The Post Lost Chronicles: "The Loneliness of Hugo Reyes"

Sometimes when the sun sets and the moon rises, I imagine I am still back home. Soon, however, the night sounds of the jungle begin and I realize I am still here. How long has it been? Twenty? Thirty years? I don't keep count anymore. I am basically alone now. Ben died several years ago. It was really weird. He had gone back down into the wreckage of the Swan station to see if there was anything we could still use. Somehow, he managed to set off the last functional blast door and it suddenly closed down and crushed him to death. Oh, well. I guess, as he used to say, the island was now through with him. That really sucked. I haven't seen Rose or Bernard for years. They never liked company and pretty much stay to themselves. Cindy Chandler and Zach and Emma are still here, but they stay on their side of the island. Once in awhile, when I am out on the beach, checking my fish traps, I see Cindy out walking further up the beach. I wave and she waves back but she stays away. I guess, as the island's protector, I still sort of frighten her. I don't blame her. She's seen enough "protectors" of this island in her life. Vincent still wanders into my camp once and awhile. He must be a pretty old dog by now. I guess the island's health "properties" has really worked out for him. He stays with me some nights, then by morning, wanders back into the jungle. Animals seem to fare well here. I still see Kate's black horse once in a while. Frank's cow wanders around. Boars are still here. No more Polar bears, though. Thank God! The island's "properties" for me isn't working so good. I am now old and sick. I pass the time taking short walks along the beach. I now look real funky with my long, white curly hair and gray beard. I wear a long robe I made. I like my robe. Its comfortable. I look like one of those Greek or Roman gods, as I wander around. Once, I was sort of treated like a god. Today, I am pretty much ignored. I like that too. Too much pressure to be a god. I think the island is pretty much done with me as well. I don't hear the whispers anymore. In fact, I don't even see any ghosts anymore. Guess I've lost my mojo, or whatever it was. I'm still the island's protector, as far as I know. No one has shipwrecked or crashed or wandered ashore for years. I guess the light still shines. I haven't been to the bamboo forest in a long time. I am writing this all down in a logbook I found. I don't know why. No one will ever read it. I don't know how much time I have left. That's kind of funny. Time. As if time had any meaning here anyway. But, as I have pointed out, I have gotten old. I have written down some burial directions when the time comes. Although, since Vincent is the only one who comes around and I don't think he can read yet, it might be for nothing. Maybe he could be like some hero dog and run back to Rose or Bernard or Cindy, barking for them to follow him. Then he could lead them back to my body. Oh, well. Its just a thought. But I am tired. Yeah, I think the island is done with me. But that's cool. I've lived a good life. I was a protector. I helped to change people's lives. For the better, I hope. But I'll tell you one thing about being a protector. Its very lonely. Next: Case #6 "The James Ford Loop"