A Convoluted Conventicle

[nope†]

((Morgan Ackland continued from The Science Of Selling Yourself))

The scenery swirled and blended with the morning fog and still-falling rain as it scurried past her vision. She was no longer aware if her legs were moving or not. She was simply willing herself away from the chapel, gliding over the soaked soil like some sort of goddess. It had all the dreamy, twisted grace of an Edvard Munch painting. It must have been a painting. It was too surreal to be anything else. It felt like a forced role. Setting up the perfect scene, the girl running with nowhere to go. She'd run straight into the ocean and just drown. Because what was she running from, really? A more merciful death than what she was promised. The one person who made her feel like more than a babysitter or a withered old handmaiden in a useless girl's body. That stupid, bloody piece of wood. There was no rhyme or reason for her flight, just the will of some sadistic painter creating his latest masterpiece. She was going through the artistic motions. Being highly symbolic of something, but in the end being absolutely fucking meaningless.

Yeah, it was the kind of shit Munch would have loved.

Morgan's eyes saw the stone markers draw closer and closer, but her mind didn't register them. Why should it? They were just pastels on a canvas. Pretty to look at, but in the end they meant nothing to her. They couldn't hurt her. She was the center of this painting. She'd always run towards them but never quite reach them. Or maybe she's just glide over them. Or better yet maybe her colors would bleed in, and she'd cease being the foreground and just blend with the background. She could blend in with the grays and greens of the island, just sink in with the swirls and hide there forever. She's never have to die. She's be a nice abstract piece. A modern art installation. One of Georgia O'Keeffe's fucking fl-

Foreground came to meet background after all. It started as a dull pain at her right knee. She let out an automatic cry, but her tired mind was still stuck on its useless rant on uselessness. It remained just as unresponsive as her body toppled over the topless tombstone. It wasn't until her face slapped against something brown and soft that she realized she had collided with something slightly more solid than watercolors. Mud splashed in her face and obscured her vision. The mean-spirited painter had put a stroke of brown across her eyes.

She let out a soft moan and flailed her hands around for something solid to push off of. Her right hand came across an oasis in the sea of mud. She tried to push against it, but her hand simply slid across and gathered the wet material at her palm. She drew her hand back to try again.

It was then that she realized that this mound was rather un-mud-like. As was the material her face was pushed against, which was a good deal more cloth-like. She lifted her head slightly and painfully blinked out the worst of the sludgy debris.

When her vision cleared, she noticed the patch of brown she had rested against was several shades lighter than the earth ahead of her. There was a bush of something just behind it that looked like a batch of misplaced seaweed. To either side were little patches of swirling color (well fuck, I guess it really is a Munch). The patch to her left gave way to the mount, which was more black than brown and a sickly pinkish where her hand had pushed. She followed the mound down her side.

It gradually tapered off, giving way to a swollen hand.

There were no screams. She rose up slowly, dazedly stumbled a few feet away, fell back to her knees, and mixed the watery contents of her stomach with the equally watery mud.

[Super Llama†]

{{continued from These Walls}}

"Oh, great. Why did we have to wind up here." Noah muttered under his breath.

He had already said to Johnny and Dawn that he wasn't planning on heading to the Graveyard, and this wasn't going to do him any good. Turning around to Johnny and Dawn, he put up his hands in a sort of "Oops, my bad" gesture. "Okay, seriously, this wasn't where I was planning on going."

It was true, he honestly didn't want to be here anyway; Lex was likely long gone from the area, so there was no point in trying to find her here. Not to mention that it's a freaking graveyard, at night. Sure, they easily had plenty of more tangible threats to worry about at the moment without thinking about all the supernatural threats a graveyard at night brought to mind, but one still couldn't help but think them.

"Well, she obviously isn't here, so there's no real point in sticking around." He was immeadiately answered by a cry of pain off in the distance, followed by a wet thud. Quickly turning in the direction of the sound, he peered off into the distance, trying to figure out what made it, though he wasn't able to see anything.

Somebody could be in trouble. He thought. But then again, it could also be a trap. What should I do...?

