"Lost a Day, Always Lost..."

La troisième place par x—lost-les-disparus--x avec cette fic un peu triste..mais aussi joyeuse en même temps! N'oubliez pas d'aller voter pour votre fic préférée pour le prix du public sur le deuxième article du blog. Je voulais aussi remercier tous les participants de leur participation, il y aura même peut-être un autre concours! Je voudrais aussi remercier les gagnants de leur patience =S.
Sinon, Just-lost-fics aura peut-être bientôt son propre site web, donc ça sera un peu plus en ordre que maintenant...en espérant que vous allez continuer à suivre ;).

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Sans titre^^

(Notes de l'auteur:
Imaginons que les secours ne sont pas venus, ils n’ont pas réussi à localiser l’île. Les changements sont que Locke n’a pas voulu détruire le talkie-walkie de Naomi, on va dire ! Sans oublier que Charlie, Nikki et Paolo ne sont pas morts… Toujours le droit de rêver ! Par contre je ne parlerai pas de Juliet, imaginons qu’elle est rentrée chez elle, la pauvre ça fait 3 ans qu’elle est sur l’île ! Enfin, j’espère que ça ne se passera pas dans la série, parce que perso je l’aime bien. Surtout quand elle est aux côtés de Jack! Ben et tous les Autres sont également morts, sauf Alex et Karl. Et y aussi quelques changement que tu pourras apercevoir au long de la fic.)

Une jeune femme brune était assise sur le sable chaud.

« Coucou, tu le sais ce soir c’est Noël, ça changera de tout les autres Noël que j’ai passé… il ne neige pas au contraire des lunettes de soleil ne serait pas de trop ! Enfin on verra comment ça se passera ! Celui-ci se passera surement mieux que les derniers, quand j’étais en cavale, je ne fêtais plus Noël. De toute manière je ne l’aurais pas fêté toute seule. Charlie et Hurley ont décidés d’aller chercher un arbre dans la jungle et de décoré pour faire un sapin de Noël… Je leur fait confiance dans ce domaine là ! Claire a même sortit et nettoyer les vêtements de soirées que j’avais mis de côté quelques jours avant le crash… Ils veulent organiser une vraie fête. Nikki m’a même avouer que Noël se n’était pas son truc mais que la, ça lui donnait le sourire. Et qu’elle avait envie de profiter de cette fête ! En compagnie de Paolo j’imagine ! Aaron a dit son premier mot ce matin. Et devine ce qu’il a dit… Papa à Charlie ! Ca doit vraiment lui faire plaisir ! C’était lors d’une promenade sur la plage entre hommes ! Il arrive même à marcher à quatre pattes maintenant. Il faut dire que ça c’est Claire qui sans est chargé ! Je crois que Charlie voudrait qu’il reste tout le temps de petit bébé de Claire. Locke a apprit à chasser à Paolo, ils ont même prévu de nous ramenez un bon gros festin pour ce soir. Enfin, rien que de parler de chasse, ça me dégoute ! Je m’en tiendrais aux légumes du portagés et aux poissons de Jin !
En fin de matinée, Sayid est arrivé pour nous dire qu’il avait trouvé un autre bunker. Il pensait l’ouvrir bientôt… Avec les explosifs comme pour l’autre. Evidement Jack et Locke lui ont proposé leurs aides ! Ils n’ont trouvés personne, mais le bunker était identique à l’autre. Ils ont trouvés des décorations de Noël. Jamais je n’aurais pensé que ses maisons souterraines pouvaient contenir ce genre de chose. Tout le monde c’est mis à décoré l’arbre qui nous sert de sapin ! Il est magnifique. Ca fait vraiment plaisir à voir !
Je t’en ai déjà parlé hier, Jack m’a proposé de fêter Noël avec lui, au départ avec les autres mais après… juste avec lui. Je ne savais pas encore si j’allais accepter… et bien je l’ai fait. J’ai accepté. Il me la demandé si gentiment… J’étais au portagé avec Sun, quand elle est partit retrouvé Jin, je l’ai vu arrivé et à ce moment là il me la proposé. Je lui avais promit une réponse, c’est ce que j’ai fait. Je les tiens toujours, tu es bien placé pour le savoir. Je trouve qu’il a changé depuis quelques jours… je ne sais pas pourquoi.
La nuit va bientôt tomber, c’est l’hiver elle tombe beaucoup plus tôt en ce moment. Ce qui arrange bien tout le monde. Surtout Claire qui peut un peu plus dormir ! Enfin c’est ce qu’elle m’a dit. Je vais te laisser j’ai promis de garder Aaron ce soir, Claire et Charlie voulait passer un peu de temps tous les deux. Tu me manques Sawyer. »

La jeune femme brune aux tâches de rousseur déposa un bouquet de fleures tropicales sur le sable où une croix en bois était dressée. Elle s’en alla en versant une unique larme.
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C'était une très belle fic. Elle a eu le don de me faire sourire tout le long de la fic, mais quand j'ai su que c'était Kate qui racontait tout ça à Sawyer, mort, j'ai fait hooo non pauvre Sawyer. Elle est plutôt simple, mais bien écrite Bravo!!!! Par contre, certains trucs sont invraisemblables, comme l'autres station et tout et tu as beaucoup modifié la série. Par contre, comme je disais, le concours était pour s'amuser, pour se lâcher lousse et faire travailler l'imagination quoi, donc ça n'a pas d'importance ;).

