An Editorial by DJ Dan
The Oceanic 6 is such a catchy name, isn’t it? But so are Area 51, the Manhattan Project, the Montauk Project, and the Tunguska Event! I read the above article today and I have one word for the writer: SHUTDOWN! Are we really supposed to buy into this web of deceit? I have heard some whoppers in my day but this takes the cake; not just the cake, but the baker, decorator, the intern who sweeps up the crumbs off the floor, AND the kitchen sink! The next thing they’re going to try and tell us is that the island of Membata is infested with a Zombie problem. That would actually be worth listening to.
I can go step by step with what’s wrong with the article, but I’d rather not. Why? Because it should be so blatantly obvious to even the most basic-minded neophyte Conspiraspy. But for you rookies, let me spell it out for you. By the way for those of you more visually inclined, better check out The Oceanic Six: Conspiracy of Lies documentary. It just scratches the surface.
Nothing that these people have said makes any sense. None of them look like they lived off of fish and coconuts for 108 days. Ms. Austen certainly did not look pregnant the day she was arrested in Sydney, let alone six months pregnant. And then there are the questions. How did they end up a thousand miles off course? How could a current going southwest carry them to an island northeast of where they crashed? How does a Boeing 777 land practically in one piece conveniently in one of the deepest trenches in the world? And how are the bodies not shark food by now? .
Then there’s the most blatantly obvious question: Why are they wearing different clothes than the day they took off? I guess they found their luggage, how fortunate especially since I always manage to lose mine at the airport. Maybe I just have to find a way to crash thousands of miles off course and I’ll never lose my lucky boxers again! But in case you’re faith in “the man” has not yet waivered I submit a piece of evidence on my website. It was floating listlessly inside an Oceanic Airline water bottle in the Pacific Ocean by fishermen blown a bit off course one day.
An Open Letter from the Pacific
To whoever finds this letter:
I am a survivor of Oceanic Flight 815. There are about 50 of us stranded on a deserted island. Food and shelter are not much of a problem at this point, but I can’t begin to explain to you the goings-on of this island. Otherwise, you would think I’m crazy and I really need you to read the rest of this. There’s a part of me that doesn’t think I’ll ever get off this island, so I guess this is my way of giving my family and friends some closure if I never get back.
My name is Elva Keene and I should point out that I have been known to use other names in my travels (Some of which I may mention later in this letter). Needless to say, nobody uses fake names if they’re the model citizen. My mother’s name is Laurie Keene and the last time I spoke to her, she was under the care of ICU at San Sebastian Hospital in Los Angeles, CA and under the care of Dr. Brian Douglas. Please tell her I love her. She will have no idea what you are saying, as the Alzheimer’s disease has really changed her. And also tell her that I did go inside, and it did keep me safe. I’ll explain later (like I said, you have to read all of this).
What I am about to tell you is a confession. Whether I get rescued or die on this island, I’d like to do it with a clean slate. I ran away from home when I was 16 and lived hand to mouth fending for myself in the streets for four years. My exploits took me all the way to Portland where I was asking for change on a street corner and a man in a nice suit offered to help me out. I needed cash to get back to L.A. when I heard my mother was sick. The man in the suit called himself Hibbs and offered to give me the cash I needed not only to get home but more than enough to take care of my mother.
Of course, there was a catch to all this kindness. He needed me to carry out a few jobs and I became a cog in his elaborate association (Mostly petty theft, distracting security guards, that sort of thing). Fast-forward to four years later and there’s a big job that needs to be done. I had to earn a man’s trust, marry him, and betray that trust by taking not only his money, but also his life’s work so Hibbs can sell it in the black market. Oh yeah, and there’s that little part of the plan where I’m supposed to kill the guy. “Don’t forget to waste the mark,” Hibbs always said. I took the name of someone I saw on TV, the mother of some lotto winner.
There was one, small unforeseen problem. Despite the warnings, I fell in love with the guy anyway and decided to just leave and get out before I get in any deeper. So, I headed to Sydney and wound up here on my way back home when my mother ended up in Intensive Care. As if self-inflicted guilt wasn’t enough however, the day I was headed to Australia the question was popped. And I do mean THE question. I could do nothing but cry as I tried to get to the airport.
I tried my best to be as accurate as I can be with the dates on the island, but it’s hard with no calendar to help you out. We’ve all been preoccupied with trying to stay alive so the idea of keeping time got put on the back burner. Below are three dates and the three mysterious happenings on those days. Maybe they’re just severe bouts of heat stroke-induced hallucinations, but they felt so real. They had to be real. For the sake of whatever happens after I die, I hope, I pray to God that they are real.