Finally, he turned towards Johnny and Dawn. "Wait here, I'll go check it out." Harpoon in hand, he made his way slowly towards the source of the noise, moving through the headstones. He couldn't help but look in their direction, and noticed something really strange: that all of the names on the headstones were of former SOTF participants. He made out a few obvious ones: Hawley Faust, Madelaine Shinohara, Mariavel Varella, Cody Jenson. But then there was one that really caught his eye.

Adam Dodd
1989-2007

A little presumptuous, don't you think? He thought as he kept going. He soon caught sight of the source of the noise; a girl kneeling down in the mud, vomiting pretty heavily Nice... He commented sarcastically to himself before moving a bit closer. He didn't see any weapons nearby, but that didn't mean he should let his guard down.

"Hey, are you alright?" He called out to the girl, while still keeping his distance for the time being.

[Tythanin†]

(Continued from Panic Attack)

Velvet had always liked to run. It gave her an outlet for her boundless energy and feeling the wind against your skin probably ranked up there as one of her favorite sensations. It wasn't a surprise that she could become so...deeply entrenched in sports. She was going to become a star. That's what her coaches had said. That's what the papers said. So why was she here, running away from a psychotic murderer with nothing to her name besides her fast feet and athleticism.

She was beginning to regret ever having gone into that tower. That god-damned John Rizzolo. This was all his stinking fault. If she ever got a weapon, she'd used it to beat all the fear she had been feeling into his body. She wouldn't kill him. She doubted she would be able to do that now, but physically maiming wasn't exactly killing, was it? Maybe break his hands. That could work.

She was so involved in her thoughts of revenge that she didn't notice she had ran into a graveyard until she tripped right over a gravestone and was sent sprawling onto the ground. Cursing in pain, she slowly got to her feet, blinking dazedly at another headstone lying in front of her.

Velvet Retsiloh

"Shit!" Velvet stumbled backwards a couple of steps, nearly tripping again. She looked at the headstone again, shaking her head rapidly. No, no it wasn't her name. It was just some stupid-ass hallucination. Just what she fucking needed right now. She shook her head. She didn't need to worry about her head. She just needed to worry about John.

She continued to make her way through the graveyard, certain that John was right behind her. She consciously ignored all the other gravestones and just kept jogging, trying to keep some weight off of her pained foot. She might have made it out too if it weren't for spotting two other people, one of whom seemed to be throwing up. And the other had a harpoon.

'Crap.' She thought to herself. Just what she needed. To meet another person with a weapon that could quite possibly kill her. It seemed like every person on the whole island had gotten something useful besides her. She walked a little closer, taking a quick look behind her to see if John had arrived yet. 'Still no sign of him yet.'

She paused, wondering what exactly she could do. What could she say? "Help! A psychotic madman is chasing me and he has a gun so maybe you could use your harpoon to kill him for me? Okay, thanks." Maybe just a warning before she ran off. Or maybe she should just not say anything at all.

"Hey, a player is chasing me with a gun, so you guys better be prepared just in case he wants to add to his kill list. John Rizzolo, can't miss him. Tell your friends." Velvet said rapidly, turning around again to see if he had arrived yet. Still no sign. Spurned on by anger and adrenaline, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Hey John! I know why you became a pitcher! You always wanted to be able to hold a couple of balls!"

'Where the hell did that come from?' She shook her head irritably. Nothing was really going straight for her anymore.

"Sorry...hey, stay safe." Velvet muttered as she tested her sore foot again before running off for a place that would hopefully be a safe haven. A graveyard was the last place she would have wanted to stay in...although admittedly it would be convenient.

(Continued Elsewhere.)

[GameMaker†]

{{continued from These Walls}}

Of all the places that he could have chosen, Noah chose to come to the graveyard. It did nothing for Dawn's peace of mind. But hey, spoke up a voice from inside her, isn't this whole place a graveyard? After all, your classmates are all dying out there... But you get to be the lucky one, you get to actually die in the graveyard, you stupid fucking wh-

STOP THAT! Another voice shouted this, far stronger than the first. You're not going to die, Jonathan will protect you, you know he will. And yes, this was right. Jonathan loved her, Jonathan would protect her- he'd said so himself.

But hadn't you thought the same thing about Evan? whispered the same voice from before. And how far had that gotten you? Alone, and weaponless. And when Jonathan does the same thing to you...