Votre avis?

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Never-without-lost[--] Jackandkatelost[--] Sawyerkate42[--] Sawyer-kate57lost[--] Deep-in-lost[--]
Lost-le-guide-complet[--] The-world-of-lost[--] Rosso-velvet

Une autre fic en anglais que j'ai tout simplement adoré dès le début, même si elle est en grande partie Jacket et que je ne les aime pas vraiment!! En plus elle est prémonitoire; écrite avant la saison 5 et Sawyer est marié à Juliet (bon okay elle est malheureuse mais bon lol). À lire.

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NOM DE L'AUTEUR: Heiots

TYPE: Romantique

PERSONNAGES/COUPLES: Juliet/ Jack, Sawyer/Kate, Sawyer/Juliet

RÉSUMÉ:

EXTRAIT:

Chapter 1

18/9/1993

Just another minute till dawn arrives. Then it will be two years, two years since I've gotten myself into this marriage. It'll be our anniversary. I wonder if he remembers. I don't think he does. He never remembers my birthdays or our anniversaries.

It's funny. I look at the empty space beside me and there's just this deep ache within me. But there are no tears. Just this...void. Oh he'll never know. He's already gone. He's always gone whenever I wake and comes back only when it's late at night, never knowing how I feel.

Guess today will just be another day in the life of Juliet Ford.

--

It was a bright sunny morning in August. The streets, bustling with activity just an hour ago, was now still and quiet, with an occasional car roaring past. Birds twittered in their nests on tall, leafy trees lining the roads. At the end of a street stood a beautiful white mansion, a grand three-storey building set slightly apart from the other less distinguished ones in the area. In it lived the Fords and their servants.

--

And so Jacque smiled and said it doesn't matter what happens, because I will always love you. The end. She rolled her eyes, shutting the book with a snap. This has got to be the worst novel ever written. And who would call their child Jacque anyways? She sighed, carelessly tossing the book onto the couch. If her husband had witnessed what she did, he would probably throw a fit. The couch cost him more than a month's salary. That is, her husband's salary, she added wryly. “Why do authors write stories that aren't true?” She thought aloud. “They only make the readers feel depressed. I mean, how many couples actually end up happily married together?” She shook her head. Long blond tresses fell to cover her face. She pushed them back, uncurled herself from her position on the couch and stretched.

Down the hallway, the old grandfather clock began to strike. She counted silently. 8, 9, 10, 11...11 am. That makes it...13 more hours till the next day. 11 till James returns. She gazed out through the spotless glass windows unhappily. She swore she would go mad if she didn't find something to do. How about finishing up that painting you did yesterday? A voice suggested. She pondered that for a minute before deciding to do just that. Getting up, she made her way out of the living room, passing a house servant on the way.

“You want something to eat, Mrs. Ford?” The young girl asked politely. Juliet paused. Was she hungry? “No thanks, Louise. I'll wait for lunch.” She smiled, then, continued on down the wide hallway, where pictures of the Ford generations hung on the walls. Daniel Ford, Joseph Ford, Josiah Ford, etc, etc. She ignored them as she climbed up the marble staircase to the first room on her right. She knew all their names by heart, thanks to her husband. She pushed away the thought that she knew was coming next. There was no use harboring bitterness. It would only make her life more miserable than it already was.

At the very top of the steps, she stopped. Thoughtful blue eyes studied a lovely portrait of a couple. Them. A little smile curled her lips. Her rugged husband had arms wrapped protectively around her waist and was gazing down at her, looking exactly like a man in love. She, however, was smiling straight at the camera, laughter in her eyes, hand on her husband's face. That was a year back. The smile vanished. Eyebrows drew together. They looked so...happy. Memories of old times flickered faintly in her mind. A sharp intake of breath. She felt a sudden urge to touch the picture, stroke his face. Perhaps that would...rekindle some of their love again.

“Mrs. Ford?”

She jerked her hand away and spun around. “Yes?”

Louise stood there, head bowed respectfully, near the stairway. “Mr. Ford called. He said he needs you to be at a dinner with him tonight and asked you to be ready by 7pm. He will send a limo for you.”

She blinked. Well, guess I'm now the 'showoff' wife for him, huh. For one rebellious second, she considered the option of staying home with the pretext of feeling unwell. It was unthinkable but then she didn't care. Yet, even as she was about to speak, something held her back. By doing that, it meant that she would drive another wall between them. Did she really want that?

