((Everett Taylor continued from Dude, how come I feel like i'm not in Kansas anymore?))
Everett was attempting to puzzle how he had managed to get ahead of his traveling companion on his way down the mountain. It had not been a conscious process. If anything, he'd tried to keep them close together. And yet, here he was. Wandering through the stumps of what had once been a part of the forest which stretched across the island, Josh somewhere behind him. It was disconcerting, the emptiness. It offered good visibility, but that was about it. It was difficult to pay much attention to his surroundings. They were too homogeneous. He kept spacing out, stepping back into his head. It was all that made the walking tolerable. His feet hurt. His shoes were not designed for heavy activity. He felt like, if he stopped, he'd never be able to get up again.
The situation he was in was starting to become a more manageable concept. It was possible to accept that people were actually dying. That wasn't so scary. People died all the time. It was a very rare day when he didn't hear about some death or another on the news or in the paper. Car crashes. Drownings. Exposure. So many deadly things in the world. He'd even had a classmate die before. Back in middle school, a girl a grade older than him had killed herself with pills. The school had sent home a letter explaining, offering psychological counseling to anyone who needed it. Everett had not. She had not been one of his friends, or someone he had known. He had seen her in the hall for a long time, and then, suddenly, he hadn't seen her anymore. It was not so different from when his neighbors moved to California.
Only now, it wasn't one girl who would be gone. It was everyone. Everyone Everett had spent any time with over the past few years, excepting those lucky few who were absent from the trip for various reasons. It was insane, but just for a moment, he found himself envying Monty Pondsworth. The rumor around school was that the bully had landed in jail. The world was being kept safe from him, and, in a twist of fate, he had been kept safe from the world.
Then, what about those who had stayed behind by choice? Or who had fallen ill? What would the school do? Everett calculated the dates in his head. He wasn't sure, but graduation had to be coming up in the next week or so. Would the ceremony still be held? Who would be appointed valedictorian? He had always dreamed of that title, though it had never been within reach. Now, it was quite possible, given that failing was one of the reasons for being held off the trip, that the honor would go to someone with a 1.9 GPA or something equally awful. Of course, that was assuming anybody would graduate. It was more likely school would be closed, counseling offered. All the lower classes would suddenly not be seeing the Seniors again. Of course, they'd been ready for that, just for different reasons.
And the surviving teachers? What about them? Was Principal Kendrick watching the broadcast? Was he agonizing over each person hurt? Did he have a secret favorite, some student he'd always liked just that tiny bit more than the others, who he was pulling for? Or was he in jail, or therapy, or dead? Suicide wouldn't have been unimaginable, given the circumstances. Everett hoped he was fine. He hoped everyone back in Saint Paul was fine. He hoped graduation would still be held. He hoped the lower grades would still have to take their finals. Really, in the grand scheme of things, the death of the Bayview senior class was a drop in the water. It was a story that would be told for years to come, but that was it. It would not ruin the lives of too many people. Even his parents would get over it, before too long. They would move on. His younger brothers would grow up, and they would be better men than he could ever have hoped to become. They were smart. In shape, too. They'd miss him at first, but then they'd get over it. They would take care of his parents in their old age. His family would cope.
He wondered if he should say goodbye, turn to a camera right now and just wish his folks the best. That would be overly defeatist, though. No, he had a few messages for the world, but he wouldn't be sharing them until and unless he knew he wouldn't be making it out alive. For the moment, he was still trying his hardest, still plugging away at existing. Even if he didn't really think he'd last too long, he had to make the effort. He had to do his best to make it back home. Give his mom another hug. Spend Saturday in the park, cleaning up garbage. Without him there, it was sure to go to pieces. Even with that nice article the girl from the school paper had written, it just wasn't easy to find responsible youth these days who had any interest in cleaning up an old park.
Wrapped up in these worries and thoughts, Everett had completely disconnected himself from his physical reality. He walked on instinct, stumbling from time to time, not paying any real attention to his surroundings as he passed through them.
Regrets
TOPIC CLOSED
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MurderWeasel
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armeggedonCounselor†
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((Janet Binachi continued (finally) from The Dilemma.))
Janet couldn't remember when she had begun following the boy. She had been nearly out of the cleared forest when she saw him approaching. It had been easy to hide and follow him, even though she wasn't terribly stealthy. The lack of trees or much vegetation here had made it easy to follow from a distance. The tall brown-haired boy, whose name Janet believed to be Everett, or something like that, was, as she got closer, pretty obviously walking on auto-pilot. He stumbled occasionally, as an old root or rock made itself known, but mostly he kept his head down and just walked. It didn't surprise Janet that somebody had already slipped beyond the horizon of despair. She imagined many people had, though she wasn't one of them. Despair would only get her killed.
She slipped along the side of the hill, crossing to get in front of the boy. She stepped out of the hollow created by the hill and said loudly, "Hey. What's the hurry, champ?"
She held her hockey stick across her body and let herself relax. Seem confident, that was the goal. Don't let the enemy ('The enemy? This boy was your classmate most of your life. You probably considered asking him to a middle school dance. He's a human being, not a number!' came the inevitable thought, though Janet tried to quash it.) know that you are afraid to hurt him. Don't let yourself know that you're afraid to kill.
'Don't die.'
Janet couldn't remember when she had begun following the boy. She had been nearly out of the cleared forest when she saw him approaching. It had been easy to hide and follow him, even though she wasn't terribly stealthy. The lack of trees or much vegetation here had made it easy to follow from a distance. The tall brown-haired boy, whose name Janet believed to be Everett, or something like that, was, as she got closer, pretty obviously walking on auto-pilot. He stumbled occasionally, as an old root or rock made itself known, but mostly he kept his head down and just walked. It didn't surprise Janet that somebody had already slipped beyond the horizon of despair. She imagined many people had, though she wasn't one of them. Despair would only get her killed.
