Tuesday, May 11, 2010


WARNING: you will not completely grasp the horror of this nightmare if you haven’t followed the television show LOST.

So I woke up on a ranch in a clearing surrounded by brush fields and eucalyptus trees. The clearing was very large, like the size of a residential street with space for homes and yards too. There was only one home that was already being built and almost completed. I walked into the house. Ben Linus was in the front room – a dining room – at a table covered with papers. He looked up and started paper clipping a stack together and said, “Oh hello there, so glad you could join us.”

He proceeded to tell me I was called there for a specific purpose: household chores. I was to help build the house, doing little odds and ends jobs that still needed to be completed. I quickly found there were others. Not other others, but others like me, brought to this clearing for maintenance.

Some of us were a little argumentative at first, wondering how we got to this place and demanding to be allowed to go home. A few attempted to leave the clearing and were immediately shot by people hiding in the eucalyptus trees. You couldn’t see them, only heard the shots and then man down, right there next to ya.

This caused a panic. Would we ever get home? We all started trying to find a place to hide on the compound, being picked off one by one by the guns hiding in the trees. One girl just stood there, dirty tear-streaked cheeks, wailing. Zip! I watched her white tank turn red beneath her left breast.

Soon enough, everyone had been killed except for me and two other men. We had found a shack equipped with a phone. It wouldn’t let us dial 911, but we got through to a news crew. We frantically told them we needed help, that people were being killed and held hostage. They said they were on their way with the camera crew, coming for the story, coming to rescue us.

We made our way back to the house to see if we could find more survivors, but Ben met us in the kitchen. “What have you done?” He asked. He knew we had made the call somehow. Then he slowly turned his head to look and the window, saw the crew coming up the hill and said “I’m sorry I’m going to have to do this” and he shot the two men and tried to shoot me. But I ran outside and the camera crew was just a few feet away. By this time I’m bloody, sweaty, dirty, and in a panic I run up to them and start screaming for help, but they just quickly turn the camera on, filming my calls of distress. A man – the director? – shouting to the camera man “Turn it on! Are you getting this?”

“You are filming this…” Some monotone, expectant voice questioned from behind me. Ben.

“Yes, sir. All of it.” Said the man holding the camera.

I should have known the crew worked for Ben. It all sank in and I turned around: “You’re not going anywhere,” He said.

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