Summary: Just having fun with the Lost dramatis personae
Note: This idea came to me out of the blue, so I typed it up, pronto, and here it is. Not like anything I usually write. But now I'm wondering if maybe someone has already done something along these lines. Hmm. Very possible. Let me know, if so!
Sawyer was one of his favorite alter egos. When he was the Southern hellraiser, he’d harass people, bait them into arguments, taunt them openly. He’d flirt suggestively with the women and trash talk the men. He knew he’d provoked more than one person to tears. Being Sawyer meant the day’s insults rolled right off him as he finally had the perfect comeback, multiplied by a force of about ten. As Sawyer he could say things he’d never actually dare to say to anyone. And that was fantastically freeing.
Kate was a saucy minx he’d trot out for special occasions. She was a little bit like Sawyer, but more mysterious, less direct. She was flirtatious but never offensive, and there was a power to the way she lured people in, lying to them, telling them what they wanted to hear, getting them all hot, and then simply disappearing.
Being Charlie was like writing a “Dear Penthouse” letter. Sex, drugs and rock’n’ roll excess. Orgies. Three-ways. Parties that lasted for days. He’d boast about all of them, but putting it all in the past and emphasizing how he was now clean and sober. It made him seem more vulnerable and the needy women who wanted to take care of an ex-junkie ate it up. And women always dug guys with British accents.
As Sun, he would massacre his words, typing what he guessed a beautiful Korean woman with limited knowledge of the English language would. One who really wanted to leave her husband if she could find the right sympathetic guy. Photos helped. They were always demure, fully dressed, eyes downcast, but he’d hint that as soon as a new man was in the picture, that would all change.
To really switch things up, sometimes he liked to be Sayid, the cool, brilliant Iraqi soldier who would elegantly tell off ignorant American idiots. One of his favorite things to do was to sign on as Sawyer, sign off, and sign back on as Sayid and then pick a fight with himself. The redneck and the foreigner, always at each other’s throats. It was like a good game of chess.
Shannon was another deliciously bitchy personality. He’d post her photo, let all the guys drool, and then insult them as only a beauty like that could and still get away with it. She drew a certain kind of masochistic loser who thought a girl like that would actually give him the time of day. Hinting that her heart really belonged to brother dearest, well that only made being Shannon that much more fun.
With Boone, well, he was always surprised how many people could relate to Boone's unholy lust for his sister. Maybe they were all just lying to each other, but swapping dirty stories about spying on a sister or a cousin or a niece in the bathroom actually saved him a lot of money.
Every so often, he liked to be Hurley, everyone’s stereotype of the guy who’d be online at 3 in the morning. Overweight, pop-culture obsessed, shy around women. He’d bond with all the other seemingly honest nerds and trade Star Trek jokes and remember what it was like to be 24 and think someday, something interesting is going to happen to me.
But John Locke knew better. At 52, his days of hoping for something interesting to happen were long over. He sighed, turned off the computer, and went to bed. After all, he had work in the morning.