She slipped along the side of the hill, crossing to get in front of the boy. She stepped out of the hollow created by the hill and said loudly, "Hey. What's the hurry, champ?"
She held her hockey stick across her body and let herself relax. Seem confident, that was the goal. Don't let the enemy ('The enemy? This boy was your classmate most of your life. You probably considered asking him to a middle school dance. He's a human being, not a number!' came the inevitable thought, though Janet tried to quash it.) know that you are afraid to hurt him. Don't let yourself know that you're afraid to kill.
'Don't die.'
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MurderWeasel
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And suddenly, there was a girl, where none had been before. A girl holding a hockey stick. Janet Binachi. Someone he didn't know that well. Good grades. Therefore, likely reliable and still sane. That was a relief. Though something in her greeting was off. Everett thought as he spoke, trying to puzzle it out.
"Oh, no hurry. Just moving along towards the buildings with..." Oh, hey, where had Josh gone? That wasn't good. Come to think of it, it'd been a little while since Everett had really registered his companion. Was it possible that he'd gotten ahead of the boy? Josh had seemed a bit tired earlier, but he was faking that, right? Putting on an act to make Everett feel better?
"Uh, nice draw," he said, switching gears and gesturing towards her weapon. Sports equipment. Probably worthless, right? There was no way that a hockey stick, something the school left lying in the gym, could kill someone, right? It would be like murdering somebody with classroom supplies. Well, less dangerous ones than scissors. Yeah.
"I got a..." Everett was about to complain about his discarded raft, when it hit him what a terrible idea that would be. First off, it marked him as easy pickings, since he was unarmed. Secondly, it made him into a potential killer, because he could be lying, and, since he had discarded his weapon, he couldn't prove what it had really been. Finally, something about Janet just made him want a defensive option. He'd have settled for a knife, or something, but picked the most scary thing he could imagine on the spur of the moment. After all, if he was dreaming, might as well dream big, right?
"A gun. One of those huge pistols you always see in movies." That was good, wasn't it? She wouldn't attack him now. Only, he clearly wasn't holding a pistol. That presented some issues. "Right in here," he continued, patting his duffel bag.
He realized that he'd made a mistake. He'd made himself out as a threat. She might be afraid of him now. He couldn't back down from his statement, either. Where was Josh? When he showed up, he'd be able to help Everett smooth this thing over, no problem. Yeah. Josh would know what to do. He was naturally bright. He'd fix things up, and then Janet could join them. Yes. Everett shifted his weight to his rear foot, then stretched, raising his arms above his head, trying to bleed off some of the tension. It probably looked odd, but he had to do something. Josh would be here soon, and then the deception could end. He'd just explain that he'd been scared, and Josh would back him up, explain that he was a good guy. It'd all be fine.
"Oh, no hurry. Just moving along towards the buildings with..." Oh, hey, where had Josh gone? That wasn't good. Come to think of it, it'd been a little while since Everett had really registered his companion. Was it possible that he'd gotten ahead of the boy? Josh had seemed a bit tired earlier, but he was faking that, right? Putting on an act to make Everett feel better?
"Uh, nice draw," he said, switching gears and gesturing towards her weapon. Sports equipment. Probably worthless, right? There was no way that a hockey stick, something the school left lying in the gym, could kill someone, right? It would be like murdering somebody with classroom supplies. Well, less dangerous ones than scissors. Yeah.
"I got a..." Everett was about to complain about his discarded raft, when it hit him what a terrible idea that would be. First off, it marked him as easy pickings, since he was unarmed. Secondly, it made him into a potential killer, because he could be lying, and, since he had discarded his weapon, he couldn't prove what it had really been. Finally, something about Janet just made him want a defensive option. He'd have settled for a knife, or something, but picked the most scary thing he could imagine on the spur of the moment. After all, if he was dreaming, might as well dream big, right?
"A gun. One of those huge pistols you always see in movies." That was good, wasn't it? She wouldn't attack him now. Only, he clearly wasn't holding a pistol. That presented some issues. "Right in here," he continued, patting his duffel bag.
He realized that he'd made a mistake. He'd made himself out as a threat. She might be afraid of him now. He couldn't back down from his statement, either. Where was Josh? When he showed up, he'd be able to help Everett smooth this thing over, no problem. Yeah. Josh would know what to do. He was naturally bright. He'd fix things up, and then Janet could join them. Yes. Everett shifted his weight to his rear foot, then stretched, raising his arms above his head, trying to bleed off some of the tension. It probably looked odd, but he had to do something. Josh would be here soon, and then the deception could end. He'd just explain that he'd been scared, and Josh would back him up, explain that he was a good guy. It'd all be fine.
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ET.Requiem†
- Posts: 73
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((Kevin Harding continued from All That I've Ever Known))
Christ... Christ... Don't let me die here, not here, never here-
Kevin skidded to a halt, scattering the dried leaves as he entered the forest of stumps. He ducked down and laid on the floor, ignoring the dirt and smell of decay. He needed to catch his breath. That was a close escape. He didn't wait for the dynamite to explode, yet he heard the detonation and felt a piece of wood fly perilously close to his head as he sprinted directly away from the sawmill. Did the others in there survive? He hoped not. But he wouldn't be surprised if they showed up again later.
He started taking deep breaths. This was a bad situation. He wasn't exactly Solid Snake. He couldn't hide here for long. It would be in his best interests to get out of this place as soon as he was rested enough to start running again. Kevin raised his head just above the closest stump and looked around. Nothing but a devastated forest.... That was goo- Wait a second. Two people. They were a fair distance away, roughly 40 to 50 feet. He didn't bother to try and recognize them. The only thing he cared about right now was figuring out if they knew he was there.
