My eyes open only halfway before they slowly close again. I don't see much but it's enough to know that I'm no longer on the plane. Where am I? What happened? I don't remember much. I try to open my eyes again, but once more they close. Yet now I've see there's a man kneeling beside me. He's a big man, far from the average weight of a normal person, but who am I to judge on character especially at a time like this?

Once more I make the effort to open my eyes and finally, this time, they remain open. The man is still there, looking at me with shock. I mean to say something to him, but no words come out. What could I say anyway?

"Dude, your arm looks…bad."

What? What is he talking about? Why isn't my arm normal? Where am I?

It takes every last ounce of effort for me to glance over at my arm, to see what this man is talking about. Horror floods through me as I see my broken and mangled arm, twisted into an impossible position. It's almost inhuman the way it looks; yet I feel no pain. None at all. That's when it all comes back to me: the plane with it's violent turbulence, the screams of the passengers as they clung to one another in terror, the deafening sound of wind as the plane broke apart, a sense of fear, a sense of falling, then…nothing.

Emotions well up inside me like never before: terror of falling from the sky, shock at my mangled arm, confusion of the man who was still by my side, and thankfulness that I have survived.

"I'll go get…help."

He says this slowly, as though in fear of something. He drags he gaze away from my arm, turns around and runs to get help. I look back at my arm, and as the sand beneath it turns red, I realize why he had looked so scared.

I attempt to move my arm so I can find the source of the bleeding, but my injured arm won't move. I let out a moan in frustration. I will have to wait for help to come.

I let my head turn back to its natural position as I look up at the sky. I use my good arm to reach for my necklace, to have something comforting with me, but all I touch is skin. Where is it? I know I had it on when I got on the plane; I haven't taken it off in three years. It should be right here! Tears stream down my face as I think about my necklace. I need it back. I can't live without it. I promised him I'd give it back when I saw him again. I hate myself now.

Now I hear it: an explosion of sound that drowns out my thoughts. I hear screaming, lots of it. People are screaming and calling to each other over what sounds like the roar of an engine. It's loud and now I can feel the ground shaking in time with it. It's a wonder I was able to hear that man talk.

What's going on? Is it the plane? Are there really other survivors? Are they hurt too? This is all happening so fast. I can't concentrate! I close my eyes so I can focus on the situation, but the more I think about what's going on, the more this horrible situation becomes real to me.

Suddenly, amid all the chaos around me, the ground beneath me starts to thud as someone runs toward me. I open my eyes to see a man in a suit kneeling beside me. He looks directly into my eyes and asks, "Are you hurt?"

"My arm," is all I can manage to say as I glance over at the bleeding limb.

He gently picks up my arm out of the forming pool of blood that is now being absorbed into the sand. He quickly examines it, then pulls a small bottle of liquor out of his pocket. He opens the bottle and pours half of its contents onto my arm. He gently sets the bottle down so it doesn't spill and then again looks directly into my eyes.

"I'm going to need you to hold still for as long as possible…?"

"Lenny," I say in response to his look.

"Lenny. I'm Jack. Can you do that for me, Lenny?"

I nod my head yes and brace myself for whatever he's about to do. He lifts my arm higher and then I feel something being tugged from my arm. It hurts like hell and I gasp for breath trying to stop the pain. It's a sharp pain and it won't stop. I'm trying to hold still, but suddenly I can feel the effects of the crash. I'm sore all over my body, I think my leg is severely bruised and my arm still hurts.

I glance over to see what Jack is doing. He takes what appears to be part of an old tee shirt and begins to slowly wrap it around my arm. The pain is beginning to ebb away and somehow I manage to sit up. That' when I notice the broken shard of metal on the ground, and it's streaked with blood. My blood.

"Was that in my arm?" I ask, indicating the jagged piece of metal.

"It looks like part of the plane," he responds. I'll take that as a yes.

I look back at my arm to see that it's still mangled. I guess I won't be rock climbing anytime soon. Jack gets done wrapping my arm then looks back at me.

"I need to set the bones. Your arm is broken. Okay? You're gonna be fine." He grabs my hand and I brace myself again.

"Go," I say reluctantly. He pulls my arm hard and I can feel the bones move back into place. This too hurts like hell but about a million times worse. I scream in pain and squeeze my eyes shut. It hurts beyond anything I've ever felt before and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.