No, he won't! I... I like Johnathan, and he likes me. He won't... won't... leave... And that was when Dawn felt the tears coming, threateningly close. And with a force of will more powerful than Dawn thought she could ever muster, she stopped the tears. She wasn't going to let Jonathan see her cry again, not after what he'd done for her, not after what he'd said to her. But in the back of her mind, that other voice lurked, it's presence both frightening and reassuring. Reassuring in a way that she could always give into her panic and fears, always simply lose the will to keep trying to survive...

But she wouldn't do that. Not while she still had Johnny. And as this thought entered her mind, another one did too: what was this newcomer doing here? For another teen had just run into the graveyard, a girl whose name Dawn thought was something like Violet, or Velvet, or something like that. And even though Dawn couldn't hear what she was saying, she could tell that the girl was trying to tell them something, something urgent and important.

And as Dawn watched the girl (Velvet, her name was Velvet), she saw that she was limping, and that her head kept jerking back and forth, as if she was looking for someone. No... that was the wrong term. She wasn't looking for them. She was watching for them- and now Dawn got the idea what the message was about.

She's trying to warn us about someone. It was a guess, yes, but Dawn was certain she was right. But before she could ask the girl, she was running off again. But Dawn had to know- it must have been important. Getting out her notepad, she scribbled one quick message on it: What did she say?

She handed the notebook to Johnny, and as she did, she felt her fears returning to her. Partly because she no longer had much to occupy her mind with, partly because the thing that was occupying her mind was the girl vomiting by the gravestones... She wished she had seen her sooner, so she could have asked about her, too. Sometimes, Dawn really hated being deaf.

[Ares]

((John continued from Panic Attack))

It had certainly been an adventure through the forestation as John chased Velvet. The Highland newspapers had not been lying when they would do feature articles on the high school athletes and would say that Velvet was an incredible athlete. She managed to maintain a high octane pace, while keeping her running pattern sporadic to not allowed John a clear shot.

Just as John was beginning to gain some ground, he could see the line coming up where the bushes ended. He had to get her before she got into a zone where there might be people who could protect her. John pushed himself harder, but it was all for none as he hit a slick patch of mud and took a spill, cutting himself above the eyebrow.

"Dammit!" John snarled as he punched the ground watching Velvet disappear. John got up slowly and touched the area above his eye. He brought his bloodstained fingers back down in front of his face. They confirmed his injury. John was about to open up his bag to get the first aid kit, but he stopped when he heard something that set his blood to a new high boiling point.

"Oh, you think that's funny you little cunt." John growled under his breath.

Wait...if she has time to yell it that clearly, she stopped running.

John sprang to his feet and tore through the bushes, pistol drawn. The minute he exited the brush, Velvet turned and took off. It was then that John noticed two things. One was that Velvet looked like the was limping a small bit, and the second more important thing was that she had been speaking to a small group of people.

John just kept on running towards the group stopping just short of them.

"Dunno what she said," John panted, "Bitch threw a goddam chair at me, cut me right above the eye and stole my fucking first aid kit" John said as he pointed to his fresh cut.

John then took off in the direction Velvet went. He stopped short of the brush line and turned back to the group.

Ah fuck it, they probably don't believe me anyways.

"If any of you see Emma Babineaux, give her this message for me." John shouted as he raised the pistol and squeezed off three shots right at the group.

"See ya!"

((John continued in Running of the Fallen))

[D/N]

(Jonathan Lancer continued from These Walls)

(OOC: Gah, I'm not happy with the quality here, but gotta get it done. Apologies)

O...K. So they'd ended up at the graveyard anyway. At this point, he wasn't really sweating it, and Noah's apology for leading them there was good enough for Johnny. They'd been traveling for a while, it was dark, he trusted him well enough. He glanced down at Dawn. Ever since he'd met her, he'd felt a renewed sense of purpose on this island. Even a renewed sense of life. Of course, the graveyard wasn't exactly an ideal place to spend the night...

Well, that was another problem.

Glad to see you've got your priorities straight there, Johnny.

Johnny shook his head a bit. That wasn't important. Not now, at least. What was important was staying alive.