“Ma'am?” The servant was still waiting.

“Tell him...tell him I'll be ready,” she whispered and managed a smile that disappeared as soon as Louise scuttled away. She was going. She didn't dare disobey. But she would hate it. She would hate it with all her heart and no one would ever know. It was a feeling she was long familiar with.

Loneliness.

Turning back, she caught sight of the picture on the wall once more. A deep sense of sadness engulfed her. Will you remember? Will you remember our anniversary tonight, James? She doubted so. Perhaps it was better not to yearn for more, but be thankful for what had been and was no longer. With one final gaze, she shut tight the door to her feelings and turned the key...the only way to keep her heart in one piece.

Locked.

--

It was the very room she knew her husband would never enter. But it was where she could truly express herself. No, she corrected. Where she could truly be herself, not pretending to be some rich man's wife. She twisted the knob in her hand. The door swung open just a little, revealing a dark windowless room. She stepped in, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Behind her, the door clicked shut. She stood there in silence for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the spacious room and hearing the quiet sounds of her own breathing. Then she reached for the light switch right next to her, flipping it. In an instant, bright light flooded the room.

She squinted slightly as the familiar surroundings came into view. Pale beige walls met a plain white ceiling. Sparse furniture occupied the room. She let her eyes roam from one object to another. A single chair, an easel, a wide wooden table and a tall shelf that held assorted bottles of paints and brushes were all that existed. And there, leaning against the wall, stretched across a wooden frame, was a half-done canvas. Standing there, she drew in a deep deliberate breath, the faint scent of paint filling her lungs. It was a room that contrasted greatly with the rest of the house. Compared to the intricate beauty of the other rooms, this, she knew, would be considered ugly by most people. Yet, it was a room that she loved...and that her husband despised. Guess beauty really lies in the eye of the beholder.

She took a step further in. But why should she care what her husband or other people thought? They never asked her once for her opinion...so why should she care about what they thought? Her lips tightened. She bent down, picked the canvas up from the floor. A lone tree in the beautiful background of bright city lights and grand buildings. Her eyes still fixated on the art piece, she began to make her way to the chair. It wasn't that the tree was horrible or anything. It was just...out of place. Her finger carefully traced the curve of a dark line. It was a tall tree, a strong tree with thick branches spreading out toward the sky, covered with full green leaves. It was a tree that one expected to last forever. She swallowed. But it wouldn't be. Her hand began to tremble. It would soon be a withering tree, a tree that had had the very life sucked out of it. A dying tree. She let the canvas clatter to the floor as she sank into the chair and began to cry.

--

There was not one thing that was the slightest bit appealing about the dilapidated buildings that clustered at the poor side of town. The black of dirt collected over countless years streaked the ugly bricked walls. All day long, rats scuttled about freely on stony pavements, darting into holes of the curb and disappearing into the endless darkness. With drug addicts stoned beyond reality and hopeless drunks littering the area, no one in their right mind and with an ounce of status would ever choose to venture there.

--

Jack Shephard thought that if he ever had visitors, the first thing that they would have a problem with would be the dull dirty brown of the front door, complete with scratches and marked with vandalism. The next would be the ancient ceiling fan. In the heat of the day, it whirled so slow he figured he might as well not have switched it on. Walls coated with a light gray surrounded him for most part of the day. Would he ever get sick of staring at them? He lowered himself heavily onto the edge of the bed. Old tired springs creaked. It wasn't that he couldn't afford a better place. It was just...he couldn't make himself care enough.

Sounds of children laughing floated into his room. Curious, because it was a rare and precious moment, he turned his head, eyes straining to see past the metal bars of the window. A couple of street kids, barely more than 7 or 8 years old, most probably the offspring of alcoholics or drug addicts, were playing on the pavement. Two of them held the ends of a bright green skipping rope. Even from a distance, he could see that the rope with frayed and well-worn. Yet, the fact didn't seem to bother the children. As he looked on, watched them having fun, not a care in this world, his heart gave a sudden tug. He startled. It had been a long time, ages, since he had had that feeling. And he wasn't sure if he wanted it back.

He slowly let out his breath through his mouth, wondering how he had managed to land himself in such a state. It was your choice, his inner voice reminded him. You chose this path. He shut his eyes tightly, refusing to go any further than that. The box of memories that were deemed too painful should never be opened. An unwelcome thought slipped into his mind, taunting him. Are you afraid of what you'll remember, Jack?

Shut up. He wanted to stop thinking. Blinking a few times, he scanned the unkempt room for his old friend.

The bottle.

Ah. His eyes snagged on a familiar shape on the bedside table, glinting in the dim orange glow of the lamp. An odd smile curled his lips before he reached for the drink. Wrapping fingers round the neck of the bottle, he brought it to himself, stared at it for a long time. He trailed his fingers down the smooth glass, the curve of the bottle. A shudder ran through him.

