LLS - The Revenge :)

[Uncle Igmar]

OK kids - it's Summer (more or less) and we have an eight month hiatus in front of us - so let's have some fun and resurrect the LOST Literary Society - but in a slightly more serious vein (tho "The History of Danishland" will remain forever a classic).

I am proposing a LOST "What if . . ." theme, basically meaning what if the characters we know and love hadn't lived the lives we have known then to have lived. Like "What if Locke's mother hadn't abandoned him at birth?" or "What if Drive Shaft hadn't broken up?" or "What if Kate hadn't blown up Dale and been on the run?"

I have chosen Desmond and "What if Desmond hadn't been sent to prison for disobeying orders and cowardice?"

Who knows - maybe we could launch a collaborative podcast to get us through to January 2009 - "The LOST Literary Society" where we either read or act out our stories - yeah it's crazy - but what the heck?

PM me if you're into this idea.

[Uncle Igmar]

Just to kick it off . . . .

He was tired, so tired. Tired of living, tired of being where he was, in a bed that he had slept in, made love in and recently, been confined to because of a sudden illness.

To look at him, no one would suspect that he had spent close to a hundred years living his life, a life that had taken him all over the world, a life that had made him one of the wealthiest men in the world.

He lay his book aside, a volume of richardens that he had kept with him during all of his travels and closed his eyes, remembering how he had gotten to where he was. . . . . . . .

Charles Widmore sat in a rather uncomfortable folding chair on the parade grounds of the Royal Scottish Regiment's Black Watch, enduring the seemingly never-ending “Discharge Ceremony”.

“Desmond David Hume, for service to Queen and Country, for bravery in the face of certain death in the defusing of a terrorist's bomb in Northern Ireland, we present you with the Military Medal, the highest decoration in the British Military,” intoned Charles, Prince of Wales.

Widmore, sitting between his eldest daughter, Penny, and his widowed sister, Elspeth (Widmore) Hawking, stifled a yawn while watching his daughter's fiance come to “attention” and accept the medal he never thought that “Hume”, as he thought of Desmond, had it in him to even think about getting. He had to give the boy credit, grudgingly thought it might be.