If nothing else, it was as good a place as any to wait out until the next announcements. They were still tring to find John and Kyrie (and then there was Lex, of course), but having had no luck thus far, he could only hope that they didn't have to hear their names come morning. Noah had moved away to the other girl in the area, who looked to be in a pretty bad way herself. Hopefully she'd be alright, but he'd let Noah handle it for now. Johnny leaned back against a nearby marker, hoping that all of them would have some needed time to rest and figure out where they'd head to next.

And of course, that was when things just decided to go to hell. Out of nowhere, some girl came streaking in, took a header, got up, and shouted to them about John Rizzolo, who just happened to be one of the crazies Noah had explicitly warned them about during their travels.

Rizzolo? Ah, great. Crazy Guitar Hero guy that Noah saw kick someone off the cliff.

"Hey, wait up, we can-"

But she'd started to turn around already, just before deciding to cup her hands to her mouth and scream to the forest as loud as possible.

Well gee. Thanks for luring him here if his IS around, mystery girl.

The girl had already started for edge of the graveyard as Johnny turned to Noah. "Riz might be following. Uh, you said he doesn't have a gun, right?" And just as he's said that, Dawn passed him her note. Acting quickly, Johnny grabbed his pen and began writing back to her.

She's being chased by John Riz-

Of course, he didn't have a chance to finish, as the man himself emerged from the trees just as the girl had vanished from sight.

Johnny pumped the shotgun and immediately turned, keeping it at waist level and motioning for Dawn and the others to keep back. Even now, he was loathe to use the thing. If he had been alone, he didn't know how he would have reacted. But he had more to worry about than himself now. He had people counting on him. In cases like this, they would rely on him for help. And if Rizzolo tried one fucking thing, well, he hoped he had the strength to fire.

Then Rizzolo stopped and blurted out something about the girl having attacked him. And before Johnny could even process the information or ask why Rizzolo was the one doing the chasing were that the case, he'd taken off to the woods after her. Perplexed, Johnny turned around to Noah.

"Uh, any ideas? Is that crisis avert-"

He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Because just when Johnny had thought they were alone again, Rizzolo turned, yelled something else about Emma Babineaux, and raised his arms. It was too dark to make out what he had, but he sure as fucking hell had something.

"AhShitGetDown!!!" Johnny blurted out, completely forgetting that Dawn couldn't hear a word he said. He twisted and moved to shove her down to the ground, then turned back to the psycho at the edge of the graveyard, fumbling with his shotgun just as the bullets exploded out of the pistol.

It's funny. Johnny tried to remember how to properly hold and fire the shotgun, but in fact, his clumsy handling of the shotgun probably saved his life. Because as he was trying to raise the short-barreled weapon, it got right in the line of fire,
and a bullet that might have easily hit something vital grazed the gun's barrel, deflected upwards and merely clipped his left shoulder above the collarbone.

"Ah, CHRIST!"

Oh, it still hurt like a bitch tough. Johnny fell backwards, his right finger involuntarily depressing the trigger and discharging the shotgun into the air. He could hear at least one more bullet whiz by as he landed on his ass, dropping the gun and instinctively turning around to see if anyone else had been hit. He groped for the shotgun with his right hand, but it seemed that the shooter had left the area.

Good work there, Johnny. Well, if nothing else, your blasting the gun into midair showed us all you're not afraid to pull the trigger, even if you need to be shot first.

[nope†]

Morgan stared down at her own product for a moment. It was mostly fluid, with bits of nearly digested cracker and an assortment of other slimey chunks she couldn't quite recognize. They floated serenely in the muck. It was more of a Rozsda than a Munch.

She gagged.

She was not familiar with the voice calling out from behind her. But the question was asinine enough for her to begin to feel small embers of anger ignite behind her eyeballs and threaten to engulf the aches and fatigue in favor of fury. She did not bother to turn to the speaker, assuming she had the strength to turn to begin with, but instead projected her voice to the mud.

"Do I look fucking alright to y-"

She shifted slightly, and felt something squish beneath her left palm that was certainly not mud. Her words were replaced with a sound best described as "gurk" as a hot stewey fountain spewed forth from her wide open lips.

Under her "gah"s and "grah"s and many other sounds not easily committed to word, she could hear voices not far off. Yelling. Some sort of pounding, probably footsteps. The pace of her heart quickened but still she could not find the strength to rise. Her body was built of lead. She found herself hoping whoever was running would notice she was there and kindly not trample her.