The next thing I know, I'm being picked up by Jack and he starts running down the beach toward the sounds of the crash. I'm in too much pain to focus on anything right now. I open my eyes to see what's going on. Half the plane is sitting right on the beach, people everywhere are in panic. I pray that everyone will be okay and that we can all get out of this alive. I'm sure rescue is on it's way, so it's only a matter of time.

Jack runs over to the first person he sees, blonde guy around 40 years old. The guy is sitting on the wing of the plane that has broken off and is halfway buried in the sand. Jack gently sets me down on the wing and addresses the man, "Keep an eye on her, and don't let her move her arm. I'll be back soon."

He doesn't wait for a reply from the man, just runs off toward a guy giving CPR to an unconscious woman. The blonde guy looks down at me but doesn't say a word. He looks like he doesn't give a shit that our plane just fell from the sky. I don't make any effort to attempt to talk to him and nor does he.

I can feel the pain in my arm finally begin to ebb away. It's enough that I can breathe normally again and take time to really see what's going on around me. The first thing I see is a blonde girl, maybe 25 years old, in a miniskirt standing among the wreckage screaming. I look around to see what could be bothering her so much, but it just seems as though she's screaming just for the sake of screaming. I ignore her as I see the fat guy who was kneeling beside me before. He's with a blonde pregnant woman. I hope she's okay. She looks like she's having contractions.

That's when I hear the creak coming from the other wing of the plane. It's sticking up straight in the air but not for long. It's about to snap off and fall directly on the fat guy and the pregnant girl! I scream out to them to move but they're either too far away or the engine is too loud for them to hear me.

Thank God two seconds later I see Jack running toward them shouting for them to move. After what seems like a lifetime, Jack makes it over to them and helps the pregnant girl stand up. Him and the fat guy help her out of the way just as the wing falls in an explosion of wreckage and sand. The three of them all appear to be safe and I let out a sigh of relief.

I lay down on the wing of the plane and listen to all the noises around me, my heart beating rapidly. Hard to believe that just a few hours ago, I woke up in a cozy bed in Australia thinking about the next coming days when I would see her again.

I wish I had my necklace back. Again, tears stream down my face as I touch the place where it should be. And that's when I come to the realization that I've lost everything in my life that I've ever cared about. All of it gone from the world. Even me. Almost poetic if you think about it.

I must've drifted off to sleep because I wake up to the sound of people whispering all around me. I open my eyes but there's no one there, save for the blonde man, yet the whispers continue. I try to distinguish what they say but they're too faint to make out. I turn to the blonde man and say, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he says in a Southern accent.

"The whispers," I almost shout. Why can't he hear them? I can't be the only one. I glance around at everyone resting and trying to comfort one another. They don't appear to hear them either. Then, just as quickly as they had come, they're gone.

What in the world was that? I swear it sounded like there were people around me whispering. No way I made that up. But then why was I the only one?

I push these thoughts out of my head as I see Jack walking over. It looks like he's holding what appear to be actual bandages rather than just an old tee shirt. For this, I am thankful.

He sits down beside me and once again looks me directly in the eye. It's almost as though he wants me to understand that everything will be okay.

"How's your arm?" he asks.

"Fine. The pain's gone now. Are you sure it's broken?"

"Well, it was pretty disconfigured. You should keep it still for a while. Give it a chance to heal."

"But it doesn't feel broken." I want him to understand this. I want to use my arm, not let it sit there uselessly.

"It's unlikely, but if it's not broken, you still need to let that cut heal." As he says this, he unrolls the bandage and inside is a small sewing kit, which he opens. "Ever gotten stitches before?" he asks as he pulls out the needle.

"Plenty of times," I respond. Rock-climbing will do that to you.

"Then this should be nothing new." He indicates for me to hold out my arm, and I do. He slowly unrolls the old tee shirt, which, by now, is stained with blood. The bleeding has stopped but the wound is still open and not too pleasant to look at. I'm thankful that he's going to seal it shut.

"Let me know if you want to me stop, okay?" He says this as he unravels a spool of thread and threads it through the needle.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." I hate it when people think so little of me. I'm fully capable of doing anything an adult can do. I'm not a child; far from it.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, he does manage to sew it shut. He wraps my arm in the new bandage then stands up when he's done.

