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Author's Chapter Notes:
disclaimer: Characters from Lost belong to Jeffrey Lieber, J.J. Abrams, and Damon Lindelof.
dedication: written for maybedarkpink in the Female Gen Ficathon.
spoilers: Through season one.
but behind their silence there lies
a burning determination of revenge
clasping a sharpened blade that rips and stabs

from “Trees revisited” by Lee Su-ik (translation by Brother Anthony of Taize [An Sonjae])

Once, when she was but a child, Sun must have thought the world was fair.

She was a cherished daughter, adored and spoiled, given all she ever wanted. Her desires changed with time—from toys to boys to love—but she has received every last thing she has thought of having for more than a breath.

There was one constant in her youth, as her father went about his business, and her relatives entertained and spoke together in gentle words and phrases. The house was lovely, and the lands sculpted to compliment, but she has always found them more beautiful by far.

She has always known she belonged in the gardens, has always trusted to their growth.


When she is alone, Sun sees flowers, even when her eyes are closed.

Sometimes it is difficult to know when she sleeps, impossible to tell the difference between reality and a dream. The warmth fades only a little when the sun sets, and the fires on the beach burn so bright if she squints, it could be daylight always, hot and wet.

Plants flourish around her, and she finds peace in her makeshift garden, her fingers deep in the mud. It stains her fingers, is embedded beneath the tips of her nails; her hands have grown rough, and bear calluses from the sticks she uses to dig the holes for the seeds. She almost does not recognize them anymore, dark with dirt and colored by the sun.

The others do not realize how important the plants are to them. They understand some are edible, and they burn dry wood for their signal fire, but they ignore the ever-changing plant world around them.

It is the unimportant background and they feel free to ignore it, though the herbal medicines Sun can grow will help them stay strong, help them survive until the raft is finished, until they are found.

She is not certain she wants to be found.

Here there is no past following too close, no future rising like an uncultivable mountain. Life is pared down to the essential, to survival, to the present and all its unknowns. The secrets she carries are no longer important, no longer the end of her entire world.

She sold her peace, her freedom, for a flower.


Sun has known flowers her entire life.

Her father did not enjoy the sight and the smell of them, but it was customary for people of their station to have gardens landscaped, nooks overflowing with color, and vases filled with delicate vines and serene arrangements of greenery.

She was allowed to explore the gardens after her lessons were complete. The house was untouchable, and filled with priceless decorations, and there was always the threat she would be kidnapped by those who desired her father’s power. The family’s lands were considered safe, and she was expected to entertain herself. Books held their charms, and music, but most of all she loved to be outside, beneath the sun, the fresh air crisp in her lungs.

There was a maze when she was a child, the hedges thick and green, leaves sharp enough on the edges to cut her soft skin. It rose over her head, so tall she expected it to block the sun, and the ground between the living walls was studded with broad stone steps.

The head gardener bowed low when she asked him the way to the center of the maze, before she had learned there were people she should not speak with, people who were not of the same social caste.

He told her she would never fail to find the center by plunging her hand against the correct wall and following it without break.

Some days Sun walked, sometimes she ran, but whenever she felt lost, she touched the hedges, and found her way.

On the island, she kneels in her garden, winds her fingers through the leaves, but there are no decorative plants here.


She does not hate.

She does not hate her father, though he has taken the man she loved and turned him into a creature she cannot understand. Jin’s hands are dirty still, but stained now with blood and bruises. He does not touch her, and she remembers it well, the way her father was the same, the way she learned not to run to him after school, the way he did not respond to her hugs and her face upturned for a kiss.

Still she does not wish for revenge.

They have taken that wish from her, the flowers and herbs and trees. They cradle her when she cannot sleep, or perhaps when she is sleeping and does not know it, they use the wind to whisper comfort into her ears, rushing sounds the other survivors will never understand.

Sun heard more of their gossip directly from them when they thought she couldn’t understand them; they spoke freely then, and she stood and she listened. Now they know, now she is no longer safe, but still she knows their secrets.

They do not believe the plants live, not as they do, but she knows. She knows the truth.


She was taught, not by her parents or honored grandparents but by those girls she named friend, she would change her beliefs as she grew. Once she must have believed the world was fair, and love the greatest fairness of all. She believed she would honor and obey her husband without question, and he would be gentle and kind.

Sun has no beliefs anymore, except for this: The plants need her, and swell with life when she touches them gently. They accept her caresses, and she can give them to the others. The herbs allow her to help.

The only reason Sun remains alive is because the fauna has taken her in, and processes her drowning thoughts.

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