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One day, Charlie and Hurley were sitting on the beach, feeling bored as usual. They had gotten tired of playing fetch with that freaky killer black cloud of smoke, and now were just quietly waiting for death…or for something entertaining like a flat screen TV to wash up on shore, which ever came first.

"Hey, maybe we could…" Hurley's voice trailed off.

"What? What?!" said Charlie, desperate for something to do. Anything but this.

"Ah, never mind." Hurley sighed and resumed staring at the horizon.

Charlie disgustedly muttered something under his breath.

Suddenly, Desmond came running up to them, out of breath and panting. He seemed to be trying to tell them something, but he couldn't get it out.

"What's up, Des?" said Hurley.

"Huh…huh…" Desmond wheezed.

"Oh, it's probably one of those visions he's been having about my death," said Charlie casually, propping his head on his hand. He'd stopped falling for those around the twentieth prediction, when Desmond had claimed he would be beaten to death by a band of chimpanzees in ladies' heels.

Hurley, however, was less complacent. "Oh my God! Charlie's gonna die?!"

"No!" exclaimed Desmond, who had finally caught his breath. About time too, considering how fast a runner Desmond was… "Where's Jack?! I need to tell him something!"

"Calm down, Des, he's probably beating the crap out of Ben Linus somewhere. Why do you need to see him?" said Hurley.

"Because!" said Desmond frantically. "If what I've seen is true, then that would mean that this island, and our lives, are nothing more than a TV show!"