How many people had taken baths in these waters?
((Kelly Nguyen continued from show them we are better))
Unimaginative, in a way. The thought settled sourly, for a lot of reasons. The typical George Hunter slut suspects slipping out a little extra skin to titillate an audience that didn't know any better. Didn't bother her too much. So she understood. Mostly she just felt that it lacked ingenuity. The group project kid putting in only exactly enough effort to look like they deserved their grade- it was that sort of move. There was a more dignified path, Kelly had impressed to the camera with a pointed effort to keep her clothes on as an absorbent rag formerly called a skirt was wiped over her skin, carefully stuffed into the odds-and-ends corners by sliding surreptitiously under collar, under waistband. Skin whetted with a bit of disinfectant and waterfall-fresh water, then dried as quickly.
Her remaining good hand was a bit clumsier, but she made it work with her usual mindful grit.
She'd been alone this long, anyways, almost a full two days by now if she was counting the sun's ever disrespectful glare as it slipped into and out of her life like all the rest of toxic masculinity- either conveniently missing in action when the help was needed, or unnecessarily unavoidable when it was all over her face. She'd just finished the climb up the waterfall's winding trail, grateful in brief for her still working legs.
Felt good to be thankful for things. Like a return to basics. A simple life- Kelly Nguyen and all the world of strange other things shuffling the halls around her.
She missed them, she guessed. The faces she assigned names upon their conception into her world. They were good people, until proven otherwise. There'd been a girl once, Mercy Ames. A bit plain, plain-spoken, but beautiful in a way. Kelly had tried her best to do right by her. Fat load of good it had done her, but Kelly was firmly convinced in her convictions. They occasionally came to her in her dreams, possibly inscribed on tablets of stone, at least they felt that heavy, that demanding of her attention.
She didn't understand what it meant, for sure? But she had a good inkling. She had to keep a straight path. Ignore the haters.
That, at least, never changed.
... Ivy and Willow, killers now? She never would have imagined they had it in them. She wasn't surprised though.
She lurked through the cave, taking refuge from the growing heat. Hopeful that she could stay as long as possible, keep the sun out of her life just that bit longer. She'd come to hate sweat, her past few days on this island. Like many other pestilences onto her soft and chewy form, it refused to go away.
The roar of the waterfall washed away all the accumulated dust, constantly rinsed. She felt refreshed by the bubbling ruckus of nature- enough to notice when another sound, a slow staccato of footsteps, began to cut through. To get closer, to infringe upon her rightfully claimed space.
my face above the water, my feet can't touch the ground
Open!- tagging Ryuki (day 9), post announcements
(Zachary Beck, continued from Inner Turmoil: The Revenge)
Zach was still taking in the announcements as he walked towards the waterfall cave. After spending all of yesterday wandering around, he finally found somewhere to hide, hopefully. And, maybe collect his thoughts.
Regarding the announcements, Erika Stieglitz killed again. Once again, Zach kept a mental note to watch out for her. The second stand out was a surprise to him. Ivy Langley, the popular socialite, killed Tirzah Foss, who Zach recognized as Wyatt Carter’s killer. Damn, who knew Ivy, who was just as short as Zach, was capable of murder?
The third thing that stood out to Zach like a sore thumb. Or, more like a shot through the heart. Sean had been killed by Justin Greene. So, Zach hadn’t killed Sean. But, because of him, Sean was left vulnerable and now...
Damn it all! Damn you Zach, you fucking idiot!! Had you not fucked up the way you did, you might have been able to help him!
Zach’s grief for Sean was interrupted by the surprise of Erika Stieglitz’s killing of Lucas Diaz. Zach remembered giving Diaz his bladed paddle thing last time they met. Just, fuck dude, Erika is unstoppable isn’t she?
Zach’s mind went back to Sean. Why did he have to go and lash out the way he did? Sean would probably still be alive if you hadn’t brained him by mistake. Zach was now willing to play the game if it meant getting off the island quicker, but it still racked him with guilt to know his closest friend, who was willing to give him a chance at redemption, was now dead, all because he couldn’t control himself.