He ducked back down underneath the stump. He couldn't afford to be empathetic to their situation. No, it would get him killed. He didn't want to die, not in the slightest. Well, maybe being kind to them wouldn't backfire this one time. But he had to be selfish here. Could he afford an alliance with them? No, no..... Maybe. Yeah, probably. He bit down on his lip. He was freaking out too much. He had to stop thinking about such stupid things and just DO something.
"Observe. Yeah, that's what I'll do." Kevin needed to calm down. Stay focused on the task, and watch them. Yes, staying put and watching them would help him survive. Stay calm. Stay quiet.
Christ... Christ... Don't let me die here, not here, never here-
Kevin skidded to a halt, scattering the dried leaves as he entered the forest of stumps. He ducked down and laid on the floor, ignoring the dirt and smell of decay. He needed to catch his breath. That was a close escape. He didn't wait for the dynamite to explode, yet he heard the detonation and felt a piece of wood fly perilously close to his head as he sprinted directly away from the sawmill. Did the others in there survive? He hoped not. But he wouldn't be surprised if they showed up again later.
He started taking deep breaths. This was a bad situation. He wasn't exactly Solid Snake. He couldn't hide here for long. It would be in his best interests to get out of this place as soon as he was rested enough to start running again. Kevin raised his head just above the closest stump and looked around. Nothing but a devastated forest.... That was goo- Wait a second. Two people. They were a fair distance away, roughly 40 to 50 feet. He didn't bother to try and recognize them. The only thing he cared about right now was figuring out if they knew he was there.
He ducked back down underneath the stump. He couldn't afford to be empathetic to their situation. No, it would get him killed. He didn't want to die, not in the slightest. Well, maybe being kind to them wouldn't backfire this one time. But he had to be selfish here. Could he afford an alliance with them? No, no..... Maybe. Yeah, probably. He bit down on his lip. He was freaking out too much. He had to stop thinking about such stupid things and just DO something.
"Observe. Yeah, that's what I'll do." Kevin needed to calm down. Stay focused on the task, and watch them. Yes, staying put and watching them would help him survive. Stay calm. Stay quiet.
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armeggedonCounselor†
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((GMing approved by KV.))
Janet smiled, not paying attention to the words Everett was saying. What she was focusing on was her next move. Pacifism was what she believed in, but it would get her killed here. Everett seemed like a safe choice as he foot in the door, as she wasn't very familiar with him. No personal feelings to get in the way, despite what her conscience was screaming.
One word knocked on her ears and burned itself into the brain. Pistol. Big one. Shit.... But wait. He obviously wasn't holding it, and he even said it was in his daypack. Good. She would have to be certain it didn't take very long. Everett even obligingly put his hands above his head. So helpful.
"Everett. You should probably have your weapon at the ready at all times. You never know when you might meet a player," she said, stepping forward with a saccharine smile on her face. It was out of place on her normally strict features, and even more out of place considering the setting. Thus, it was highly disconcerting, or so she hoped.
Janet let a sigh pass her lips, smile fading to a sorrowful face. "It's too bad the lesson comes too late."
She stepped back slightly, twisting her body to impart more force to the stick as she swung it, narrow edge forward, into Everett's face. His nose crushed down sickeningly, but not back far enough to strike his brain. This was problematic, as it meant he wouldn't die from brain damage. Fortune smiled on her as Everett stepped back, stumbled, and fell over, hitting his head on a stump with a sickening thud. Janet froze, watching the red flow from Everett's face. She hoped that the fall had damaged his brain stem, killing him in a more instant way, but it was not to be. The bloody form stirred, trying to sit up just a little bit.
Janet panicked slightly. It was different to kill someone standing up before you, threatening and strong. Killing someone who couldn't fight back.... To hide her panic, Janet brutally stomped on Everett's rib cage, feeling the bones crunch underfoot. The boy exhaled sharply, blowing red from his nose and mouth all over Janet's shoes and pants, where it mingled with the darkened red from the teachers. She gagged slightly, turning away. She swallowed, grabbed the day pack and wrestled it away from the injured boy. It was hers now. To the victor, the spoils, right?
Janet smiled, not paying attention to the words Everett was saying. What she was focusing on was her next move. Pacifism was what she believed in, but it would get her killed here. Everett seemed like a safe choice as he foot in the door, as she wasn't very familiar with him. No personal feelings to get in the way, despite what her conscience was screaming.
One word knocked on her ears and burned itself into the brain. Pistol. Big one. Shit.... But wait. He obviously wasn't holding it, and he even said it was in his daypack. Good. She would have to be certain it didn't take very long. Everett even obligingly put his hands above his head. So helpful.
"Everett. You should probably have your weapon at the ready at all times. You never know when you might meet a player," she said, stepping forward with a saccharine smile on her face. It was out of place on her normally strict features, and even more out of place considering the setting. Thus, it was highly disconcerting, or so she hoped.
Janet let a sigh pass her lips, smile fading to a sorrowful face. "It's too bad the lesson comes too late."
She stepped back slightly, twisting her body to impart more force to the stick as she swung it, narrow edge forward, into Everett's face. His nose crushed down sickeningly, but not back far enough to strike his brain. This was problematic, as it meant he wouldn't die from brain damage. Fortune smiled on her as Everett stepped back, stumbled, and fell over, hitting his head on a stump with a sickening thud. Janet froze, watching the red flow from Everett's face. She hoped that the fall had damaged his brain stem, killing him in a more instant way, but it was not to be. The bloody form stirred, trying to sit up just a little bit.
Janet panicked slightly. It was different to kill someone standing up before you, threatening and strong. Killing someone who couldn't fight back.... To hide her panic, Janet brutally stomped on Everett's rib cage, feeling the bones crunch underfoot. The boy exhaled sharply, blowing red from his nose and mouth all over Janet's shoes and pants, where it mingled with the darkened red from the teachers. She gagged slightly, turning away. She swallowed, grabbed the day pack and wrestled it away from the injured boy. It was hers now. To the victor, the spoils, right?