A bright future. That was what he had. And a great chance of being named the country's top surgeon. To say his future was bright was an understatement. He had been climbing the ladder of success faster than anyone could ever have imagined. Eyes glazed over as he pinched his lower lip. But that was before his addiction, before his love for alcohol consumed his life. And he had thrown it all away without a second thought.

Every morning since that day, he had woken up without anything in mind to do, nothing to accomplish. He hadn't even bothered to take a bath before leaving the apartment that morning. The only reason why he had left his home was because his supply of alcohol was running out. Come to think of it, it was kind of pathetic. A once prominent doctor now reduced to a sorry excuse of a man.

He shook his head. What would his parents think of him? To know that their son had turned out to become a failure. It was depressing. His life was depressing. But face it, he had no one else to blame but himself. No, he stopped and corrected himself. He had no one else. Period. He uncapped the top of the bottle, lifted it to his mouth and took a swig. The burning liquid flowed down his throat, spreading a warmness through him. Now that, he said to himself, was the real thing. Many people didn't understand why he could give up everything just for a drink. But it had become something that he felt he could not live without. He depended on it just to get through life.

It was his life.

--

“You're late.”

She shouldn't have been surprised, yet, she couldn't help feeling the sting that came along with the remark. Hiding her hurt, she smoothed her features into a blank mask and replied, “I was on time. The limo was late.”

He snorted softly and she struggled to hold back the sudden anger that emerged at his apparent disbelief. Oh couldn't he see how much those little flippant actions of his cut deep into her? Under the table, she clenched her hands into tight balls. “I'm telling the—”

“It doesn't matter,” he interrupted. “In another few minutes, the other guests will arrive. Just smile, give the right answers when they ask you questions, alright?”

Juliet knew better than to assume that he expected an answer. It wasn't a question. It was a command. Whatever James Ford said, people did, his wife not excluded. If he said 'quiet', people fell silent. If he said 'talk', people did just that. She was sure that if he ever asked his subordinates to jump off the building, they would regardless of the consequences. He had gained that much respect from others. But not hers, that was for sure. She closed her eyes, trying to stop the flow of thoughts before they spun out of control. The next moment she opened them, she spotted a smartly-dressed couple heading toward their table. James nudged her. But there had been no need to for the well-practiced smile that she reserved for such occasions was already spreading across her face.

“Lilly,” she cooed with a lightness in her tone that she didn't feel. “I was looking forward to meeting you.” She air-kissed both sides of the older woman's cheeks. “How are you?”

“Terrible!” Lilly exclaimed, shaking her head of permed hair. To Juliet's knowledge, she was a 40-something woman who visited the hairdresser every week, played bingo with her friends every alternate day and was scared of her own shadow. Juliet knew that if she ever needed help, she couldn't count on her. “I had the most horrible day! You wouldn't believe it!”

Two hours, Julie, two hours. “Oh?”

“My husband was out this afternoon and Jenny, you know, my personal servant,” she informed. “She decided to have this fainting spell and the next thing I know, I was stuck with the unconscious maid, all alone in the house.”

“No!” She feigned a shocked look.

“I know! I was so frightened. I thought she died or something,” Lilly fluttered her perfectly manicured hands, chattering on and on. It reminded Juliet of a certain character she once read about. The way she was written, how she spoke, the exaggerated gestures and the rising and falling tones exactly described Lilly Greene. Shallow. Her thoughts began to wander as she tuned out the irritating, high-pitched voice of her companion. It was such a beautiful night. The stars were probably just beginning to peek out from the sky. Now if only she could—

“Juliet!”

A sharp voice that sounded like her husband's interrupted her reverie. She blinked, realizing that someone had asked her a question and she had missed it. “I'm sorry. Did you say something?” She turned to Lilly, ignoring her husband's snapping eyes.

“It's nothing. Are you alright, dear? You seem a little...dazed.”

Her face flushed. “It's been a long day. I'm sorry if I wasn't paying attention just now.” She changed the subject. “Anyways, how are your children doing?”

Just half an hour later, when dinner was served, James put forth a polite excuse and towed his wife out into the lobby. After sweeping the area with his eyes, he dragged her to a corner where few people lingered. There, he let go of her hand. There was no mistaking the silent anger that simmered within him.

“What,” he hissed. “Are you thinking?” When she refused to answer, he took in a deep breath. “Okay. Look Juliet. I can't stand this kind of behavior anymore. First you show up late—”

She started to say something but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“That's alright. Never mind. Now you're sitting there like a stone, I don't know why, and you don't respond when my friends talk to you.”

“That was once!”

“You're not showing me respect, Juliet!”

“What are we living in?” She struggled to keep her voice and tears down. “The ice age?”

