have I been saved, or do I still need saving?

[regenerated]

Night had fallen when Claire Bennet took a seat outside the Compound, the elastic of the trampoline stretching under her, her shoes carefully lined up on the grass below— a pair of yellow flip-flops with orange jelly blossoms. Where the air had been humid all day, now it was cooler, helped along by a steady breeze that blew Claire's hair to the side, blonde strands uncharacteristically limp. She hadn't bothered to curl them that day. Had anyone come across her at that point, they would have seen her fumbling with the settings of her camcorder, making sure that the battery was fully charged, finding a setting that would record even in the dark of night. Off and to the side, there was a blank tape, and on its label words written carefully with purple ink:

ISLAND: ATTEMPT #1

With her legs crossed, she slipped the blank tape in, turned the camcorder until she could look directly into the lens. Her thumb pressed the record button. Claire took a deep breath; it wavered, slightly, before she began to speak.

"This is Claire Bennet. I've been on this island for over three-quarters of a year. They call it Tabula Rasa, because everyone comes here and gets a blank slate. I guess I've taken advantage of that. I've... made friends, I've kind of got a family, I walk around here like I'm normal, and for a few months, I thought it was totally working. And then people started finding out, one by one, and no one's thrown me into a room, or tested on me, or all of those things that dad had to protect me from back home, so I thought that it was okay. That I could just be like anyone else on this island."

Her gaze dropped, her hold on the camera faltering, angle tilting.

"But I don't know anymore. Maybe I'm still a freak. Maybe I shouldn't... be afraid of being one. I can feel you rolling your eyes at me right now, Zach. It's just— I feel so empty these days, like I'm just pretending, or going through the motions. I need to remember who I really am. And if that means that I'm going to spend the rest of my days on this island fighting, I'll deal. So."

Claire slid off the side of the trampoline, placing the camcorder carefully until it was pointed at a spot on the roof, and stepped back a few paces until she was in its view again.

"This is Claire Bennet, and this is going to be attempt number one."

Her heart thudded. Pulse raced. Claire immediately turned and ran, feeling the earth under her feet as she tugged open the door, raced up the steps in her bare feet, eyes afraid and darting around, making sure no one was watching. She'd carefully picked out this time, after weeks of just loitering around. When the halls of the Compound were quiet, silent save for the occasional squeaky door or flushing toilet, when anyone found wandering had eyes heavy and lidded with sleep. Deserted, but safer than the deep island forests that shuddered at night with murmurs and the quiet chirp of crickets.

She burst onto the roof with a sharp intake of air, arms held wide, a shiver running down her spine. Carefully, she walked to its edge, until toes hung over the side of the roof and her balance began to falter. A hesitant smile was already teasing at her lips, breath stilled, skirt billowing with a gust of wind. Closing her eyes, with her arms held out she leaned forward, and for one second felt time suspended with her weightlessness, before gravity took hold and sent her hurtling down.

The scream didn't even last half a second before Claire felt herself colliding with the ground, a crack sounding before she rolled onto her back. This was normal. It always hurt at first. Blood pooled in the back of her throat, coppery to taste, bubbling from her lips as Claire coughed, trying to clear her airway for a much needed breath. One second. Two seconds. It shouldn't have taken long to heal.

Instead, the pain remained, stars shooting behind her eyes as Claire wheezed. Her lungs weren't filling. Shaking, Claire swallowed thickly, looking to the side and managing to curl the fingers of her hand into a fist.

Help, she tried to say, but all that escaped was a soft whine.

Comments

[giftless]

Edmund shouldn't have been there. He should have been at home, in bed, with his boyfriend, fast asleep or on his way there. But nothing had been as it should have been for the past three weeks. With Susan gone (and Rickon and Helen and the wolves and all their things), Edmund felt cut loose without a compass to guide him. He knew he had Charlie there, Robb too, Arya even if she wouldn't say as much, but his mind had a hard time remembering that in those moments when he felt so alone he could cry. He never did cry though, just carried on blindly, doing what he should do without notice.

Eating had been the hardest thing to manage for a while, but sleep was difficult, too. Some days he could sleep for hours, from evening straight through to half the next day. And sometimes he couldn't sleep at all, left starring at the ceiling or the wall, or watching the rise and fall of Charlie's chest, not caring enough to move. Tonight he cared. He didn't care about moving so much as cared if Charlie woke up, stirred by some psychic boyfriend sense, and asked him what was wrong. Edmund did not know how to answer that question and so fear of it drove him out into the late evening.

He didn't see her fall, not exactly. He heard the scream and lifted his head and saw -- maybe in that split second before her body hit the ground -- something about the way her body hung to know she had fallen. But his mind wouldn't process this, only the very real, unmoving body on the ground. For the space of a breath, drawn in surprise and prayer, he waited for her to move.

She didn't. He ran.

He was at her side in two seconds more, kneeling beside the body of a girl he'd come to call friend, heart hammering in his chest as it hadn't for ages. "Claire?" he said, gently touching her cheek. "Claire, what happened? Can you hear me?"