Zach had reached the entrance of the cave and walked in, his head down. It wasn’t until he noticed the shaped of a female figure that he stopped in his tracks. He grabbed the hilt of his billhook.
“Who’s there!?,” Zach shouted.
Zach was still taking in the announcements as he walked towards the waterfall cave. After spending all of yesterday wandering around, he finally found somewhere to hide, hopefully. And, maybe collect his thoughts.
Regarding the announcements, Erika Stieglitz killed again. Once again, Zach kept a mental note to watch out for her. The second stand out was a surprise to him. Ivy Langley, the popular socialite, killed Tirzah Foss, who Zach recognized as Wyatt Carter’s killer. Damn, who knew Ivy, who was just as short as Zach, was capable of murder?
The third thing that stood out to Zach like a sore thumb. Or, more like a shot through the heart. Sean had been killed by Justin Greene. So, Zach hadn’t killed Sean. But, because of him, Sean was left vulnerable and now...
Damn it all! Damn you Zach, you fucking idiot!! Had you not fucked up the way you did, you might have been able to help him!
Zach’s grief for Sean was interrupted by the surprise of Erika Stieglitz’s killing of Lucas Diaz. Zach remembered giving Diaz his bladed paddle thing last time they met. Just, fuck dude, Erika is unstoppable isn’t she?
Zach’s mind went back to Sean. Why did he have to go and lash out the way he did? Sean would probably still be alive if you hadn’t brained him by mistake. Zach was now willing to play the game if it meant getting off the island quicker, but it still racked him with guilt to know his closest friend, who was willing to give him a chance at redemption, was now dead, all because he couldn’t control himself.
Zach had reached the entrance of the cave and walked in, his head down. It wasn’t until he noticed the shaped of a female figure that he stopped in his tracks. He grabbed the hilt of his billhook.
“Who’s there!?,” Zach shouted.
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- 
The only comfort she got from the pain this time was the fact it was all temporary.
((Paloma continued here.))
Her first priority after leaving the mansion was, for once, to take care of herself. Paloma was battered with multiple wounds and bruises and cuts and gash all over her body. As much as she disliked the way she had to catalog then process them with her little first aid knowledge, she still did it relatively quickly.
The hole in her hand was probably the worse despite the pain that bursted out through her face. Paloma needed all of her fingers, she needed her grip, and the wound had done something to her. It felt frozen, stuck under cold water for too long, and she was unable to grip things properly. If she had to take a wild guess, she would say she had nerve damage but she decided that it wasn't worth dwelling on.
After, it was her face. She had finally decided to sew back the pieces of her face together. Her cheek was closed together in a hasty but tight pattern up to her ear. Her ear was gone now and now her eye had a patch on it. It was the best she could manage because she feared that doing anything else would just result in her break apart like one of those patched up dolls.
And finally, after all of that, she needed water. The packs came with a precious ressource of iodine and the thirst had managed to find its way to Paloma's brain. It guided her here, at the waterfall cave. There was about sixty people left. A hundred people had died for her, and fifty-nine more would follow. She would go home, it was a garantee.
But then, as she prepared to prepare her water, she heard the familiar sounds of preys and predators moving and talking. Her eyes looked down at the canteen and then back at the direction of the noise. Did she really want to pick a fight right now?
((Paloma continued here.))
Her first priority after leaving the mansion was, for once, to take care of herself. Paloma was battered with multiple wounds and bruises and cuts and gash all over her body. As much as she disliked the way she had to catalog then process them with her little first aid knowledge, she still did it relatively quickly.
The hole in her hand was probably the worse despite the pain that bursted out through her face. Paloma needed all of her fingers, she needed her grip, and the wound had done something to her. It felt frozen, stuck under cold water for too long, and she was unable to grip things properly. If she had to take a wild guess, she would say she had nerve damage but she decided that it wasn't worth dwelling on.
After, it was her face. She had finally decided to sew back the pieces of her face together. Her cheek was closed together in a hasty but tight pattern up to her ear. Her ear was gone now and now her eye had a patch on it. It was the best she could manage because she feared that doing anything else would just result in her break apart like one of those patched up dolls.
