"Lost" fic I had to get out of my head ...
Dec. 7th, 2004 11:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosTitle: Storyteller
Rating: PG
Character: Hurley
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, wheeeeeee!
Author's note: I can so totally picture Hurley as a multiple fandom addict, can't you? ;)
Storyteller
Hurley used to write really bad fanfiction.
Oh, he did. He wrote this awful crossover with Star Wars and Star Trek that fell apart the minute Amidala and Captain Picard started making out, and this X-Men story that was actually pretty good until he decided to try something new and locked Sabretooth and Magneto alone and naked in a cell together. Which, in retrospect, was maybe the worst idea in the world. Just because someone dares you copies of both Kill Bill moves on DVD to write gay porn doesn't mean you have to do it.
But, yeah. Bad fanfic. He'd written tons of it. His latest opus had been some stupid Mulder and Scully novella that had been showing every indication of dissolving into the same kind of softcore porn that indicated he needed to get laid, and fast. It had burned up in the crash the same way that most of his stuff had, including the phone number for my-buddy-Silvio's-sister-you-know-the-one-who-likes-big-guys, which was probably her legal name by now.
Sure, he hadn't had the best grasp on things like spelling and grammar and proper sentence structure, but that's what grammar Nazis were for. His had been his exceedingly patient cousin Danny, who always told him he had great plot ideas even if his ability to spell would have gotten him beheaded in Third World countries or something. Danny could proofread one of his stories in two days, a Guinness-record feat considering Hurley was creative but grammatically stunted without dyslexia to fall back on.
That was the whole thing, though. The being-creative thing.
It was annoying, is what it was. Because hey, it was one thing to walk the streets of his hometown on the weekends and make up stories about the people he passed on the streets -- this one is sleeping with her babysitter, that one can set fire to things with his mind, that guy over there is really an alien in a man suit. But it was another thing entirely to do it with the other people on the island.
Once they got past the lack of food and the harshness of the elements and the occasional drowning, when everything settled down and nobody was in any danger for a solid five minutes ... that was usually when it happened. He'd just sit back by the fire, humming to himself as he surveyed the others, and this stuff would just pop into his head.
Jack, he'd decided, had done something really bad, maybe even beyond comprehension for a guy on the outside of the situation who'd only watched a few too many episodes of ER like Hurley had. Nobody could be good-looking, smart, a natural leader, and a doctor all at once without having something horrible to offset it. Hurley had this far-too-amusing mental image of Danny chasing after him through their grandmother's house, waving a red pen and a copy of the Mary Sue Litmus Test in midair and yelling about character faults.
Charlie was a drug addict. Or a former drug addict. Whatever, Hurley would think whenever he looked over at Charlie. Hurley had his moments when he missed the boat on stuff, but catching a cold or a flu or whatever when they'd been on an island alone for days? Yeah, right. But he was polite -- with other people, anyway -- and if Charlie didn't want to tell anybody, then that was cool. Meanwhile, he was too busy writing a string of stories in his head explaining it away. Charlie was a mutant who'd been captured by bad guys and forced to get addicted on purpose. Charlie was a superhero, but he couldn't do it unless he took hard drugs. Charlie was a former cop who'd gone undercover in a rock 'n' roll band and fallen in with the wrong crowd.
With Claire ... well, with Claire, he needed to stop thinking of Rosemary's Baby, that's all.
He could do it with anyone, if anybody had bothered to ask him. He hadn't had enough practice coming up with new characters, but he could sure do a hell of a lot in his imagination with someone who was already there.
Walter had been abducted by his mother and didn't know. Sun had been running away from her husband, and he hadn't found out yet. Boone and Shannon didn't look or act like a real brother and sister. In Hurley's imagination, Mr. Locke is in a wheelchair.
See? Just like playing God.
Or mind-reading.
One night, before he fell asleep among the others, Hurley glanced towards the jungle and thought that if this whole thing were one big story, what they would really need is a bad guy.
And elsewhere on the island at that precise moment, Ethan smiled in his sleep.
Rating: PG
Character: Hurley
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, wheeeeeee!
Author's note: I can so totally picture Hurley as a multiple fandom addict, can't you? ;)
Hurley used to write really bad fanfiction.
