She was considering it.
G023 - Jennifer Su: START
She stood at the edge of the bridge, toes curling over the precipice, with the only thing stopping her from leaning forward and plunging to her death being the arm she had wrapped around one of the steel beams of the bridge. Her shoes had been roughly discarded just behind her.
She...
She was seriously considering it. Of course she was. Better to get it over with now than to die miserable and alone. Better to go on her own terms than to be horribly dismembered by some horrible husk of what had once been a fellow classmate.
Jennifer wasn't stupid, and she wasn't naive. She knew how these things had gone down in the past. Things were going to go to shit. There was no way to stop that.
Jennifer didn't want to be part of it.
All she had to do was let go.
So why couldn't she?
Jennifer sighed. She didn't want to die.
She considered stepping back at that point, to just move along and not think about offing herself anymore.
But something stopped her from doing that, too.
Was she just going to run around like a lost child before she was inevitably killed by a raving lunatic?
And then there was the other option...
She felt a little sick even thinking about it. She had to get at least one, or this... this whole thing...
It would just happen all over again.
She knew she wouldn't be able to handle that, but she definitely couldn't handle killing someone else.
So...
Stay... or go.
Stay...
...or go.
Jennifer kept her feet planted on the edge of the bridge, indecision keeping her in a vise grip.
Asymptote
Open
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
'There are two kinds of pride, both good and bad. 'Good pride' represents our dignity and self-respect. 'Bad pride' is the deadly sin of superiority that reeks of conceit and arrogance.'
---John C. Maxwell
(Blair Moore, V6 Start)
Blair couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. The place looked like a sanitarium complex of some sort. Presumably, this was an isolated enough to be hard to find, probably on an island given precedent of the previous 'seasons'. So here she was, in an abandoned loony bin in the middle of the ocean, and she had a giant fucking shield. A 'scutum'.
Of course, one might claim that a shield was useful to stay alive. Protection, etc. But since it weighed like 20 pounds and was super unwieldy, there was no way Blair was going to lug it around with her non-endurance. So it was left at the end of the bridge when she started down it, bag slung over her shoulders and map in her hands under her glowering gaze.
There were things to be said about the terrorists, the situation and all, but Blair didn't give a shit. Nor did she give a fuck about the irony of her already-shortened life being clipped even quicker than before by a sadistic, elaborate scheme. There were no shits or fucks to be found here. Blair was angry, sure, but not in a directed way.
She was storming down the bridge, staring straight down at the piece of paper in her hands, trying to calm the storm in her head. Scattered, furious images raced through her mind's eyes; knives, guns, corpses and whatnot. The red of blood from Mr. Graham, the faces of the fuckers who-
Blair stumbled as she walked into Jennifer's bag, having been so distracted by her own building anger that she hadn't noticed it lying in the road. As she righted herself, kneeling on the pavement, Blair paused, momentarily unable to figure out why she had two bags now.
Oh. Shit.
Blair looked around, suddenly feeling like her heart was about to stop. Her lungs hurt. She had stumbled into a trap, and suddenly she wished she had her shield-
Wait, no, there was just a girl. She could relax. Who was...
"The fuck..." Blair muttered. Then, her eyes widened as she gathered the context of the situation. "HEY! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Blair shouted, suddenly feeling her heart seize again.
---John C. Maxwell
(Blair Moore, V6 Start)
Blair couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. The place looked like a sanitarium complex of some sort. Presumably, this was an isolated enough to be hard to find, probably on an island given precedent of the previous 'seasons'. So here she was, in an abandoned loony bin in the middle of the ocean, and she had a giant fucking shield. A 'scutum'.
Of course, one might claim that a shield was useful to stay alive. Protection, etc. But since it weighed like 20 pounds and was super unwieldy, there was no way Blair was going to lug it around with her non-endurance. So it was left at the end of the bridge when she started down it, bag slung over her shoulders and map in her hands under her glowering gaze.
There were things to be said about the terrorists, the situation and all, but Blair didn't give a shit. Nor did she give a fuck about the irony of her already-shortened life being clipped even quicker than before by a sadistic, elaborate scheme. There were no shits or fucks to be found here. Blair was angry, sure, but not in a directed way.
She was storming down the bridge, staring straight down at the piece of paper in her hands, trying to calm the storm in her head. Scattered, furious images raced through her mind's eyes; knives, guns, corpses and whatnot. The red of blood from Mr. Graham, the faces of the fuckers who-
Blair stumbled as she walked into Jennifer's bag, having been so distracted by her own building anger that she hadn't noticed it lying in the road. As she righted herself, kneeling on the pavement, Blair paused, momentarily unable to figure out why she had two bags now.
Oh. Shit.
Blair looked around, suddenly feeling like her heart was about to stop. Her lungs hurt. She had stumbled into a trap, and suddenly she wished she had her shield-
Wait, no, there was just a girl. She could relax. Who was...
"The fuck..." Blair muttered. Then, her eyes widened as she gathered the context of the situation. "HEY! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Blair shouted, suddenly feeling her heart seize again.
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
Maybe... she should... step back.
"HEY! WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Jennifer's heart jumped in her throat. Had someone come to kill her already?!