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MurderWeasel
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The stretch felt good. That, and the thought that Josh would be here soon, were helping Everett keep calm. Making things manageable. And Janet was getting close. Smiling. That was good. His worry slipped away. She was smiling. She was helping; it would—wait, no, what?
His reaction was too slow. He watched her face go sad. Not angry. Angry he could have dealt with. Sad was wrong. Sad was strange. He heard her words: "It's too bad the lesson comes too late." She was correct. Too late. Too late now. Too late to smarten up. Too late to run. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be sudden. He was supposed to have time for last words. But wait, a hockey stick couldn't possibly kill him, right? It was just gym equipment. It couldn't...
He heard the crunch, saw the stick impact. Red. Red flew from his face. Red stained his shirt. The ground. The hockey stick. Red arced away from him as he stepped backwards, stumbled. Right. Sticks everywhere. Foolish to forget that. Again, too late. He was already falling. He kept his sight fixed on Janet. She did not look angry. She seemed almost scared, but no... more than that. Worse. She looked dead. Like there was nothing left in her to feel anything. He felt sorry for her. His head hit the stump. Blackness for a moment.
Funny. The blackness was not Everett's enemy. Even now. No, it was his rest. His reprieve, from a day of hard work. School, homework, volunteering—it took so much time. So much energy. The best thing was to lie down at the end of the day and go to sleep. He'd never had the stamina to pull an all-nighter and function the next day. The nothingness of rest was life to him. Life and sanity. So, the blackness was a good thing. Exactly how he'd wanted to go. Except for this awful ringing pain in his head and nose. That he could do without. No choice but to shut it away. Push it off. Go peacefully into oblivion.
No.
No. That was weak. Pathetic. Was he going to hide again? Crawl away into his mind? Lose his last few seconds? Let Janet walk off? It couldn't be like that. Where was his resolve? He had stuff to do. A message to send. Goodbyes to say. He wasn't letting her take that from him. Light. He'd forced his eyes open. Shifted. Time to sit up. Force it out. But no, not to be. Here came Janet again. So set on finishing the job, eh? It was no wonder she'd done well in class, then. No wonder she'd probably had better grades than him her whole life. She was an adapter. The sort of person who learned to swim by being tossed in the ocean. She couldn't be blamed for this. If he'd been a bit better, he'd be doing the same. He'd be trying to make it home. Because he hadn't really tried, had he? He'd been living on borrowed time ever since he decided not to smother himself in that raft. What he'd give to go back, to try again. Leave his morals and squeamishness behind this time.
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Say it again, Janet.
It was too late to try it another way. No point pretending. Janet was in front of him. She raised her foot to his chest. It wasn't enough to smash his face in? Wasn't enough to bash the back of his head on a stump? Of course not. He might live through that. All this awful abuse of his body, and he might still make it. And Janet couldn't have that. Because then he'd be one more body between her and victory. No, that wasn't right. He blinked at her.He was... he was pretty sure it was because, if she didn't kill him now, when she had the momentum, she might have to convince herself to kill him again later. And maybe she wouldn't be able to, then. Maybe she wasn't so far gone. He didn't know her. Couldn't say.
Crack. Something, several somethings, broke inside of Everett. It hurt. It hurt more than anything in his life had ever hurt before. He'd always thought he had it bad when he tried to force himself to run for too long. Or that time he'd sprained his ankle. But all of that was nothing. He wanted to get away. Escape from his chest. It held him to the world, though. The searing pain kept him from slipping away, clung to him. He just wanted it to be done with.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
It was strange. Here in the dark, his planned last words seemed so dumb. It was simple, really. He'd wanted to say goodbye to his mom. His dad. His little brothers. But they probably wouldn't see this. At least, not for years. This was too horrible a way to go out. He didn't want them watching. No, the person he'd really wanted to send his final message to was a boy he didn't even like. Sean Carver. Sean, who hadn't been on the bus.
Rain. It was raining as Everett sat in the gazebo. He was trying to puzzle out his physics homework. Trying to sort out all the bits he didn't understand. Then, suddenly, he wasn't alone. A boy. Scraggly. Average height. Someone he knew by sight, but nothing more. A quick conversation. Greetings exchanged. Another arrival. Marion. Looking good, in the rain, her clothes clinging. Some chatting. Offer of assistance. Then it was time for Sean to go. And he kept looking at Everett's jacket. That extra-extra-large jacket.
So of course, Everett had offered it. There was no other option. No need for poor Sean to get soaked. No need for his books to get ruined. "Thanks man, you're a real sport," Sean said, and he and the jacket vanished from Everett's life.
So, what he'd wanted to do was tell Sean to pretty please make sure that jacket got back to his folks. It would mean a lot to them. He'd complained about the theft. Well, it had seemed like theft at the time. Probably simple carelessness. Who cared now? It was a jacket. It was a suit jacket, and thinking that sending some guilt trip to Sean from beyond the grave, over the airways and all throughout the nation, laying the weight of a dying wish on the boy's shoulders, would help in anyway... that was stupid. His parents wouldn't feel better if they got a scrap of cloth he'd worn back. It wouldn't be him.
They loved him. He knew that. He'd always known. They'd have loved him more if he'd been skinnier, or if he'd actually managed to be valedictorian. He wasn't perfect, not like they deserved. But they loved him enough, and they would miss him. He wished he could change that. Maybe he could've sparked a huge fight or something. Made them hate him. Made this easier.
So many things he should've done. All things he could have spent his time on, rather than wasting it worrying about some poor kid who probably needed the jacket more than Everett ever had anyways.
