The Most Important Meal of the Day

[Ella†]

[[Rhory Anne Broderick continued from Still Going Strong]]

Rhory Anne Broderick didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't remember much, honestly.

Somewhere in her mind, she knew it was futile to run. Someone was going to find her sooner or later, or she would be selected for Liz Polanski's Russian Martyr Roulette. It would be over before she knew it, just like that sleep that had snatched her up and taken hold for the night. Just like her consciousness before it. Unlike this jaded though sensible corner of her mind, Rhory's body had spent several days (she had already lost track of what day it was, god damn) running from anything that moved, spoke, or breathed. Anything to keep that part of her mind out of her body.

She'd discarded things on the way. Books, junk... most everything was gone but a few spare clothes and whatever nourishment she had left. Food. Right.

For the first time in hours, Rhory moved. Her eyelids flicked. Her arms stretched forward, bringing her stomach and shoulders and head with it. She stretched her legs as much as those unforgiving jeans would allow. She cursed that sore spot in her lower back from sleeping outside these past few days. It wasn't very bright out, so her eyes took very little time to adjust. There would be time for sun later, and it would be much welcomed- the sun would bring warmth, and greater certainty of her surroundings.

Growing accustomed to the back pain gave way to a new, much more urgent one- Rhory's hunger. Of course, that bread (always bread, nothing but bread for her last meals) wouldn't go down such a dry throat. Rhory crawled over to the lone duffel, retrieving a bottle. Only one sip- just because you're dying doesn't mean you can't conserve just in case. Actually, no. Two sips. Much better.

As she ate her piece of bread, Rhory wondered what would become of the bodies once the game was over. It was disgusting and she wished she wasn't thinking about it, but the thought nagged and intrigued at the corners of her mind until she let it in. More likely than not, the bodies would just be left here, visible markers of unspeakable carnage until they decayed or something ate them. Didn't that sound familiar? Somewhere along the line in some English class, she vaguely remembered reading Antigone. Kreon refused to bury Polyneices after a great war, and in exhange, all of his loved ones died. It was a crime to forgo proper burial rites. It almost comforted her- knowing that the terrorists would also pay for their insolence, for leaving all of these young corpses to rot in the sun. Perhaps all of their children would die. Did any of them have children?

Before she knew it, her breakfast was gone. Rhory stuffed the rest of the bread back in her bag- if she was lucky, there would be another breakfast tomorrow. If not, maybe it would feed the one who lived. Either way, it was time to run again. She would run, no matter how futile, and no matter how tired she was of running. For the time being, it was all she could do.

Time to go.

And with that, she took off. If she managed to find tomorrow, she would be among the lucky ones.

[[Rhory Anne Broderick continued by karsk in from the tit to the bone. End of thread.]]