"I'll come by to check the bandage later. Let me know if it feels worse, and try not to move it." It feels fine to me, but whatever.

He looks at the blonde man and says, "How about you? Do you feel like anything--."

"Right as rain, Doc. Thanks." There's a note of sarcasm in the guys voice that could've been a result from the crash, but I don't think so.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything…?" He was looking for a name from the man, and, come to think of it, so was I. I've been next to this guy for a couple hours now and I don't even know his name.

"Sawyer." Short, sweet, to the point I guess.

"Sawyer, right," Jack says as he walks away.

I wait until Jack is out of eyesight before I decide to test my arm. I move it back and forth, up and down. It feels fine aside from the tightness in my skin from the stitches. I would take the bandage off, but I don't want the stitches to come loose. Plus, I don't think Jack would understand if I tell him my arm is usable.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. As it gets darker, I begin to see bonfires being started and people gather around them for warmth. I'm tired of sitting in awkward silence near Sawyer so I get up and join two people by their fire.

The heat from the fire feels good on this cold night. I think about getting up to find a blanket among the wreckage, but it's getting darker and harder to see every second. The fire will have to do for now.

I glance over at the guy sitting next to me, maybe 25 years old with blonde hair sticking out from under his hood. He has masking tape wrapped around his fingers and he's writing the word FATE on them. It seems like he's closed off from the world, like no one likes to be near him. Be that as it may, he kind of looks familiar to me.

I look back at the fire and become hypnotized by the flames, entranced by their beauty, and for a moment, I almost forget that I'm stranded on this island total strangers.

"You think they would've come by now." The voice of the guy sitting next to the blonde startles me back into reality. His voice is heavy with accent, and as I look over at him, I see that he is Arab. Maybe Iraqi.

"Who?" asks the blonde guy.

"Anyone," the Arab man responds. He falls silent after that and the blonde guy returns to writing on his fingers.

I take his words into consideration and after a few minutes of thinking about it, I come to the conclusion that he's right. We've been here for at least eight hours now. How long could it possibly take to find us? A few hours at most? That means someone should've been here by now.

I look up as I feel someone sit down beside me, and I see the fat guy who was next to me when I woke up. He hands me one of the in-flight meals they give you on the plane along with some plastic silverware. I gratefully take it and set it down on my lap.

"Thank you," I say.

"No problem. You're like one of the only kids here so, ya know, I figured you could use some food." Although I desperately want to say something, I calmly force the "kid" comment out of my head.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean for the food. I was talking about earlier, when you went and got help for me. It was lucky you were there. I don't think anyone would've seen me." This seemed to strike a chord in him for he seems distracted now.

"Yeah, probably not. You were pretty far out there." He says this with a slight chuckle that becomes contagious, and I start to laugh as well. Wow, the first time I've laughed since the crash. First time I've laughed in days actually. It feels good.

"I'm Lenny," I say. "Lenny Hume."

"Hurley Reyes," he says, still smiling.

I hold out my hand for him to shake, but instead he hugs me, the laughter emanating from his mouth again. He's happy to be alive, to have survived the crash. So am I. I hug him back, the smile growing on my face. I didn't think it was possible, but here on an island of all places, is where I'm the happiest I've been in years.

We release each other from the hug, and Hurley kindly excuses himself, saying that he wants to make sure the pregnant lady gets some food too.

I turn my attention toward the meal Hurley had brought me, and it's then I realize how hungry I really am. I can't remember the last time I've eaten. No, wait. Yes I do. It was this morning when I woke up. I'd had orange juice, Belgium waffles and bacon. God, was the really only this morning? It seems like years ago.

I undo the foil from the top of the container and underneath it I find some sort of chicken, a small salad, and what looks like a cube of pound cake. I don't really care what kind of food it is; I just know that I'm starving.

I hungrily dig into the chicken, and as it passes over my tongue, I consider it the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. It doesn't even cross my mind that the chicken is cold, or that the salad is wilting, or that the cake is probably deprived of moisture.

I think about saving some for later, incase rescue doesn't come for awhile, but then I look over at the blonde and the Arab man and realize that Hurley hadn't given then anything to eat. I turn to them and say, "You guys want some? Rescue might not be here for a while. You should eat something."