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Light again. Janet was gone, he thought. His bag was gone, too, the weight lifted from his shoulders. The pain was not gone. It was worse than ever. Worse than he could deal with. Way too much. He wasn't tough. He wasn't a jock or something. Why couldn't it have been a gunshot? Something quick? Wait, maybe he could survive this. Maybe he could...
He tried to spit on the ground, realizing his mouth was full of blood, probably courtesy of his crushed nose. He could taste it. He'd tasted blood before, but never this much. It was not an awful flavor. That was surprising. He spit again and again, but he could not get his mouth clear. In fact, blood was trickling down his throat. He realized he hadn't been breathing right for a while now. Were his lungs screwed up? He was unable to guess. Bio had been his worst science. He couldn't remember anything, anyways. It all hurt too much. All he knew was that blood was flowing down his throat and it was getting harder and harder to breath.
He thought he saw figures, heard voices. Had Josh made it? Was it Janet again? Someone else? Or was he just imaging things? Just conjuring up figments in an oxygen-deprived delirium?
Somehow, that seemed most likely.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
Well, if this was really the end, it could've been worse. He could've gone like poor Remi. What must that boy's family have thought? Did they know yet? It was one thing to be attacked, betrayed, slain by a classmate. Then there was a target for hatred. Someone to blame. Remi had killed himself. He had killed himself through idiocy. There was a tragedy. No visceral feelings of satisfaction for his parents as his killer finally met their match. No, nothing of the sort. Of course, maybe that was better on another level. Everett didn't like the thought of his family cheering at Janet's death. It wasn't her fault. Wasn't anyone's. Maybe not even Danya's. Who knew why they were here? Maybe there really was some good reason.
He hoped that nobody thought him worth killing for. He wasn't. He hoped Josh would be able to keep strong. Keep his optimism going. Kick some butt and save some people. Man, too bad he wouldn't be seeing that. He'd really messed up by running ahead. For once, being lazy would've been a boon. Being lazy would've saved his life. That was funny. He couldn't laugh. He gurgled instead. Felt drips fall from his mouth, his lips. His shirt was probably all red by now. Not such a big deal, though. It'd been pretty much wrecked before, with all the sweat and the vomit.
Light again. He hadn't closed his eyes before that blackout. It should've been the end. Why was he back? Wasn't this enough? He coughed. Somehow, he'd forced just a bit more air down. He blinked. It was bright. The middle of the day. He hadn't even lasted a day. That kind of sucked. How many others would face the same fate? How many had already?
He hoped Janet made it to the night. Josh too. And all of Josh's friends. Everyone. Even all the killers. Wasn't their fault. He tried to move, forced himself up a bit. That was a very bad idea. The pain rose up. He would have thrown up had his insides been working right. Instead, he slid down the stump, hacking. Then he stopped. His breath was gone again. He'd repositioned himself all wrong. He couldn't clear his throat. He was going to drown in his own blood. Well, that was a nice little mess up, wasn't it? Again, laziness would have extended his life. What a terrible dying moral that was.
And the pain. So much of it. But he could feel it without letting it control him now. There was pain. His body felt it. It seemed to have very little to do with him.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
The most welcome relief he could imagine. Time to just fade away. Let it wash through him. But no. He could still make something of what time he had left. He'd given up on sending a message. Nothing worth saying. But he could make it pleasant on himself. Die in peace. So he tried to think back to happier times.
His life did not flash before his eyes. Instead, he frantically paged through it, like an old photo album. But it was just the same pictures, again and again. Everett at his desk, studying. Everett in class, hand raised or pencil at the ready. Everett reading a book on the bus. Everett helping a younger student understand algebra. Everett cleaning up burger wrappers in the park. All these things he had lived for. All things he had said he'd enjoyed.
He had lied. Lied to his parents. Lied to colleges. Lied to his peers. Lied to himself.
Because now, he found a really happy memory, and it wasn't any of those things.
The strained beat of Rick Astley assailed Everett's ears as he stood by the snack table. He was at Prom because it was something one was supposed to do. That was it. He was not prepared to have fun. He was not prepared for good things to happen. He would not get a date. He would not even get a dance. He would leave after an hour, and call it an experience, and go to sleep. At least the noise would exhaust him, so the sleep would be a good one.
And then Will nearly bumped into Everett, nearly doused his rented tux in punch, and the evening shot off in a direction he could never have anticipated. Will apologized, paid a couple of compliments to Everett, and waltzed off, to ask a pretty Hispanic girl with spiky lack hair and a red-and-purple dress for a dance. It had been a welcome distraction, but not, it seemed, a lasting one.
Half a minute later, Will was back, and the girl was dancing with a Fijian footballer. And so the fun had truly begun. It was pointless stuff. Small talk. Jokes. Nothing that mattered. But that was how it was supposed to be, right? Everett talking with Will and Peter and Maddy, just talking. No worries about class, or grades, or college. Just a dumb social right of passage, and people who didn't care for it one bit but were enjoying being with each other.
So of course he had accepted when Will suggested cutting out. And he'd agreed to go to a party, too, despite everything in his nature fighting it. So they'd first seen a movie, something dumb and actiony, and then they were at the party, and true to Will's word, nobody had to drink anything, and nobody had to do anything they didn't want, and it was too loud and too crammed but he just didn't care. Joking, laughing. Friends. A real social life. It felt so wrong that this was a discovery for a seventeen year old.
He stood on the porch, a short time later, just enjoying the night. Knowing that his parents trusted him, that they knew he'd be responsible. That being responsible did not mean sacrificing fun. That he'd have tons of work to do the next day, but that, for once, it could be put off. It didn't matter. He just stood, and smelled the city smog, cool and heavy, and watched the lights in the distance. Thousands of people, even this late on a Saturday night.
