So, fellow Middlers and Tailies, Others and Dharmites, Mr. Clucksters and Apollo-Chompers, the end of Lost is nigh. On Sunday night, in a fourteen-and-a-half-hour finalestravaganza, conjoined executive producers Carmon Cuselhof will bury your favorite show alive like a couple of bickering, photogenic diamond thieves. (Have we alienated you with enough inside, borderline nonsensical references yet? Yes? Oh well, you never understood us anyway.) But how will the show finish up its six-season run? To prevent ourselves from spending this weekend curled up in the fetal position while nervously clutching a Hurley-sized bag of Dharma-branded Cheese-Flavor Air Puffs as we await the final round of Answers to our Questions, we're instead letting our imagination run wild, taking us to the place we dared not visit before: the final scene of Lost. Beware: as this is almost certainly what our last glimpse of the island will look like, spoilers are sure to abound!
The Final Scene
Jack, having volunteered to be Protector Of The Cave With The Magic Light Inside It during the gang's campfire explain-o-thon with the Jacob's ghost, stands across a body-strewn beach from Smokey. The camera pans across the broken form of Hurley, an eviscerated Ben, a smiling, blood-spattered Desmond peacefully cradling Richard's decapitated head. "They're all dead, Jack, so now I can kill you." Jack, emboldened by his sip from the Tin Cup Of Immortality, sneers. There is talk of rules, of loopholes for those rules. A standoff. Smokey, assuming his familiar, devilsmog form, barrels towards Jack. Sawyer -- not as dead as previously assumed -- stirs, sees the pitch-black column surging toward his brave frenemy, and leaps into its path. But rather than launch his shirtless body into a tree or some nearby rocks, the smoke enters Sawyer, oozing into his ears, his mouth, his eye-sockets. Jack watches, gaping with awe. As the last obsidian wisp of evil -- though evil with some complicated mommy issues! -- enters the Sawyer-vessel, he turns and faces Jack.
"Suddenly you're terrible at nicknames."
"Yeah, well, looks like we've got an eternity sitting on this stupid beach for me to practice, Jack Sort Of Sounds Like Jerk."
Kate, also not as dead as thought by the tragically poor-assumption-making Smokey, approaches from the jungle. She explains she wasn't killed because while everyone was fighting, she snuck down into the Cave and ate all the Light. You what? But how? They are not pleased.
"Is it just me, or do the two of you look extra-handsome all of the sudden?"
Jack and Smoke-Sawyer exchange knowing, exasperated glances.
"Listen here, Spotty."
"Freckles."
"Whatever. If you think the two of us are gonna fight over you for centuries, you got another thing coming."
"I guess we'll see, won't we?"
Dejected, Smoke-Sawyer sits down in the sand. "I'm never getting off this damn island, am I?"
Jack sits down next to him. "Hey, Jacob gave me this fun box full of polished white and black stones. Up for a game of whatever this is?"
Kate plops down between them. "Oooh, winner gets a date!"
As Jack begins randomly arranging the stones on the squares etched atop the wooden box, Smoke-Sawyer waves a hand, silencing them. "Shhh. You hear that?"
"Is that a plane?"
They look to the sky; in the distance, an airliner comes into view.
Smoke-Sawyer smirks. High above them, the airliner inexplicably snaps into three pieces.
"Here we go a--"
Cut to black.
A rushing noise grows louder, then louder still, finally joined by a deafening flourish of strangled trumpets.
Four giant, white letters twist through the void for the last time:
LOST.