children, your time is done; if you say it's done together

[confidenceman]

When James Ford woke up that morning in an unfamiliar building, in a bed larger than the one in his house and a room so bare that it almost reminded him of the hospital, he didn't panic. Most things seemed unfamiliar to him, those days. Places that had once been familiar, like his grandparents' house, like the classrooms in his school, or even the pews of his church, never seemed the same anymore. The world had wrapped itself in velvet, almost, something dark, heavy, and against which James couldn't push very far, keeping him from feeling much of anything of the outside word. Keeping him trapped in his own thoughts. Wherever he was, it didn't matter— he was sure that someone had put him there for a reason, and that someone would find and whisk him away again before long— and so James simply slid his legs off the side of the bed and dropped to the floor.

Whoever had dressed him for bed hadn't done a very good job. The t-shirt that he wore was several sizes too large, and his underpants were just about falling off. Tugging them up as well as he could, James quickly stumbled over to the large dresser in the room, pulling every drawer open until he spotted a few plain t-shirts that looked like they'd only be slightly too big, and a pair of jeans that could be held up well enough with the aid of a belt. Wordlessly dressing himself, James peeked around the rest of the room, a faint voice in the back of his mind reminding him that today was the funeral date.

(And the thought alone brought tears to his eyes, but he shook his head vigorously; mama wouldn't have wanted him to cry.)

He pushed past the curtains of the room, unseeing. Pushed into another room, where a projector was playing cartoons in the background, where a bookshelf was piled high with books. Spotting a pen and pad on a nearby table, James looked carefully around before sliding them off with quiet hands and tucking the pad under his arm. He passed through a kitchen filled with sights, sounds, smells, but it didn't matter— he wasn't hungry. Standing in an empty hall, James looked down both ends, before turning left, to the doors marked as an exit, quietly pushing one just a fraction before he stood under the brilliance of the sun, a porch and steps in front of him.

Peeking around again, James pressed his lips together, walked forward to sit himself on the top step, and laid the pad across his knees. Now that he was alone, he could do this.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, his pen scrawled in uneven writing.


[ Eight-year-old Sawyer, after a night spent in the dorms for easier access to the showers, is now sitting on the front steps of the Compound and writing his famous letter. ST/LT more than welcome, no limit on threads. Replies will come from giveyouthis. ]

Comments

[lexiepedia.livejournal.com]

It doesn't take Lexie long to figure out that the island is doing something weird. So far, she's just been glad to be one of the unaffected ones, taking in most of the sights with no small amount of amusement. There's nothing funny about the way the boy on the steps looks, though, whether or not he is as he's supposed to be. Lexie says nothing, just looks for a moment — a couple of seconds, no more — before walking past, the steps wide enough that she can get into the Compound without having to interrupt.

That was her plan, anyway. One glance at the paper — she really hadn't even meant to look — is all it takes to change that, her breath catching in her throat. She's never actually pressed about Sawyer's past, but she remembers all too well the things he told her when he was incapable of saying anything but the truth (even if she remembers even better the part that came after that), and she doesn't think it's very difficult to make sense of what's happening here. Ignoring the way her stomach twists at the thought, she takes a seat beside the boy, frowning slightly. "Hey," she says quietly, "you okay?"

[little_moons]

The girls are in the kitchen with a friend, having breakfast, when I step outside for a smoke. The big downside to the tiny dress I've put on is the lack of pockets, and I'm seriously considering finding a little purse or something to stash my cigarette case and lighter, just to I can keep the twins from messing around with them.

I've already got a cigarette between my lips, unlit, when I step barefoot onto the front steps, finding that there's already someone that's claimed the spot I was gonna take.

"Hey," I say to the kid, walking to the edge of the steps and asking, "Mind some company?" He's little, and alone, but I already know that just 'cause he's a kid today, that doesn't mean that's always the case.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Trixa took a sadistic amount of glee during weekends like this. Sure, it was a little cruel, but watching the rest of the island's inhabitants flail at being in different bodies was fun for a creature like her who didn't have a regular form was amusing. The one thing she was trying to do this time around was keep an eye out for the kids, because people waking up six years old was a recipe for disaster.

Case in point, the lonely little boy sitting, apparently alone, on the steps of the compound.

"Hey, kiddo." She approached with a smile, leaving her hands in view and moving casually. "You all alone out here?"

[ffyddlon]

Gwen's not entirely used to the things this island does to people and waking up this morning in a gangly, teenage body hasn't done much to make her like it any more. She decides the Compound's her best bet; if it's more than one person, they'll congregate. That's what people do when they panic, after all.

The little boy isn't someone she knows but she can't help but stop, wondering what he's writing. Is he someone who's always a little boy or is he someone she's passed on the island in her day to day life and he's just temporarily small?

"Hi," she says softly, deciding to chance it. "What's that? You look very busy."

[thelikelife]

Luce isn't looking where she's going and practically trips on him. It's an embarrassing moment, but she thinks that in a field of humiliating everythings, one little trip won't really hurt much. Provided she hasn't hurt the boy, of course. She manages to catch her fall with a palm slammed to the door frame, checking up on him after she blows a wisp of hair from off her lips. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

[hightail.livejournal.com]

Although many knew of Katie Austen, the way that those from small towns were often hyper-aware of their neighbors, few could claim to really know the girl herself, and she preferred it this way. Nosy as the population was, what went on between Wayne and Diane was hardly a well-kept secret, and on some level, she resented every one of those so-called neighbors for watching and standing by. It was no one's responsibility, but she liked to think that were she an adult in any position to help, she would have tried. In fact, Kate longed for the day when she could finally drag her mother from Wayne's clutches, one way or another.

Impossibly far from home, she couldn't help feeling guilty at having left Diane on her own, whether by choice or not, but if nothing else, life thus far had taught her to push forward, to persevere. Thoughts of home were stopped in their tracks, banished someplace as far and away as she understood this island was. Albeit reluctantly, she finally allowed herself to embrace the circumstances in some way, basking in how little attention she was being paid. She'd had a reputation for trouble since she could remember, adults warily watching her every step while instructing their children to steer clear of the Austen girl. But here, she wasn't bad news, nor was she good news, she simply was. It felt incredibly freeing.

Yet Kate had never been an especially calm or patient girl, and after a few hours, the tranquil finally started getting to her. Keeping to herself would do no more, even if she doubted she could contribute to the efforts to help those afflicted this afternoon — there was a good chance she was one of them herself, whether she remembered or not. She wasn't especially interested in finding out. Aimlessly, she ambled through and around the Compound, until at last she took a seat beside the boy on the porch. "Hi," she said with a small wave. "What're you writing?"