His eyes flashed. “Listen, I'm not asking you to cut off a hand or leg for me. All I'm asking tonight is that you act like the way you're supposed to. My wife. I know our marriage isn't going too well—”

“Glad you noticed.”

“—and I'm sorry about that. But I have a reputation to maintain. If you continue on like this...you'll just be destroying everything I've build up.”

Those last words he spoke hit her hard. Tears blurred her vision, yet, she would not let them fall. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? That she was to be blamed?

His eyes searched hers. “You understand, don't you Juliet? For my sake...for our sakes. Please. This really matters to me.”

She couldn't stay there any longer. “Guess it doesn't matter to you that it's our anniversary today then,” she said bitterly. “Goodnight James. I'll see you at home.” With that, she turned on her heels and strode out of the hotel, leaving him standing there.

--

The sky was dark when he woke up. A cold wind was blowing into his room, causing tiny goose bumps to rise on his arms. Turning his head, he stared at the glaring red digits of the clock blearily until they came into focus.

8:10.

He had slept for nearly 2 hours. He exhaled slowly through his mouth. He hadn't known when he had fallen asleep. He supposed it must've been after he got drunk. Just like all the other times. He rolled off his back, planted his feet on the floor, nearly breaking a green glass bottle lying on its side. He grimaced and shifted his foot. A pounding headache was starting to throb at the back of his head.

I need some air. He stood up gingerly, shuffled his way through the other empty bottles scattered across the floor - he'd pick them up later – and headed toward the balcony. A black metal railing enclosed the small area, reaching up to his waist. He stepped onto the cool tiles until he could grip the bar with his hands. Less than a minute later, a rushing wind swept by, running its fingers through his hair. It felt good on his warm face.

He lowered his head then, surveying the nightlife on the streets. Drunks stumbling down the road, a young couple making out at the corner, stray cats rummaging in the garbage cans. Nothing surprising there. He was about to turn back into the room when a flash of white caught his eye. He stopped.

It was a woman. But not just any woman. This one looked as though she had just stepped out of the magazine pages. And the fact that she was beautiful didn't hurt either. He felt himself take a sudden interest. She carried an aura that clearly stated that she didn't belong here. He watched her stalk out of a nearby hotel, obviously unhappy, into a long, black limo that was waiting not too far away. In the moonlight, her skin glowed, white as ivory. As hard as he tried, he couldn't pull his eyes away from her, didn't know what it was about her that drew him like a magnet. Then a thought dropped into his mind and though he tried to push it away, it echoed relentlessly in his head. Is it because she reminds you of your past? He didn't let himself answer that. Even after the car had disappeared from his view, he continued standing there, staring after it, wondering why on earth was his heart pounding as though he had just ran a 5-mile marathon.

--

“The usual?”

“Yeah.” He produced a half-smile at the waitress that worked at the diner. There weren't many people patronizing the place. Every time he came, there were always only two or three customers in the diner. It was quiet...just the way he liked it. This was where he had his dinner every night. Or more specifically, he added with a small amount of shame, every night that he didn't spend holed up in his apartment, getting trashed.

He reached for the menu, not that he needed to look at it or anything. He was there so often that he was sure he had memorized every single item listed on the faded paper. He just needed something to do to keep his mind from wandering too far, in case it brought logic in and convinced him to turn from his ways. Absent-mindedly, he pressed his thumb over the edge of the paper, feeling the sharpness prick his skin.

He scoffed at the idea of how some would regard it as pain. Those were the people who haven't experienced real pain. They haven't gone through hell and back. He had. He knew what pain was. He knew how pain worked. It was the burning sensation inside you, worse than having knifes stab into your back. It was the feeling that stole your breath and kept you gasping for oxygen, as though someone had reached into you and ripped your heart out, leaving a gaping hole.

“Sir!”

He jerked, looking up at the owner of the voice. The waitress smiled uncomfortably, then, glanced down. Only then did he realize that he had clenched his fists so hard that the menu was crushed in his hand. He relaxed his muscles, letting the ball of paper fall onto the table. “Sorry,” he began awkwardly. “I...I...” He faltered, finding that he was unable to explain his actions.

“Don't worry about it.” She said as she swept the crumpled menu from the tabletop, and then set his dinner before him. “Enjoy your meal, Mr. Shephard.”

How did she know his name?

“Your card,” she said upon seeing his startled look.

He felt the heat creeping up from his neck. “Oh. Right.” As she walked away, he called out after her. “Hey. Um, Ms...”

“Austen.”

“Austen,” he repeated then nodded. “Thanks.”

A half-smile crossed her tired face. “You're welcome. Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Shephard.”

In a matter of minutes, he had wolfed down his burger and fries. Sauntering to the counter, he paid his bill and was soon strolling down the street with his hands in his pockets, wondering what he should do next and whether or not to return home for another drink. All of a sudden, he heard a weak mew. He stopped, which was strange because normally he wouldn't have bothered - there were always cats prowling around the area, making noise, but this one caught his attention. He took a few steps back and peered into the dark alley. He couldn't spot anything. He squinted harder, hearing another soft mew. Then his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness.

