Desmond David Hume. (ourmutualfriend) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-03-23 16:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
Who? Desmond Hume.
Where? The Church.
When? Sometime after Charlie dies.
What? Canon-updating begins- Desmond "leaves" the island for a week. Spiritually, at least.
Status? Complete narrative (Unless Athelstan wants to add a narrative here.)
Rating? Low.
Just as Desmond had 'seen', Charlie had died. In a way, Desmond felt as though God had been merciful with him. At least this time, there had been very little Desmond could have done to prevent his death. There was no obvious accident from which he could rescue him, there was nothing to warn him from, there was no guilt to carry. Except there was always guilt. And Desmond still didn't understand why any of this was happening. Where better to ask for answers than in the church?
Desmond had given a token blessing to each of his friends grave markers on his arrivals, placing his hand on top of the freshest, Kate Austen, for a lingering moment before he entered the worn-down building and approached the altar. He practically fell to his knees, but remained silent for a long, pondering time, as if he expected some sign to reveal itself simply at this gesture.
But he was angry, he was upset-
"Are you there?" he asked, suddenly, loudly, accusingly. "Only- a little guidance would be appreciated, now." He stopped, sighed, bowed his head as something of an apology, trying his best to humble himself. He was always too questioning, too doubtful, he fought against God's will, and perhaps the more he struggled, the tighter God grabbed on. Maybe that was what was happening now.
"I'm trying- I'm trying to understand what it is I'm meant to be doing, God- it's getting harder every day. I understand the first island, there was a job for me there. It was clear, it had rules, and- is that it? I turned the failsafe and now I'm cursed?" he practically sobbed. "But you brought me back, you saved me, only to burden me with these visions that I struggle against and- I thought I was meant to trust you, I thought it was like Abraham and if I just let fate take it's course then you would reveal your purpose to me, but now- it is not for me to question your will, but you have taken Locke, you have taken Sawyer, Kate, and now you've taken Charlie, and you made me powerless to do anything, and now you've left me. Have you? Have you left me?"
Silence. He was talking too much when he ought to be listening.
"I'm sorry. I'm trying to be strong, I'm trying, but I beg you, I need you to give me strength, Father. I'm- listening. I'll listen. I'm sorry-" he stopped, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself and just listen.
He didn't know how long he was kneeling there, but suddenly everything changed. Water. The cold hit him out of nowhere and he was floundering, drowning, gasping- water? He kicked, forcing himself to the surface, to where his raft was waiting. He was- back. He was back. What had he been doing? Not Penny's Boat. Time to warn the others.
In the church, however, a very different scene was taking place. He'd swayed on the spot, and then collapsed forwards, spread out at the altar like a sacrifice. His eyes remained closed, a slow, steady pulse, and he was breathing. A slow trickle of blood ran from his nose. He would not be stirred by anyone or anything, not until it was time.