Yes. That was it. That was what had made him happy. All those years of grades and academics and integrity and discipline, for what? This. This death. It just wasn't worth it. So much time thrown away, given to the needs and interests of others, sacrificed for a future that was never certain. It was so stupid. Even if he hadn't been grabbed, he could have been hit by a bus. He wouldn't have lived too old anyways, not with his health. So why not seize every minute of that time? Why not really live? At the end of the day, what made an A different from a B? What made an Ivy League school different from a community college?
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Janet's words. He couldn't really think straight, but they still echoed in his brain. How true. And she was no different. She'd probably wasted her life just the same way. And they were both dead, he just a bit sooner. Janet. Maybe she'd think about what she'd said. Maybe she'd take her own advice to heart. Otherwise, it wouldn't be long until she found herself in exactly the position as him.
Everett had never believed in reincarnation. Never believed in second chances. He'd had to put his all into everything he did. Now, though, he was hoping, desperately scrambling for something to cling to. Hoping for a do over. Hoping for another shot.
He hoped he could do it all again, somehow. And this time, he hoped he wouldn't have to die to realize what it was to live.
Once more, blackness for a moment, darker now.
No more light.
B037 - Everett Taylor - DECEASED
His reaction was too slow. He watched her face go sad. Not angry. Angry he could have dealt with. Sad was wrong. Sad was strange. He heard her words: "It's too bad the lesson comes too late." She was correct. Too late. Too late now. Too late to smarten up. Too late to run. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be sudden. He was supposed to have time for last words. But wait, a hockey stick couldn't possibly kill him, right? It was just gym equipment. It couldn't...
He heard the crunch, saw the stick impact. Red. Red flew from his face. Red stained his shirt. The ground. The hockey stick. Red arced away from him as he stepped backwards, stumbled. Right. Sticks everywhere. Foolish to forget that. Again, too late. He was already falling. He kept his sight fixed on Janet. She did not look angry. She seemed almost scared, but no... more than that. Worse. She looked dead. Like there was nothing left in her to feel anything. He felt sorry for her. His head hit the stump. Blackness for a moment.
Funny. The blackness was not Everett's enemy. Even now. No, it was his rest. His reprieve, from a day of hard work. School, homework, volunteering—it took so much time. So much energy. The best thing was to lie down at the end of the day and go to sleep. He'd never had the stamina to pull an all-nighter and function the next day. The nothingness of rest was life to him. Life and sanity. So, the blackness was a good thing. Exactly how he'd wanted to go. Except for this awful ringing pain in his head and nose. That he could do without. No choice but to shut it away. Push it off. Go peacefully into oblivion.
No.
No. That was weak. Pathetic. Was he going to hide again? Crawl away into his mind? Lose his last few seconds? Let Janet walk off? It couldn't be like that. Where was his resolve? He had stuff to do. A message to send. Goodbyes to say. He wasn't letting her take that from him. Light. He'd forced his eyes open. Shifted. Time to sit up. Force it out. But no, not to be. Here came Janet again. So set on finishing the job, eh? It was no wonder she'd done well in class, then. No wonder she'd probably had better grades than him her whole life. She was an adapter. The sort of person who learned to swim by being tossed in the ocean. She couldn't be blamed for this. If he'd been a bit better, he'd be doing the same. He'd be trying to make it home. Because he hadn't really tried, had he? He'd been living on borrowed time ever since he decided not to smother himself in that raft. What he'd give to go back, to try again. Leave his morals and squeamishness behind this time.
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Say it again, Janet.
It was too late to try it another way. No point pretending. Janet was in front of him. She raised her foot to his chest. It wasn't enough to smash his face in? Wasn't enough to bash the back of his head on a stump? Of course not. He might live through that. All this awful abuse of his body, and he might still make it. And Janet couldn't have that. Because then he'd be one more body between her and victory. No, that wasn't right. He blinked at her.He was... he was pretty sure it was because, if she didn't kill him now, when she had the momentum, she might have to convince herself to kill him again later. And maybe she wouldn't be able to, then. Maybe she wasn't so far gone. He didn't know her. Couldn't say.
Crack. Something, several somethings, broke inside of Everett. It hurt. It hurt more than anything in his life had ever hurt before. He'd always thought he had it bad when he tried to force himself to run for too long. Or that time he'd sprained his ankle. But all of that was nothing. He wanted to get away. Escape from his chest. It held him to the world, though. The searing pain kept him from slipping away, clung to him. He just wanted it to be done with.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
It was strange. Here in the dark, his planned last words seemed so dumb. It was simple, really. He'd wanted to say goodbye to his mom. His dad. His little brothers. But they probably wouldn't see this. At least, not for years. This was too horrible a way to go out. He didn't want them watching. No, the person he'd really wanted to send his final message to was a boy he didn't even like. Sean Carver. Sean, who hadn't been on the bus.
Rain. It was raining as Everett sat in the gazebo. He was trying to puzzle out his physics homework. Trying to sort out all the bits he didn't understand. Then, suddenly, he wasn't alone. A boy. Scraggly. Average height. Someone he knew by sight, but nothing more. A quick conversation. Greetings exchanged. Another arrival. Marion. Looking good, in the rain, her clothes clinging. Some chatting. Offer of assistance. Then it was time for Sean to go. And he kept looking at Everett's jacket. That extra-extra-large jacket.
So of course, Everett had offered it. There was no other option. No need for poor Sean to get soaked. No need for his books to get ruined. "Thanks man, you're a real sport," Sean said, and he and the jacket vanished from Everett's life.
So, what he'd wanted to do was tell Sean to pretty please make sure that jacket got back to his folks. It would mean a lot to them. He'd complained about the theft. Well, it had seemed like theft at the time. Probably simple carelessness. Who cared now? It was a jacket. It was a suit jacket, and thinking that sending some guilt trip to Sean from beyond the grave, over the airways and all throughout the nation, laying the weight of a dying wish on the boy's shoulders, would help in anyway... that was stupid. His parents wouldn't feel better if they got a scrap of cloth he'd worn back. It wouldn't be him.