"That's kind of you to offer, Lenny," says the Arab man. He must've heard me talking to Hurley. "But I'm sure someone will be here soon." He sounds as though he's trying to reassure himself more than me.

"I'll have that cake looking thing if you don't want it," says the blonde.

"All yours," I say, handing him the cake.

"Thanks." He shoves half of it into his mouth, and then halfway between chewing and swallowing he says, "I'm Charlie, by the way."

He extends his hand for me to shake and that's when I notice the ring on his finger. The ring with the letters "DS" on it.

"Charlie?" I ask in disbelief. "Charlie Pace? From Driveshaft?"

"Oh, so you've heard of us?" he asks, a smile forming on his face.

"I have both of your albums. You guys are great." I can't believe this is Charlie Pace. Wow. There's a coincidence for you.

"Why thank you. You know, we're currently--."

Charlie gets cut off by the loudest, most bizarre noises I've ever heard: metal grinding together, large objects falling, and the dying call of a fog-horn in a subway tunnel. I know, however, that those things are not what are causing the noises. What is causing the noises is knocking down some of the trees in the jungle.

We all stand up, all of the survivors, and crowd together in fear. What the hell is going on? What can rip down trees that fast? The noises continue, only louder now, and we all turn our heads as we see another tree get ripped from the ground just as the fog-horn/subway noise sounds again. This is too bizarre to actually be happening. Nothing is capable of this. Nothing.

After a few more seconds, the sounds die off and we're left with nothing to look at but the dark - and now dangerous- jungle.

"Terrific," I hear Charlie say sarcastically. At least I'm not the only one who realizes how screwed we are if help doesn't come soon. I don't know how long we'll be able to survive with that thing out there.

I feel someone beside me move, and I look up to see Sawyer making his way toward me.

"What the hell was that, Sassafras?" he asks as he reaches me.

"You think I know? I know just as much about this place as you do." Why does he think I have more information then he does?

"We'll, I figured-… what with your episode this afternoon… with 'the whispers' that you might know… a little more." He's struggling for words at this point and I know he's making it all up as he goes.

"What are you really doing here, Sawyer? Lord knows you didn't believe me about those whispers, and I don't see why you would've changed your mind in the last hour." I don't mean to have a tone with him but if he's going to say something, he needs to say it and not beat around the bush. My life doesn't need to be more complicated than it already is.

"Nothing. God, a guy can't be curious about what the hell is goin' on around here?" He's shaken by what just happened, but he's also hiding something else.

I put as much frustration into my voice as I can without overdoing it and say, "Fine, don't tell me."

I turn around and walk away from him, hoping I've gotten his attention enough to tell me. I go back over to the wing of the plane and sit down for a few minutes before Sawyer finally comes over and sits down next to me.

"You think you can con me?" he asks in his Southern accent. "I can tell the way you walked away and came right over here - where I've been hangin' out since the crash - that you're dyin' to know what I have to say. And let me tell you something, darling, you've got a thing or two to learn about conning." He has this smug smile on his face like he's looking down at a toddler who's trying to talk like an adult.

I let out a sigh and now actual frustration has crept into my voice. I try to suppress it as I say, "Sawyer, are you going to tell me why you walked over to me or not?"

He's being difficult on purpose and I don't want to deal with this right now. Sleep is beginning to come over me and I don't know how much longer I can stay awake.

He opens his mouth to say something then quickly closes it. I pretend like I don't notice.

A few more seconds pass before he finally says something. Something I don't expect. "I was making sure you were okay, alright? Jack told me to look after you. Doctor's orders."

There's something else too. Something he's not telling me. He doesn't seem like one to get concerned in other people's business.

He's still sitting there, looking at me. I know I have to say something to him, but the only thing that comes out are two truthful words, "Thank you."

His hand twitches slightly as I say this and I know my words have a bigger impact on him than what he's letting on.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, the edge returning to his voice.

I smile to myself as he tries to hide the goodness within him. He cares on the inside although he might not care to show it. Sawyer is definitely a mystery to me and, even though I've only just met him, I want to know the real him.

We don't say anything more to each other and soon sleep overtakes me. The last thing I remember before my mind slips into darkness is thinking that I wouldn't mind if rescue didn't come for a while. I'm finally happy again.