A black cat was lying on its side, crying out to him pitifully. His heart softened. It's a poor little cat, Jack. Only a cat. As he went a little closer, he realized that it was actually more of a kitten than an adult cat. And it looked as though it needed help. Desperately.

He squatted down beside it. It mewed again, blue eyes gazing up at him. His chest tightened. He realized that there was no way he could walk away from there without doing something for the animal. Carefully sliding strong yet gentle hands under the kitten, he scooped it up and cuddled it to his chest. It purred, rubbing its head against his shirt. When he felt his heart tug like it had just hours before, he wondered if somewhere, buried deep inside him under all the layers of hurt and bitterness, was a tiny piece of the Jack Shephard of old.

Perhaps not all has changed, Jack. Perhaps there is still something to hope for.

A little spark lit within him and he was almost certain, almost, that perhaps things could become better...perhaps he could change. Not you, Shephard, a voice whispered. Not with your addiction...and your past.

Shame and guilt returned with a fury. It was right. He would never be the same old Jack again. It could never be alright again.

Never.



{LIRE LA SUITE}

N'oubliez pas de laissez des coms à l'auteur, mais aussi ici; j'ai besoin de vos coms si vous voulez d'autres fics ici =P

AUTEUR: HotChilliGriffin

TYPE: Supernaturel/Suspense

PERSONNAGES: Surtout Kate.

RÉSUMÉ: Kate rencontre la fumée noire dans la jungle et s'en sort vivante limite. Elle ne sera plus jamais la même....

COMMENTAIRES: Elle est en anglais et un peu compliquée à lire, mais si vous vous débrouillez, vous devez la lire. C'est la fic la plus originale que j'ai jamais lu. Dommage qu'elle ne soit pas terminée...


EXTRAIT:

Chapter one
Kate stood rooted to the spot. The noise came again, which was enough to make her lose the frightened-rabbit eyes and run. She ran faster than she'd ever run before – it had come so close! Her sides heaving, she settled now into an unsteady jog. The monster was gone. But she couldn't forget the fear – forget how hideously close it had come. For a few moments, it had been right behind her.

She had dropped the mangoes she'd been picking. She wasn't really interested in going back for them. She just wanted to get back to the beach. She didn't know why it didn't like the beach, but so far it had never come onto it.

Crashing a plane was bad – landing on mystery island was about the only way to make it worse. Apart from dying. Maybe.

She scrunched up her face, concentrating. How long had it been? Five months? Six? She could ask Rose, who was unofficially in charge of keeping track of the days, so that they could continue to celebrate all the important dates. She smiled at that – because the crashees had come from so many different parts of the world, everyone had their own holidays, national and religious. They took note of as many of them as possible. It was the easiest way to keep spirits up and hopes alive (at least now they'd run out of alcohol).

Her pulse already calming, Kate slowed her pace. Odd. You always imagined monsters as fast, but this one, despite being a flying cloud of black smoke, couldn't keep up with a running person.

She had the thought a moment too soon – there was a sound like a car going through a mincer, and then the tree beside her exploded, knocking her sideways. She shrieked, and as she hit the ground the wind whooshed out of her.

Struggling to breath, Kate lifted herself to her knees, preparing to run – and froze. It was right in front of her. Staring. She thought it was staring, at least. It didn't have any eyes that she could see. It drifted closer, and Kate fancied she saw flashes of light... pictures of people she'd known and places she'd been.

She was trembling. It inched closer – well, it didn't really inch. Caterpillars inch. They have legs. Smoke clouds don't. So really, it kind of... wafted. In a bad way.

“Go away!” Kate shouted suddenly. The wafting stopped. “I mean it!” she yelled now, standing up. “Piss off!”

Now it wafted some more... in a good way. It was wafting away from her. She smirked.

“That's it, you bastard. Go away. I let you off light this time,” she said. It felt good. The only person she could recall coming this close to the thing was Eko, and why it hadn't killed him no-one knew. It had, however, killed him at a later date, so it wasn't that much of a victory. And Juliet's sonar fence worked pretty well.

As if it could sense her thoughts, could read her mind, the good wafting stopped. The bad sort started again. And now, the flashes were showing her other things – bits of its life. There was a rage, a hatred at being so entrapped. Kate could feel the pain it had felt as it threw itself against thick concrete walls, again and again. It didn't work.

Then, that glorious day. It had been released – on one condition. Protect the island, Kate thought, and the flashes suddenly shifted. Their plane had crashed in its territory. They had defied it. Escaped it.

What are you? Kate wondered.

Cerberus. Once again, the word came from nowhere. Kate felt a dizzying feeling – she was actually communicating with the dreaded monster! After months of running, she was standing up to it... and winning!