She turned to face the source of the voice.
She turned just a bit too quickly.
Her left foot went too far backward, and didn't find any ground. It dipped down past the edge, and the rest of her body followed.
As she fell, she realized that she truly, truly, didn't want to die.
It was too late, though.
The choice had already been made for her.
G023 - Jennifer Su: DECEASED
"HEY! WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Jennifer's heart jumped in her throat. Had someone come to kill her already?!
She turned to face the source of the voice.
She turned just a bit too quickly.
Her left foot went too far backward, and didn't find any ground. It dipped down past the edge, and the rest of her body followed.
As she fell, she realized that she truly, truly, didn't want to die.
It was too late, though.
The choice had already been made for her.
G023 - Jennifer Su: DECEASED
Well.
You know.
There's a lot to be said about this whole thing.
Most of it is cursing and incoherent babbling/blubbering.
Blair watched as the other girl turned around, startled, and she saw Jennifer's face as she fell backwards and even though she knew what happened she crawled over to the edge, not too close, and peered over the side of the bridge.
She was gone.
They say 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me'. Bullshit. Blair had killed someone with her mouth. That was, in a sense, impressive, but it was a little hard to be proud of your accomplishments in difficult tasks when the task was monstrous in intent. She felt shell-shocked. That was a good word for it. The girl had died, and Blair was the cause. It was arguable that it wasn't her fault. That was bullshit as well. She had committed manslaughter. She was...God, this sucked.
With a heavy sigh followed by pained breathing, Blair stood up and dusted herself off, trying to resist the tightness in her midriff that threatened to collapse her like a star into a black hole. She staggered on wobbly legs back to her bag...her bags. It occurred to her that Blair had Jennifer's supplies now. A great consolation prize.
Of course, upon opening the bag and pulling out the ill-gotten weapon, she flung it off the bridge. Disrespectful, perhaps, but Blair wasn't in the mood. The water and food bars went into her own duffel, though. Blair didn't want to run out of supplies, after all. As if she deserved to keep surviving after this.
It was hard. She shouldn't feel bad for herself, logically, seeing as she was hardly the victim here. But she wanted to cry. She'd not even known what she was doing, and now she'd gone and fucked everything. If rescue came tomorrow, she might have caused the only fatality. Maybe other people were dead. Doubtful. But the point was, she'd killed someone. KILLED someone. Jennifer was dead, forever, gone.
And Blair was still alive. Goody. She could fuck up other people's lives in the process. She could...well fuck. What was she going to do? Not win, clearly. She'd never be able to go home. Rescue wouldn't happen, and she didn't deserve to be the last one left. If the girl with CF was the fittest one here, there was something fucked up going on.
So fuck it.
Blair hiked up her bag, adjusted her shirt, and rubbed her eyes. Swallowing phlegm hard, she tried to make her way down the bridge to the other side, giving one last pause to look over at the girl's abandoned bag in the middle of the bridge.
((Blair Moore continued in Rolodex of Hate))
You know.
There's a lot to be said about this whole thing.
Most of it is cursing and incoherent babbling/blubbering.
Blair watched as the other girl turned around, startled, and she saw Jennifer's face as she fell backwards and even though she knew what happened she crawled over to the edge, not too close, and peered over the side of the bridge.
She was gone.
They say 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me'. Bullshit. Blair had killed someone with her mouth. That was, in a sense, impressive, but it was a little hard to be proud of your accomplishments in difficult tasks when the task was monstrous in intent. She felt shell-shocked. That was a good word for it. The girl had died, and Blair was the cause. It was arguable that it wasn't her fault. That was bullshit as well. She had committed manslaughter. She was...God, this sucked.
With a heavy sigh followed by pained breathing, Blair stood up and dusted herself off, trying to resist the tightness in her midriff that threatened to collapse her like a star into a black hole. She staggered on wobbly legs back to her bag...her bags. It occurred to her that Blair had Jennifer's supplies now. A great consolation prize.
Of course, upon opening the bag and pulling out the ill-gotten weapon, she flung it off the bridge. Disrespectful, perhaps, but Blair wasn't in the mood. The water and food bars went into her own duffel, though. Blair didn't want to run out of supplies, after all. As if she deserved to keep surviving after this.
It was hard. She shouldn't feel bad for herself, logically, seeing as she was hardly the victim here. But she wanted to cry. She'd not even known what she was doing, and now she'd gone and fucked everything. If rescue came tomorrow, she might have caused the only fatality. Maybe other people were dead. Doubtful. But the point was, she'd killed someone. KILLED someone. Jennifer was dead, forever, gone.
And Blair was still alive. Goody. She could fuck up other people's lives in the process. She could...well fuck. What was she going to do? Not win, clearly. She'd never be able to go home. Rescue wouldn't happen, and she didn't deserve to be the last one left. If the girl with CF was the fittest one here, there was something fucked up going on.
So fuck it.
Blair hiked up her bag, adjusted her shirt, and rubbed her eyes. Swallowing phlegm hard, she tried to make her way down the bridge to the other side, giving one last pause to look over at the girl's abandoned bag in the middle of the bridge.
((Blair Moore continued in Rolodex of Hate))