They loved him. He knew that. He'd always known. They'd have loved him more if he'd been skinnier, or if he'd actually managed to be valedictorian. He wasn't perfect, not like they deserved. But they loved him enough, and they would miss him. He wished he could change that. Maybe he could've sparked a huge fight or something. Made them hate him. Made this easier.
So many things he should've done. All things he could have spent his time on, rather than wasting it worrying about some poor kid who probably needed the jacket more than Everett ever had anyways.
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Light again. Janet was gone, he thought. His bag was gone, too, the weight lifted from his shoulders. The pain was not gone. It was worse than ever. Worse than he could deal with. Way too much. He wasn't tough. He wasn't a jock or something. Why couldn't it have been a gunshot? Something quick? Wait, maybe he could survive this. Maybe he could...
He tried to spit on the ground, realizing his mouth was full of blood, probably courtesy of his crushed nose. He could taste it. He'd tasted blood before, but never this much. It was not an awful flavor. That was surprising. He spit again and again, but he could not get his mouth clear. In fact, blood was trickling down his throat. He realized he hadn't been breathing right for a while now. Were his lungs screwed up? He was unable to guess. Bio had been his worst science. He couldn't remember anything, anyways. It all hurt too much. All he knew was that blood was flowing down his throat and it was getting harder and harder to breath.
He thought he saw figures, heard voices. Had Josh made it? Was it Janet again? Someone else? Or was he just imaging things? Just conjuring up figments in an oxygen-deprived delirium?
Somehow, that seemed most likely.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
Well, if this was really the end, it could've been worse. He could've gone like poor Remi. What must that boy's family have thought? Did they know yet? It was one thing to be attacked, betrayed, slain by a classmate. Then there was a target for hatred. Someone to blame. Remi had killed himself. He had killed himself through idiocy. There was a tragedy. No visceral feelings of satisfaction for his parents as his killer finally met their match. No, nothing of the sort. Of course, maybe that was better on another level. Everett didn't like the thought of his family cheering at Janet's death. It wasn't her fault. Wasn't anyone's. Maybe not even Danya's. Who knew why they were here? Maybe there really was some good reason.
He hoped that nobody thought him worth killing for. He wasn't. He hoped Josh would be able to keep strong. Keep his optimism going. Kick some butt and save some people. Man, too bad he wouldn't be seeing that. He'd really messed up by running ahead. For once, being lazy would've been a boon. Being lazy would've saved his life. That was funny. He couldn't laugh. He gurgled instead. Felt drips fall from his mouth, his lips. His shirt was probably all red by now. Not such a big deal, though. It'd been pretty much wrecked before, with all the sweat and the vomit.
Light again. He hadn't closed his eyes before that blackout. It should've been the end. Why was he back? Wasn't this enough? He coughed. Somehow, he'd forced just a bit more air down. He blinked. It was bright. The middle of the day. He hadn't even lasted a day. That kind of sucked. How many others would face the same fate? How many had already?
He hoped Janet made it to the night. Josh too. And all of Josh's friends. Everyone. Even all the killers. Wasn't their fault. He tried to move, forced himself up a bit. That was a very bad idea. The pain rose up. He would have thrown up had his insides been working right. Instead, he slid down the stump, hacking. Then he stopped. His breath was gone again. He'd repositioned himself all wrong. He couldn't clear his throat. He was going to drown in his own blood. Well, that was a nice little mess up, wasn't it? Again, laziness would have extended his life. What a terrible dying moral that was.
And the pain. So much of it. But he could feel it without letting it control him now. There was pain. His body felt it. It seemed to have very little to do with him.
Once more, blackness for a moment.
The most welcome relief he could imagine. Time to just fade away. Let it wash through him. But no. He could still make something of what time he had left. He'd given up on sending a message. Nothing worth saying. But he could make it pleasant on himself. Die in peace. So he tried to think back to happier times.
His life did not flash before his eyes. Instead, he frantically paged through it, like an old photo album. But it was just the same pictures, again and again. Everett at his desk, studying. Everett in class, hand raised or pencil at the ready. Everett reading a book on the bus. Everett helping a younger student understand algebra. Everett cleaning up burger wrappers in the park. All these things he had lived for. All things he had said he'd enjoyed.
He had lied. Lied to his parents. Lied to colleges. Lied to his peers. Lied to himself.
Because now, he found a really happy memory, and it wasn't any of those things.
The strained beat of Rick Astley assailed Everett's ears as he stood by the snack table. He was at Prom because it was something one was supposed to do. That was it. He was not prepared to have fun. He was not prepared for good things to happen. He would not get a date. He would not even get a dance. He would leave after an hour, and call it an experience, and go to sleep. At least the noise would exhaust him, so the sleep would be a good one.
And then Will nearly bumped into Everett, nearly doused his rented tux in punch, and the evening shot off in a direction he could never have anticipated. Will apologized, paid a couple of compliments to Everett, and waltzed off, to ask a pretty Hispanic girl with spiky lack hair and a red-and-purple dress for a dance. It had been a welcome distraction, but not, it seemed, a lasting one.
Half a minute later, Will was back, and the girl was dancing with a Fijian footballer. And so the fun had truly begun. It was pointless stuff. Small talk. Jokes. Nothing that mattered. But that was how it was supposed to be, right? Everett talking with Will and Peter and Maddy, just talking. No worries about class, or grades, or college. Just a dumb social right of passage, and people who didn't care for it one bit but were enjoying being with each other.
So of course he had accepted when Will suggested cutting out. And he'd agreed to go to a party, too, despite everything in his nature fighting it. So they'd first seen a movie, something dumb and actiony, and then they were at the party, and true to Will's word, nobody had to drink anything, and nobody had to do anything they didn't want, and it was too loud and too crammed but he just didn't care. Joking, laughing. Friends. A real social life. It felt so wrong that this was a discovery for a seventeen year old.