The gunshots were something she was utterly unprepared for. Finding herself unable to duck or hide, she instead threw herself forward. She could feel the slight head against her chest as she landed with a splash into her own vomit.

The footsteps thudded away, presumable taking at least one gun with them. Her fear subsided though voices still sounded off around her. She took several moments to collect herself and rolled over on her back. A dribbling of what wasson her jacked used her breasts to pick up momentum an dripped onto her neck. She felt fluids rise in her throat again and let loose more inarticulate moans: "Augh! AAAAAUUUUUHHHHHHH!"

[Super Llama†]

Noah was rather taken aback by the girl's angered reaction. Then again, she couldn't blame her. The stress must've gotten to her; why else would she be puking her guts out. Well, probably all the dead bodies, too.

Suddenly, another girl appeared out of the ether, saying something about being chased by a player with a gun before, for some reason completely lost on him, turning around hurling an insult his way and running off again.

"What...what the fuck?" Was all Noah could muster as the girl disappeared once again. Then it hit him. Wait, did she just say...ah, fuck. Riz the Guitar Psycho Fucker was one of the last people he wanted to see again. And sure enough, there he was, bursting out the treeline, pulling some half-assed excuse for chasing her out of his...well, ass (Yeah, sure, and I bet afterwards she pulled some wuxia shit and started running across the treetops to get away from you), before realizing what an idiotic excuse it was and just firing off a few shots at them before disappearing as well.

...wait, a few shots?

Noah dropped down behind a nearby gravestone as Riz fired a shot his way, the bullet imbedding itself in the stone. Then he heard a shotgun blast from where Johnny and Dawn were, and Johnathan shouting out as if he'd been hit. And then Morgan rolled over and started making wierd noises, as if something were certainly wrong with her (and for all he knew, there was.) Riz's arrival had caused things to degenerate into chaos, and is all that weren't enough, a familiar screech resounded from al directions.

"Good morning, children!"

"Oh, come on, not NOW!" Noah shouted in frustration, getting up and looking between Morgan and the two he was travelling with. "Is everybody still alive? If so, get ready, cause he might have to make tracks soon." Noah reached for his harpoon as he got up and started towards Dawn and Johnny. He stopped for a moment, looking back towards Morgan. Dammit, who do I help fir-

"...John Sheppard,..."

"...W-what?"

"...Kyrie Joesph..."

All the color left Noah's face as he heard John and Kyrie's names listed. "W...what the fuck?" They couldn't be dead. The three of them, and Vera, they were gonna find a way off this damn island. They were gonna get these damn exploding collars off their necks and figure out how to escape all this slaughter. Vera dying was bad enough, but...they couldn't ALL be dead?

But that's what happened. They were all dead, and Noah was the only one left.

"Oh, and Miss Machina, you're quite popular around here nowadays! Come to the Field of Flowers to pick up your second prize! Congratulations!"

Lex...

Noah shook with rage as he heard her name again. Not only had she killed someone else, but she'd won yet ANOTHER award for it. That was fucked up. That was all kinds of fucked up. This whole fucking game was all kinds of fucked up. The psychopaths, the murders, Lex, Harry, Rizzolo, get rewarded, and everyone else who still has the decency to hold onto their humanity are just lambs for the slaughter. People like him, like Johnny, like Dawn, like Lancer, like Kyrie, like Vera...

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Noah's anger got the better of him, and he turned and planted a foot hard against the shot gravestone, weakened by the gunshot, causing it to break in half and hit the muddy ground with a wet thud. Taking a step back, he finally turned around and stormed out of the area, hearing his collar start to beep. What about the others? He honestly didn't care at the moment. He didn't really care about ANYTHING at the moment. He just had to get the fuck away.

{{continued elsewhere}}

[GameMaker†]

She's being chased by John Riz-

Dawn was surprised when Johnathan's writing stopped suddenly. She looked up, her eyes following his gaze to see what he was looking at. And as she did, she was that he was looking at the man himself, John 'The Riz' Rizzolo. She remembered those stupid signs she'd seen him with.. 'Do You Know What The Riz Is Cooking?', or something like that. She had never really liked the boy... he seemed just like a normal arrogant airhead jock.