Or not.

With a roar, the monster charged (or, maybe, super-wafted?) forward, and this time didn't stop. It hit Kate with the force of a runaway horse, and knocked her backwards. She stumbled and hit a tree, and then felt it lift her up, holding her chest in its... teeth? I'm sorry! She tried to apologise, for whatever she'd thought that had offended it.

It roared again. She had no idea how a creature like that made such a noise – how a smoke cloud could sound like a horrible machine. But it did, and it scared her to her core. Because it was undoubtedly a cry of rage.

There was one final flash, hidden deep within the folds of black smoke. Kate watched, from the monster's point of view, as it saw her and Juliet running, handcuffed together. It knew it had them. They couldn't get away. Nowhere to hide.

Then the fence. It hit the fence mindlessly, then reeled back in pain. Incredible pain. And the only thing it could see that could cause the pain were the two humans in front of it...

“It wasn't me,” Kate whispered, as the pressure on her chest changed, and there was a hideous pain, so like the pain the monster had felt when it had hit that fence. One arm was already losing feeling. Kate couldn't be sure why. The other flailed around desperately, for a stick, or some sort of weapon.

“Need a light?” he asked. She nodded gratefully.

She pulled the lighter out and let the flame lick at the side of the monster. There was a moment when nothing happened, and she realised all was lost – after so long, she'd be monster mincemeat. Then there was a sound, like a train derailing, or a person getting sucked into a blender. A horrible, ripping sound, a noise of intense pain.

The monster, Cerberus, screamed again and again. Kate watched in horror. The tiny flame had caught, and spread. She'd never realised smoke monsters were so... flammable. It dropped her, and she hit the ground hard, but forgot her own pain at the spectacle before her.

The entire black cloud had turned into a fireball. The screeching continued, and Kate tried to pretend it was the horrible noise that made her cover her ears as best she could with one hand.

Then the sound stopped. Kate blinked. Cerberus had gone.

And so she let herself cry, from pain and relief and fear and guilt.


{LIRE LA SUITE}
N'oubliez pas de laisser des coms.

AUTEUR: Magali

TYPE: "Familial"

PERSONNAGES: Kate, Sawyer, Juliet & les enfants^^

RÉSUMÉ: Pour Noël, Clementine et Huck ne veulent qu'une chose; une mère pour leur père...

COMMENTAIRES: C'est tellement tellement mignon à lire, même si c'est en anglais. Les jumeaux sont adorables, je les adore, on s'attache vite^^.




EXTRAIT:
Dear Santa Clauz,

We are twins who live in Fords Crosing in Tennissee in the Unihted Statez. We are six years old and were good this yeer. For Crismas we want a mom. We have a dad and he needs to get a wife. He was good too. We want the mom to like dogs and horses becuz we have two. She needs brown hayr and smiles too. And she needs to like cookies and smell nice like beeries. We also want her to be fun and to play games and we want a mom that loves Daddy because he is sad a lot and she needs to make him happie. We promis to never be bad again if you get us a mom. If we can can we also get bickes too? I want a blue one and Clem wants a red one. Thank you Santa. We will leaf some carots for Rudof.

Thanks,
Finn Huckleberry (Huck) and Clementine (Clem) Alice Ford

The bright red crayon rolled to the side as Huck finished signing his name on the bright yellow piece of construction paper. He looked over at his twin sister Clementine, or Clem as everyone called her, and smiled wide, showing off the three wide gaps in his happy smile. Two of the teeth he lost naturally and one of them he had his sister pull out by slamming the door shut. Their daddy wasn't happy when he found out that they did that.

Across from him, high up in their secret treehouse, his sister reached for the letter and put it into the envelope. She took the crayon and wrote “North Pole , Santa Claus” on it. “You spelled his name wrong,” she chastised her younger brother by one minute. She licked the envelope and used a sticker to make sure it stayed shut. It was one of her favorite Scooby Doo stickers, but she didn't want the letter to fall out.

“Do you think we should send it now?” Huck questioned, looking out from between the crack in the tarp covering of their treehouse door. The bright sun filtered through and he wiped at his sweaty forehead. “School didn't even start yet.”

Clem nodded matter-of-factly. Of the two, she was the smartest, she secretly thought, and sometimes she had to take point on these important matters, because Huck could screw it up. “Yes. If we mail it now, then it will get there for sure and we will be the first ones to get our gift!”

Well that made sense. Huck looked out the tarp again, then back to his sister. “We can go now, Daddy is in the shop.”

“We have to be quick.”

They scrambled down their ladder, naturally skipping the last few steps. Huck tumbled in the grass since he tripped over his shoes, but he quickly righted himself and rushed to catch up with Clem's long strides. He took the envelope from her, frowning. “You have to write our name on it.”

“We did!”