Day 27: on the island: I had a dream about Peter. He looked frightened to see me. I assured him I was ok, but before I got a response, I woke up.
Day 36: I went searching for firewood and maybe some food into the jungle. There was a group of us. We thought we heard whispering but paid little attention to it. And then I heard odd mechanical noises. There seemed to be a black pillar of smoke made its way towards us in a way that seemed like it had some sort of motivation, a mind of its own. It then started to move swiftly at us, chasing us into the jungle where we were separated. I stumbled out of the tree line and found Peter again just standing there. I wasn’t sure if he was really there, but in an instant, he just disappeared.
Day 59: I was walking along the beach when I heard a voice that distinctly sounded like my mother’s voice. She kept telling me that when the ground shook, and sky turns purple, I should not be afraid to go inside, that I’d be safe inside. Inside what? I had no idea. But her voice kept assuring me that I would be fine if I just went inside. Then a familiar face interrupted the conversation. When you don’t see someone here for a couple of days you begin to think that the worst has happened. A man named Stephen (who had on a ridiculously expensive looking Gold watch) sat beside me on the plane. After the crash I never saw him again until today when he clumsily stumbled out of the jungle. I wonder where he was all this time.
Day 67: Eight days ago I got a warning from my mother. She told me to go inside, talked about the earth shaking, and a purple sky. I definitely thought the heat was getting to me. That is until the earth started to shake and I found a cabin appear out of nowhere. There was no way that it was overlooked. There was nothing here for two months and suddenly, there it was. It was then that I remembered what my mother told me. I’d be safe inside. Who am I to argue with my mother? Without hesitation I ran into the decrepit, old cabin. I really hope this is what she meant.
I looked outside and the sky was turning purple. The light grew brighter and brighter, the sound of the hum more deafening. All at once, I thought I went blind and lost my hearing. The dilapidated wood of the cabin shook violently, but only for an instant. I sensed that there was someone else inside with me, but I couldn’t see anybody. I wanted to go and look around to see if there was anybody around but another door slowly creaked open. It was a door that looked like it didn’t belong, almost as if it had appeared out of nowhere.
Taking a quick glance outside of the window, I could see the sky purple and the jungle quaking from whatever was going on. The little cabin was almost like a little bubble protecting me from whatever was going on outside. Time seemed slower outside. The waves were crashing much more slowly and the leaves seemed to hesitate moving about. But despite the oddity outside, I was drawn to that other door. A light shined from the other side that was different from the sunlight on the beach, almost more manmade then natural.
I stepped through the door expecting to feel sand between my toes or some sort of shrubbery brushing up against my leg but I felt the cold harshness of a linoleum floor. I was in an apartment that I had never seen before. It was cool and it put me in shock. How could I possibly be here? Am I still on the island? There was a faint scent in the air that I had missed. Morning Glories! My favorite flower? It must be some sort of coincidence. And then I heard music. Ironically, it was Driveshaft. I have to admit, after meeting the man behind the music, not so impressed by the song. At least it’s still catchy.
But then I saw what I was meant to see. There he was, unaware that I was in the room, but almost waiting for me, preparing for me. There was even an extra place at the dinner table. I saw that he made my favorite desert. “Smells like carrots,” I said to get his attention. We smiled at each other coyly, both equally stunned and excited to see the other. I couldn’t cry mainly because I couldn’t believe any of it was happening. I couldn’t tell you why it was happening either, but I was ecstatic to know that it was.
I had my chance and I made the best of it. Real or not, I told him everything. Nothing I did to Peter Corrigan is excusable but he forgave me anyway. I told him my real name. “My name is Elva Keene and I used you, Pete. I’m sorry.” It took him a while to get used to not calling me Carmen. But it didn’t matter what I called myself. He still forgave me for everything. We danced for the rest of the night. I heard whispers calling me back to the door.
We kissed each other and it was difficult to see the other one go, still not fully knowing if what just happened actually happened. A single tear rolled down my cheek as the world around me dissolved into a bright purple light. And I can feel my feet touching the hot sand of the island once again. As the sky cleared and the hum began to subside I heard Pete whisper ever so subtly “Goodbye, Carmen.” I turned my still skeptical eyes to the jungle where I came from and whispered back, “Good bye, Pete. I love you.”
No comments:
Post a Comment