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May. 1st, 2006 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
why_me_why_notTitle: After
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
why_me_why_not
Beta'd by:anael, ordinary_magic, and puterpatty
Fandom/pairing: LOST, Charlie-centric
Rating: G
Summary: A short Charlie-centric piece inspired by the "January is the Coldest Month" challenge on LJ. Post-island.
Disclaimer: Don't own the island or its inhabitants
There are days Charlie misses the island, yearns for the openess and the easyness and the sunlight. Days like today, when it takes longer to get dressed to go outdoors than it does to actually walk Aaron to school. He remembers long days lying on the beach in the sun, or hiding from it in their makeshift house. Nights gathered around the campfire, one big happy family brought together in tragedy. He misses that blissful time between when the survivors all found who they really were -- and when they were found by the Coast Guard.
The attention, the publicity that waited for them when they returned to Sydney, the never-ending press conferences intruding on their recovery -- it took less than a day to rebuild all those walls they had shed on the island. Those that survived were offered millions for their stories, but none of them gave them. They had all been changed by the island.
They have scattered since then, all of them retreating to their own parts of the world. None of them live near the coast. They keep in contact, exchanging phone calls and emails. But it was as if they were all recovering from a dream, and as time passed it became almost taboo to mention the island. Charlie wonders if the others ever feel like he does, but he's too afraid to ask.
Charlie feels he left a part of himself on the island; an important part. It's like the heater of his soul has gone faulty... and it makes him wonder if the rescue that they had all yearned for was really just a prison. The coldness of his life now is painful. It's like a dull ache that has moved into his heart and settled in. It is a cold that starts deep down and freezes his insides as it makes its way to the surface, and it is far colder than the weather outside could ever hope to be.
Coming back into the house, nothing to do until school gets out, his mind wanders to the guitar sitting forgotten in the corner of their attic. The last time he played it he had been sitting on the beach. He briefly contemplates going to retrieve it, despite the fact that it's now worn and weathered and warped and unbelievably out-of-tune, but he rejects the idea and heads to the couch instead, turning the thermostat up on his way. Pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around him, he curls up and stares at the photo album that never leaves their coffee table. He doesn't need to open it to see the pictures; they are clearer in his mind than anywhere else.
As his mind flips through the images, he smiles at the memories of his family, the one that really lives in his heart. He can almost feel the sun warming his face, the breeze blowing salty air across his skin. Almost.
A train passing in the distance pulls him back to the now, to the cold and snow and desolation of his current life. He pulls the blanket closer with a sigh, and wonders, not for the first time, if he'll ever be warm again.
Author:
why_me_why_notBeta'd by:
anael, ordinary_magic, and puterpattyFandom/pairing: LOST, Charlie-centric
Rating: G
Summary: A short Charlie-centric piece inspired by the "January is the Coldest Month" challenge on LJ. Post-island.
Disclaimer: Don't own the island or its inhabitants
There are days Charlie misses the island, yearns for the openess and the easyness and the sunlight. Days like today, when it takes longer to get dressed to go outdoors than it does to actually walk Aaron to school. He remembers long days lying on the beach in the sun, or hiding from it in their makeshift house. Nights gathered around the campfire, one big happy family brought together in tragedy. He misses that blissful time between when the survivors all found who they really were -- and when they were found by the Coast Guard.
The attention, the publicity that waited for them when they returned to Sydney, the never-ending press conferences intruding on their recovery -- it took less than a day to rebuild all those walls they had shed on the island. Those that survived were offered millions for their stories, but none of them gave them. They had all been changed by the island.
They have scattered since then, all of them retreating to their own parts of the world. None of them live near the coast. They keep in contact, exchanging phone calls and emails. But it was as if they were all recovering from a dream, and as time passed it became almost taboo to mention the island. Charlie wonders if the others ever feel like he does, but he's too afraid to ask.
Charlie feels he left a part of himself on the island; an important part. It's like the heater of his soul has gone faulty... and it makes him wonder if the rescue that they had all yearned for was really just a prison. The coldness of his life now is painful. It's like a dull ache that has moved into his heart and settled in. It is a cold that starts deep down and freezes his insides as it makes its way to the surface, and it is far colder than the weather outside could ever hope to be.
Coming back into the house, nothing to do until school gets out, his mind wanders to the guitar sitting forgotten in the corner of their attic. The last time he played it he had been sitting on the beach. He briefly contemplates going to retrieve it, despite the fact that it's now worn and weathered and warped and unbelievably out-of-tune, but he rejects the idea and heads to the couch instead, turning the thermostat up on his way. Pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around him, he curls up and stares at the photo album that never leaves their coffee table. He doesn't need to open it to see the pictures; they are clearer in his mind than anywhere else.
As his mind flips through the images, he smiles at the memories of his family, the one that really lives in his heart. He can almost feel the sun warming his face, the breeze blowing salty air across his skin. Almost.
A train passing in the distance pulls him back to the now, to the cold and snow and desolation of his current life. He pulls the blanket closer with a sigh, and wonders, not for the first time, if he'll ever be warm again.