Oh, he did. He wrote this awful crossover with Star Wars and Star Trek that fell apart the minute Amidala and Captain Picard started making out, and this X-Men story that was actually pretty good until he decided to try something new and locked Sabretooth and Magneto alone and naked in a cell together. Which, in retrospect, was maybe the worst idea in the world. Just because someone dares you copies of both Kill Bill moves on DVD to write gay porn doesn't mean you have to do it.
But, yeah. Bad fanfic. He'd written tons of it. His latest opus had been some stupid Mulder and Scully novella that had been showing every indication of dissolving into the same kind of softcore porn that indicated he needed to get laid, and fast. It had burned up in the crash the same way that most of his stuff had, including the phone number for my-buddy-Silvio's-sister-you-know-the-one-who-likes-big-guys, which was probably her legal name by now.
Sure, he hadn't had the best grasp on things like spelling and grammar and proper sentence structure, but that's what grammar Nazis were for. His had been his exceedingly patient cousin Danny, who always told him he had great plot ideas even if his ability to spell would have gotten him beheaded in Third World countries or something. Danny could proofread one of his stories in two days, a Guinness-record feat considering Hurley was creative but grammatically stunted without dyslexia to fall back on.
That was the whole thing, though. The being-creative thing.
It was annoying, is what it was. Because hey, it was one thing to walk the streets of his hometown on the weekends and make up stories about the people he passed on the streets -- this one is sleeping with her babysitter, that one can set fire to things with his mind, that guy over there is really an alien in a man suit. But it was another thing entirely to do it with the other people on the island.
Once they got past the lack of food and the harshness of the elements and the occasional drowning, when everything settled down and nobody was in any danger for a solid five minutes ... that was usually when it happened. He'd just sit back by the fire, humming to himself as he surveyed the others, and this stuff would just pop into his head.
Jack, he'd decided, had done something really bad, maybe even beyond comprehension for a guy on the outside of the situation who'd only watched a few too many episodes of ER like Hurley had. Nobody could be good-looking, smart, a natural leader, and a doctor all at once without having something horrible to offset it. Hurley had this far-too-amusing mental image of Danny chasing after him through their grandmother's house, waving a red pen and a copy of the Mary Sue Litmus Test in midair and yelling about character faults.
Charlie was a drug addict. Or a former drug addict. Whatever, Hurley would think whenever he looked over at Charlie. Hurley had his moments when he missed the boat on stuff, but catching a cold or a flu or whatever when they'd been on an island alone for days? Yeah, right. But he was polite -- with other people, anyway -- and if Charlie didn't want to tell anybody, then that was cool. Meanwhile, he was too busy writing a string of stories in his head explaining it away. Charlie was a mutant who'd been captured by bad guys and forced to get addicted on purpose. Charlie was a superhero, but he couldn't do it unless he took hard drugs. Charlie was a former cop who'd gone undercover in a rock 'n' roll band and fallen in with the wrong crowd.
With Claire ... well, with Claire, he needed to stop thinking of Rosemary's Baby, that's all.
He could do it with anyone, if anybody had bothered to ask him. He hadn't had enough practice coming up with new characters, but he could sure do a hell of a lot in his imagination with someone who was already there.
Walter had been abducted by his mother and didn't know. Sun had been running away from her husband, and he hadn't found out yet. Boone and Shannon didn't look or act like a real brother and sister. In Hurley's imagination, Mr. Locke is in a wheelchair.
See? Just like playing God.
Or mind-reading.
One night, before he fell asleep among the others, Hurley glanced towards the jungle and thought that if this whole thing were one big story, what they would really need is a bad guy.
And elsewhere on the island at that precise moment, Ethan smiled in his sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 08:32 am (UTC)*loves Hurley*
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 08:40 am (UTC)Is it Wednesday night yet?
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 08:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 09:24 am (UTC){g}
I don't think he'll have a problem stopping for the forseeable future, unless he happens to have a) the DVD, b) a portable DVD player and c) a solar recharger for batteries.
(So, does Jack have something horrible in his past? I must have missed that.)
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 02:30 pm (UTC)It's my personal theory that Jack really isn't a doctor, or at least not anymore. I think that Jack was disbarred and has been disbarred for a while.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 10:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 10:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 10:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 11:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 12:19 pm (UTC)And I just love Hurley. But anyway. :) Kudos!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 12:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 03:56 pm (UTC)*giggles* That was fabulously cool. I loves me some Hurley.
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Date: 2004-12-07 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-07 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-08 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-13 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-13 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-30 02:57 am (UTC)