“No, in the corner. Wait, lemme get what Daddy uses.” He made Clem wait for him at the front porch, and ran inside to his father's study. They weren't really allowed in there since both of them tried to climb the floor to ceiling bookshelves and one of them broke, but Daddy was working with the really loud power tools, so there was no way he would find him.

With quick little fingers, he rummaged in the desk drawer before he grabbed hold of the address labels. It didn't have his or Clem's name, but it had their address. Besides, maybe with his daddy's name on it, Santa would for sure give them their present because he would see.

He pressed the label to the upper left corner of the envelope, and then raced back to the porch, where he and Clem took off at a run, completely ignorant of the hot humid day as they raced each other to the mailbox at the end of their street.

They were running as fast as they could, when they bumped into their Uncle Hurley, who was slowing down his awesome “hippie van” as their dad called it, to peer out his window at them. “Where are you guys off to so fast?” he laughed, gesturing to the backseat of the van. “Hop in, I'll take you.”

Huck and Clem exchanged a look. This was something too important to potentially mess up or jinx by telling their Uncle Hurley. Besides, he would probably just tell their dad. He couldn't lie worth a damn, Clem thought, narrowing her eyes at her uncle. “We're fine Hurley,” she chirped, passing the envelope behind her back to Huck, who took it and shoved it up under his shirt. “We can walk. Daddy said we need to exer...”

“Exercise?”

“Yes that's it,” Huck piped up, looking back to his sister. He smiled, his little dimples flashing. “We're fine Hurley. Just...don't tell Dad you saw us here, kay?”

Hurley mimed zipping his lips, before driving away, back up the hill towards their house, leaving the twins anxious to finish their task before he decided he would tell their dad they were running off anyways. “Come on!” Clem yelped, taking off at a run again.

They reached the mailbox in record time, skidding to a stop, with Huck falling again, since he was the klutz between the two of them. He righted himself, and removed the envelope from where he'd stuck it in the waistband of his little jean shorts. “Okay,” he whispered, holding it out on his open palms. “What now?”

“We mail it,” Clem replied, taking it from him. She stood on her tip-toes, her fingers straining to grasp at the handle of the mailbox slot. Blowing up a strand of her blonde hair, she looked backwards at her brother. “Boost.”

They had this move perfected from years of stealing stuff from the kitchen counter. Huck squatted and threaded his fingers together, huffing and puffing to provide the boost to Clem. “Hurry,” he squealed, his face breaking out into pink. “You weigh a ton!”

“I do not!”

“Do so!”

Rolling her eyes, she yanked the slot open and shoved the letter inside, watching it slip down to land with a soft thunk into the mess below. “Goodbye letter,” she breathed, before falling into a heap with Huck as his arms gave out.

“Ouch!”

“Shut up you baby!”

“You shut up!”

They hit and kicked each other all the way back up to their house, running straight into their father, who stood on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest. Uh oh, Huck thought, smiling slightly. He had on his “mean face.”

“Where did you guys go in such a hurry?” he drawled, cocking his head down at his children. “Hurley says he saw you two running like someone was chasing you.”

“We were racing Daddy,” Clem lied, smiling up at him. Well, it wasn't so much a lie, they really were racing each other. The endpoint was just different. He didn't need to know about their letter. She stepped closer to him, holding up her arms. “And I won!”

Huck nodded along, and skipped over to tug on his dad's tool belt. “We tied,” he corrected his sister, since that was actually the truth. He smiled again, because he knew it always worked when he smiled at anyone. “Daddy can you let us ride the horses today?”

Sawyer sighed at both of his kids. He knew they were lying about something; they weren't that good. Whatever it was would eventually come out, as it always did, so he supposed he could give them the benefit of the doubt for now. “Fine,” he sighed dramatically, hoisting both of them up into his arms. “I guess I can work to feed your hungry mouths later.”

“Yay!” they squealed, scrambling down to run off to the barn in the back where their horses were kept.

Samuel and Clemens were the names of the two little geldings, both of whom were presents to the twins when they were three years old. The horses nickered at the sight of the twins, who rushed forward, and waited patiently for Sawyer to get them ready for a short little walk around the trail in their backyard.

While they waited, Huck tugged on Clem's shirt, leaning in to whisper into her ear. “We can't ever talk about this,” he whispered to her. They both knew what he was talking about. “We have to promise not to talk about it.”

“Promise,” Clem agreed, sticking her hand out. They spat into them and shook, just as Sawyer walked around the corner with the two saddles.

He stopped in his tracks, watching both of them with great curiosity. They never did that handshake unless they were keeping something totally quiet. Something they didn't want him to know about. Now and then they thought he was stupid.

Au contraire my children, he thought, narrowing his eyes at them as they smiled innocently and purely, like there were actual halos above their golden heads. He didn't say anything, and just smiled back, but he knew something was up.

Hell if he knew, but he was going to find out one way or the other.


{LIRE LA SUITE}
N'oubliez pas de laisser des coms =P