The Crash Site

[blindandlost]

It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter how you were travelling. All that matters is the Island, and the Island wants you. All are drawn to the same stretch of shoreline; your plane suddenly loses power and drops from the sky to crash into the sand. Your boat runs aground. Your helicopter plows a deep furrow until the blades tangle and catch in the thick growth of the jungle.

However it happened, now you're here. You belong to the Island. There might be something salvageable in the debris, but no matter what you find, no matter who is with you, one thing is certain:

You are lost.

Comments

[notinvayne]

[No sign of tentacles yet, at least; just a tired and careworn man attempting to smile.]

Undoubtedly.

[The stranger removes his glasses and futilely attempts to clean them on his shirt. He holds them up to the light and regards the results with a resigned sigh.]

Much as it pains me to be the bearer of ill tidings, you are not, in fact, dreaming. That wreckage is quite real. As am I.

[greeterings]

[Peter stares up at the man for a few more seconds, before his shoulders sag and he grudgingly climbs to his feet. Reality has dropped on him like a ton of bricks, and when he finally speaks up again, it's in a much quieter voice without a hint of conversational levity.]

... Shoot.

I was really, really hoping that that wouldn't be the case, no offense meant. Were you on the...?

[He tilts his chin towards the plane, spidering his thin fingers together. He can't help but stare at the wreckage. God, how many people had been on that thing? How many were still alive?]

[notinvayne]

[His gaze follows the jut of Peter's chin to the wreckage and he nods.]

... Indeed.

[A distant, sorrowful frown deepens the lines on his face.]

It was a... harrowing experience, to say the least. Do you not recall?