I’m lying in my bed. The soft, black comforter is wrapped around me like a cocoon. Underneath the blanket I am wearing an over sized sweatshirt with the hood pulled over my head. It’s white, with tiny silver stars all over it. The tassels that pull the hood tight have little metal stars on the ends as well. One of the metal stars is strewn on my black pillow, as if it were out in the dark knight sky.

Curled up sideways hugging another pillow, I’m watching my laptop sitting on the left side of the bed. Seasons of TV shows pass me by as I drift in and out of double sleep, since it’s all a dream anyway. I drift back into the deep sleep and my head slides further down the pillow;  the little tassel star following it with one of its five points resting on my forehead.

I open my eyes to the touch of a tiny wet nose against mine.

“Morning,” the little bunny smiled, his tiny cheeks twitching.

“Isn’t it night time?”

“Meh,” he folded his tiny front paws under his furry chest. I smiled, lifting a hand from underneath the blanket and ruffled the bunny’s ears. He closed his brown eyes, tilting his head towards my touch.

“So what are we watching tonight?” The bunny turned his little head towards the computer screen, twitching an ear.

We see Ana Lucia is sprawled on the Dharma couch, eyes wide open, unmoving. Michael is holding a gun and Libby has just collapsed on the floor, bullet ridden as well, holding the blankets that Hurley forgot.

“Lost. The season where they get rid of everyone annoying. Shannon got shot a few episodes ago. I’m waiting for Michael and Walt to boat away.”

“And you wonder why you have nightmares?”

“It’s remedial.”

The bunny looked back. Blinked at me.

“Ok, say Locke is getting the butt of a rifle slammed into the back of his head because he’s in someone’s way? Watching that helps me think of what “real” pain must feel like.

The bunny nestled closer.

“I just think it’s weird. They survive just about everything on that island. Plane crash, falling off a cliff…Like if you get shot in the face but the “Island” wants you there? You get to live. They all survive,” I pulled the black comforter over the back of my head, covering the starry white hoodie, “until they don’t.”

The bunny sat up,  his little paws padding the blanket around him. He looked at me, “Who’s your favorite?”

I thought about it for a minute, lifting and settling my head further into the pillow. The tassel star disappeared under my cheek. “Ben Linus.”

I am lying in my bed in a starry tasseled sweatshirt. There is a bunny to my left who waits up with me while I try to identify with characters I feel like I know, wondering how my life would pan out if I was Lost on the island with them. Wondering if the gun butt to the back of the head hurt John Locke worse than the betrayal he felt when Ben talked him down from the suicidal noose he was entangled in,  and then strangled him to death on his own terms.

Luciana, 23.759 Fiction