Now now, Dawn, give him a chance. You gave Johnathan a chance, and look what happened.

That was right... she had trusted Johnathan. But there was something more there- when she looked at Johnathan, she saw what was inside of him. She was the gentle caring soul- she saw a person she could like, a person she could love. She had read somewhere that blind people start to hear things better... perhaps, then, do deaf people start to see things better?

Either way, when she looked at Rizzolo, she didn't feel that. He was saying something to them, and even though Dawn couldn't hear what it was, she was sure he was lying. He looked too nervous, too untrustworthy. But before she could write anything to Johnathan or Noah, the boy was off again, running towards the wood.

Dawn sighed in relief, and smiled a little bit to herself. She was glad the boy wasn't staying with him... she didn't know why, but she just felt uncomfortable with him. Looking towards where he had ran to make sure he was gone, she saw he had turned around, and was facing the group. He was shouting something, and he was pulling out...
(no please no Johnathan help me no
a gun and it fired...
(NO!)
and bullets came at them.

She didn't have time to think, time to move, time to do anything, before the bullet hit her. The blood's going to make me look bad in front of Johnathan... Even she had to laugh at that, getting shot in the stomach and her first thought being about looking good in front of Johnathan. She tried to laugh, and the pain in her stomach got even worse.

The pain was bad, worse than anything she had ever felt before. It felt like
(hurts hurts so bad)
a hundred flaming knives cutting into her stomach, and it hurt even more when she moved or laughed. But she had to go, she had to get out of here. She and Johnathan had to get somewhere safe.

JOHNATHAN!

She had thought of him before, yes, but she hadn't thought that he might have been shot too. Looking over, she saw him on the ground, bleeding from a wound to the shoulder, but other than that, fine. Going over to him, she pulled on his shirt with one hand and then pointed out of the graveyard with it, using the other hand to cover up the wound on her stomach. For some strange reason that she couldn't quite comprehend, she couldn't have Johnathan see it. If he saw it, she didn't think she'd be able to take the both of them knowing her pain.

And with that, she ran out of the graveyard, trying her hardest to ignore the pain. She kept one hand pressed over it, and as she did, she started to realize just how bad the wound was. The lower half of her shirt was almost entirely covered in blood, and some of it was starting to spill onto her shirt.

Just keep running. Ignore it. You'll be fine. She coughed, and she realized her mouth was full of blood. It's alright, Johnathan will protect you. He'll help you, he will, he'll be able to, you can't die, you won't die, you...! Dawn Beckworth, for what was certainly not the first time on the island (and certainly wouldn't be the last), began to cry.


{{continued elsewhere}}

[D/N]

Just as Johnny finished shouting out, the familiar voice came over the speakers.

"Oh, FUCK you, Danya." he grunted.

Joining the dead today are Viki Valentine, Daniel Carvalho, Carson Baye, Daniel Clifford

Christ, Boxer got killed? The guy was a tank. Did that mean that he was the biggest guy left on the island? Groggily, Johanthan glanced over at Dawn, not noticing immediately anything wrong. She was standing, at least. He kept his right hand pressed tightly to his shoulder, knowing that once these were over he'd have to cover up the wound.

You got lucky that time, Johnny.

He had gotten lucky. Hell, the bullet hadn't even clipped anything, just torn away a bit of flesh above the collarbone.

Darnell Butler, Keith Jackson, Brad Kavanagh, Matt Wittany, Bill Ritch, John Sheppard,

Ah god.

Well, there follows the rest of the team.

They'd failed. He wanted to say something, but for the moment, he just laid back, eyes closed, as Danya kept taunting them with the names.

Julie Mikan, Dominica Shapiro, Kyrie Joseph

Shit, her too? His eyes flew open. Propping himself up on an elbow, he turned and saw Noah. Devasted. Danya kept droning on, but he was too busy tring to say something. "Noah, I'm, I'm sorry man..."

And then that fucker decided to give Lex Machina another kill award and Noah started flipping out, before stomping off in the other direction.

"Noah! FUCK!"