He stood on the porch, a short time later, just enjoying the night. Knowing that his parents trusted him, that they knew he'd be responsible. That being responsible did not mean sacrificing fun. That he'd have tons of work to do the next day, but that, for once, it could be put off. It didn't matter. He just stood, and smelled the city smog, cool and heavy, and watched the lights in the distance. Thousands of people, even this late on a Saturday night.
Yes. That was it. That was what had made him happy. All those years of grades and academics and integrity and discipline, for what? This. This death. It just wasn't worth it. So much time thrown away, given to the needs and interests of others, sacrificed for a future that was never certain. It was so stupid. Even if he hadn't been grabbed, he could have been hit by a bus. He wouldn't have lived too old anyways, not with his health. So why not seize every minute of that time? Why not really live? At the end of the day, what made an A different from a B? What made an Ivy League school different from a community college?
"...too bad the lesson comes too late."
Janet's words. He couldn't really think straight, but they still echoed in his brain. How true. And she was no different. She'd probably wasted her life just the same way. And they were both dead, he just a bit sooner. Janet. Maybe she'd think about what she'd said. Maybe she'd take her own advice to heart. Otherwise, it wouldn't be long until she found herself in exactly the position as him.
Everett had never believed in reincarnation. Never believed in second chances. He'd had to put his all into everything he did. Now, though, he was hoping, desperately scrambling for something to cling to. Hoping for a do over. Hoping for another shot.
He hoped he could do it all again, somehow. And this time, he hoped he wouldn't have to die to realize what it was to live.
Once more, blackness for a moment, darker now.
No more light.
B037 - Everett Taylor - DECEASED
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ET.Requiem†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:14 am
Kevin's eyes widened in horror as one of the people lifted a hockey stick up and bashed the other person across the head. He dropped back down under his stump, not wanting to see the murder continue on. That sound.... Even though he was so far away, he heard the crunch of the victim's bones breaking. It was faint, but it stayed with him even as he desperately tried to clear his mind. This was just... God, what had just happened?
I can't trust anybody. I'm the only one I can put my faith in. Fuck it, I don't want to go out like that.
He couldn't let his guard down around anybody now. To be ambushed and killed because he was dumb enough to believe that he was safe around other people? No. Not happening to him. His breathing became strained as he tried not to vomit at the memory of that sight. But he had to persevere. No weakness. Come on, don't be weak. He got to his knees and looked back up over the stump he hid behind. The survivor was now looting the corpse's belongings.
There was no point in trying to fight now. If the murdered idiot had a gun, then Kevin couldn't sneak through 50 feet of inclined hell to get to the survivor before.... Before he got shot. He would just have to stay put and hope to God that the survivor didn't notice him. Ducking one last time, he pressed his dirt stained body to the ground and tried to stay out of sight.
I can't trust anybody. I'm the only one I can put my faith in. Fuck it, I don't want to go out like that.
He couldn't let his guard down around anybody now. To be ambushed and killed because he was dumb enough to believe that he was safe around other people? No. Not happening to him. His breathing became strained as he tried not to vomit at the memory of that sight. But he had to persevere. No weakness. Come on, don't be weak. He got to his knees and looked back up over the stump he hid behind. The survivor was now looting the corpse's belongings.
There was no point in trying to fight now. If the murdered idiot had a gun, then Kevin couldn't sneak through 50 feet of inclined hell to get to the survivor before.... Before he got shot. He would just have to stay put and hope to God that the survivor didn't notice him. Ducking one last time, he pressed his dirt stained body to the ground and tried to stay out of sight.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ET.Requiem. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Janet stood there, watching the red drip from the end of her weapon. She felt sick to her stomach again, but managed to avoid vomiting. It seemed Everett had passed out or died already from the injuries.
A tingling on the back of her neck made Janet spin around, scanning the hill. Nobody there. Paranoia, probably caused by acute stress. She glanced around again before turning and running off. No need to wait around for whoever Everett had been traveling with.
((Janet Binachi cont. in Darkness Within.))
A tingling on the back of her neck made Janet spin around, scanning the hill. Nobody there. Paranoia, probably caused by acute stress. She glanced around again before turning and running off. No need to wait around for whoever Everett had been traveling with.
((Janet Binachi cont. in Darkness Within.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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ET.Requiem†
- Posts: 73
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:14 am
Kevin waited for a good ten minutes before he got up and looked over his stump. Gone. The murderer was gone. He allowed himself to relax and sigh in relief before slumping against the dead wood that shielded his presence earlier.
Seeing another human being murdered before his guys was scarring, but it was something he had to bear. There was no way that he could get through this game without having to end the life of a fellow student. It was a plain and simple fact.
"Man up, Kev. You can do it. You're not going to be stepped on and squished like a bug." He grit his teeth. Just like before, he swore that he would never let himself be betrayed and killed like some unsuspecting animal. He was going to be the one doing the killing.
When I get a gun.... Something stupid like a hockey stick won't be able to stop me.
Kevin stood up straight, dusted off his pants, and left the ruined forest quietly. It was time to go looking for a firearm.
((Kevin Harding continued in One of Three))
Seeing another human being murdered before his guys was scarring, but it was something he had to bear. There was no way that he could get through this game without having to end the life of a fellow student. It was a plain and simple fact.
"Man up, Kev. You can do it. You're not going to be stepped on and squished like a bug." He grit his teeth. Just like before, he swore that he would never let himself be betrayed and killed like some unsuspecting animal. He was going to be the one doing the killing.
When I get a gun.... Something stupid like a hockey stick won't be able to stop me.
Kevin stood up straight, dusted off his pants, and left the ruined forest quietly. It was time to go looking for a firearm.
((Kevin Harding continued in One of Three))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ET.Requiem. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.