turned me into this. All I ever did was love you and look what you have turned me into. This power of yours, it did this, YOU DID THIS!! YOU DID THIS TO ME!!
Walt pulled back and screamed “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Walt starts sobbing in his sleep and the plane buckles hard. Michael notices a scruffy man run past him down the isle followed by a flight attendant and another man. Walt is still sleeping but now he is screaming, wailing and thrashing. The plane is now going down, chaos erupts all around them and the oxygen masks drop from above.
Michael screams “Walt, wake up! WAKE UP! C’MON MAN!”
Walt starts to come out of his dream but the memory of his mother dying is hot in his mind and his scream that started in his dream has now continued in his awakened state. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The plane is bumping violently now, people that weren’t buckled in are flying up to the roof and back down due to the instability of the plane. Stuff is flying all over the place, bags falling out of the storage compartments, windows breaking. Michael has his own mask secured and is trying to do the same for Walt, as he appears to be oblivious to what is happening. He gets the mask on Walt thankfully before passing out. Walt is awake but all he can hear is his mother, all he can see is his mother, all he can feel is the pain!
Walt is now sitting on the beach, crying hot, burning tears. Did he kill his mother? He loved her, why would she say that. He would never hurt her. How could he have made her sick? What the heck happened to the plane? Did he do that too?
Walt sat on that beach, in that spot for the next 3 hours trying to piece together the last year of his life. He didn’t know what this thing was that was inside of him but he certainly didn’t feel like the luckiest kid in the world.
- shot first!
Boxtroopers ROCK!!!
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