He was struggling upwards when two things happened. First, his collar let out a beep. Being the first time this had ever occured, it took a moment for him to realize what was going on. And just as he was doing so, Dawn grabbed his sleeve and pointed to the north, then started moving off. Johnny cleared the final cobwebs from his head, noticing for the first time that something seemed wrong with Dawn. But she was moving in another direction than Noah was, and the other girl was busy emptying her stomach in the dirt, and the collar beeping was starting to beep just slightly faster...

Upright, he glanced at Noah, then the other girl, then at Dawn. He knew who he had to follow.

Reaching down to his pack, Johnny noticed his blood on the ground, the first time it had actually been spilled on this island. Wait, that couldn't be right, that wasn't even close to where he was when he'd been--

No.

That blood wasn't his.

"DAWN!"

In the morning sun and dew, the blood stood out brilliantly on the dying grass. Like poppies in a field, it was dotted here and there from where Dawn was slowly moving out. The spots followed up her jeans and pooled from just away from her midsection, where they meshed together on her shirt like an inkblot painting. As Johnny stumbled to his feet, instinctively grabbing the shotgun and both of their bags, the blood seemed to shimmer with an otherworldy glow.

"DAWN!

Of course she couldn't hear him. She was probably just grazed, as he was, and scared. He, he needed to just fix her up. That's what he did. He was a protector. He was proving his worth on this island, and he could not let anything hurt her.

His mind briefly returned to the other girl, and as he stumbled out, he yelled back at her.

"GET UP, GIRL! Just get out! You'll be fine!"

The beeping in his Johnny's collar continued, but he caught up to Dawn as they reached the edge of the graveyard. Grabbing the arm that wasn't pressed to her midsection, Johnny slipped it over her shoulder, helping to support her. And for the first time he noticed that she'd been worse than grazed.

"You'll be OK, you'll be OK."

She won't and you know it, Johnny.

The steady beep of his collar began to fade.

You'll be OK, Dawn.

I've got you.

(Johnathan Lancer continued in Everdreamers)

[nope†]

As vibrations from the PA speakers carried through the air to Morgan's ears, she was flailing like a pathetic newborn deer in the mud. She had rolled over to avoid the intolerable invading caress of her own acids dripping under her clothes and cupping her breast, only to find herself face first in mire. It clung to her head and flooded her scalp and coated strands of hair, and fit its form around her arms and legs. As loathsome as the embrace was, the discomfort drained from her at the sounding of that omniscient voice and let in a flood of much less pleasant emotions. To the forefront of her mind rose a word boundless and infinite in its wisdom, meaning, and profundity.

Fuck.

and then

How?

Had it really been a day since the chapel? It felt like minutes. Hours at most. But she now noticed the dim light pounding against the rainclouds that had illuminated and had filtered through her eyes but from some reason had not invaded the dark crevasses of her brain or shone through the synapses. It was the same queer twilight she'd run out of the chapel into. She remembered the being panicked and scared, and running, and running, and falling, and... had she blacked out? She must have. She went down hard, and on top of that thing, it was a reasonable enough explanation. That or there really was a GOD and the vengeful bastard was robbing time from her and punishing her for her long unpunished sins and-

James.
Why did she think of his name?
Someone had said it.
What?

The rusty unoiled gears of her exhausted mind turned and churned and searched for the answer. They jumped from point to logical point. They drew conclusions with the slow, clinical, deliberate gracelessness of a low scientist and reached a theory...

No.

Her mouth was too tired to commit sound to air but her mind shrieked in pain.

No god damn it no.

It couldn't be. It must have been some other James. It was such a common name, she knew of several others at Southridge. That must have been it. He wasn't dead. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. He'd been alive back at the chapel. He was alive now. It was simple. And he would find her, they would be together again,

and the thought was finished not by word or thought but by a terrible pain in her gut. She knew he was dead. Her fragile glass illusion shattered almost as soon as it was blown and sculpted.

The list rambled on and so did her thoughts. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead. That's what they amounted to. He was dead because of her. He died getting that gun. Or died after. It didn't matter. He died trying to protect her. And he's had so much life, so much to look forward to, he was going to be an EMT, he was going to make a difference in the world, he was going to quit smoking, he was going to be happy. Not now. Oh, not now. All of that was gone because of Morgan Ackland. The bitch. The whore. The fucking cunt. It was all because of her. It should have been her. Somewhere she'd made a mistake, she'd been selfish, and he'd paid her price in full. If only she had listened to him, not argued, not caused those scenes in the jungle and at the chapel the days before. Then it would be her and not him, and he'd have the chance he deserved instead of her. She was there by someone else's blood. And what was she doing with it? She was lying in a pool of her own vomit feeling sorry for herself. She didn't even want an exchange any longer. She just wanted to die.

As if by her command, her neck began to beep. A genie had granted her wish.

Her body flooded with a weak rush of adrenaline. She could feel a nervous and sickly strength return to her arms and legs. The Big One was testing her. He was giving her a choice. Live or die. Her mind raced and spun and came to the realization that

even if she ran now ran far far away never stopped running she would never escape she was trapped she would die on this island there was no escaping that no veil thick enough to hide it from her and what reason did she even have to live James was dead she'd made sure of that she was a fool a loser a failure she deserved to die anyway and she could di peacefully here by her own accord at her own terms nobody would touch her but fire she would be free and it was the right

she had to run while she still had the chance she could still live she still had a shot a goddamn shot it was more than most could say and besides what about her family who would take care of Olivia and Gretta and her mom oh god her mom she would be heartbroken she couldn't do that to that poor woman after all she'd done for her it was cruel and it was unfair so unfair and what about college she was going to college after all that hard work she would have a future and a life and be happy even without

While those two imps argued across her shoulders a third spoke the truth clearly and bluntly. There was no choice. She was weak. She could not get up.

beep

So that was that. She would lay there, and she would die. The Great Puritan Lord had denied her both grace and worldliness. She'd heard so much about death in her life. She always knew how she wanted to die. Among friends, peacefully, with no regret. But there were friends here no longer; those who were still alive were that way for a reason. There would be no peace with the sounds emanating from her jugular. She knew the end would be painful. She knew she had regret, so much guilt and regret. But she could pretend. She would push it all aside and

no there was no way to push it beep away there was too much here she wasdying for christ's sakedying there was no way to assuage that it was all the time left she had to think and regret and feel even if it was pain but pain was all she would have anyway so she should be thinking and hurting soon there would be no hurt or thought only meat and blood

calm and collected that's all she had to be and it would be over soon and hey maybe there was a heaven and even if not why did it matter because it was almost over thank god or whatever it was that decided these things because she wouldn't have to feel the pain or guilt any longer just a quick sting and it would be over just like a flu shot and she'd be all better because there was beep there was no way to not be calm or

morgan is seven years old they just moved into the tiny apartment in California there are still cardboard boxes everywhere the twins are playing in the living room mommy takes her into her bedroom Morgan asks "mommy what's wrong" mommy answers "oh sweetie there's something i need to tell you about daddy he's not coming back" "why?" "he doesn't love us anymore" Morgan doesn't understand mommy looks like she's about to cry mommy already knows she chose the wrong words to tell her darling daughter but Morgan knows why daddy left it's because

.

[nope†]

and she felt such a great
loss beep
and it was all it was
all there deep in her
chest spreading nothing
collecting more nothing
and soon it would be in
her throat a big black
gaping bleeding hole
not quite a black hole
not sucking in but beep
spewing out a great torrent
of red that was all her
soul was there would be
no heaven for her or
hell just blood pouring
out mingling in mud and
vomit and shit and that
was her afterlife right
there beep and and and

NO

It couldn't end this was. This wasn't peace. This wasn't embracement. She'd had enough of pain an terror. Of guilt. This was her last change to feel nice. To feel peace. She needed to take that change. She needed to leave this world with a clear mind and no regrets. No regrets. No regrets.

No regrets.



No
regrets

no
regrets






no

beep

regrets


NO

beep

beep

beep

REGRETS

NO

beep

beep
beep







beep

beep

beep

REGRETS













beep
beep
beep
beep
beep
beep
beep
beep
beep
NO



BOOM

Plastic and metal and explosives tore through skin spraying a mist of blood the look on her face one one of supreme shock and pain she felt every bit of it there was no relief she fell forward back into the mud into the earth from which she supposedly came and mud and blood and vomit swirled and mixed and spewed and filled and the world stayed the same but for Morgan everything faded .


G76 MORGAN ACKLAND: DECEASED