And finally, after all of that, she needed water. The packs came with a precious ressource of iodine and the thirst had managed to find its way to Paloma's brain. It guided her here, at the waterfall cave. There was about sixty people left. A hundred people had died for her, and fifty-nine more would follow. She would go home, it was a garantee.
But then, as she prepared to prepare her water, she heard the familiar sounds of preys and predators moving and talking. Her eyes looked down at the canteen and then back at the direction of the noise. Did she really want to pick a fight right now?
"Wait."
She'd rather die screaming than live to watch another idiot jump down her throat with accusations.
The light obscured her face from him a moment long enough that she knew how many days he'd starved before he had a chance to remember her name. Some collection of syllables that were, certainly, the most important that young man had percolating in his mind at that precise moment. For his sake he'd remember, right? You'd think the children who swarmed George Hunter high were at least that cognizant.
Beck. His barely watched channel, his part-time job. The two people he'd murdered, in so far as she remembered them in the burning film reel blur of a perfectly good life gone to waste. Not his, that was to say. She supposed she didn't have any issue with him in terms of what she'd actually suffered at his hands, because petty was petty and useless was useless and a human paid no mind to an ant when it brushed their shoe. Conceptually though she remembered she'd always thought poorly of him back at school. What he represented, brain drain, lack of ambition. Simple lack of taste, above all else.
None of that mattered. He was defined by what she could see. The clothes in poor taste, the lack of grooming. Only modest changes there. The collar, that was new. The stench of blood.
He couldn't see her, at least, until she stepped a bit out of the shadows. Her face mask, her still wet hair. Clean, at least. She felt clean. She felt alright.
If he did too, that was his problem. Right?
"I'm not going to hurt you." She held up her hands. Felt like this had happened before, it was getting repetitive. The posturing to look weak and innocent. Old act. Everyone watching, all of them, they probably assumed the wrong things about her. Just like everyone else. "You're not in danger here... is anyone else out there?"
She couldn't see, and she didn't trust him to be able to.
"You must have had a rough few days..." She smiled through her mask, before realizing he'd be unable to see it. All he'd see was the little girl, and all her exhausted shell. She felt like she was sagging. She tried to stand up a bit taller, for her own sake. "Others might attack you on sight."
Not her. Sweet, friendly Kelly Nguyen. Innocent, free of malice.
"You're safe here."
She'd rather die screaming than live to watch another idiot jump down her throat with accusations.
The light obscured her face from him a moment long enough that she knew how many days he'd starved before he had a chance to remember her name. Some collection of syllables that were, certainly, the most important that young man had percolating in his mind at that precise moment. For his sake he'd remember, right? You'd think the children who swarmed George Hunter high were at least that cognizant.
Beck. His barely watched channel, his part-time job. The two people he'd murdered, in so far as she remembered them in the burning film reel blur of a perfectly good life gone to waste. Not his, that was to say. She supposed she didn't have any issue with him in terms of what she'd actually suffered at his hands, because petty was petty and useless was useless and a human paid no mind to an ant when it brushed their shoe. Conceptually though she remembered she'd always thought poorly of him back at school. What he represented, brain drain, lack of ambition. Simple lack of taste, above all else.
None of that mattered. He was defined by what she could see. The clothes in poor taste, the lack of grooming. Only modest changes there. The collar, that was new. The stench of blood.
He couldn't see her, at least, until she stepped a bit out of the shadows. Her face mask, her still wet hair. Clean, at least. She felt clean. She felt alright.
If he did too, that was his problem. Right?
"I'm not going to hurt you." She held up her hands. Felt like this had happened before, it was getting repetitive. The posturing to look weak and innocent. Old act. Everyone watching, all of them, they probably assumed the wrong things about her. Just like everyone else. "You're not in danger here... is anyone else out there?"
She couldn't see, and she didn't trust him to be able to.
"You must have had a rough few days..." She smiled through her mask, before realizing he'd be unable to see it. All he'd see was the little girl, and all her exhausted shell. She felt like she was sagging. She tried to stand up a bit taller, for her own sake. "Others might attack you on sight."
Not her. Sweet, friendly Kelly Nguyen. Innocent, free of malice.
"You're safe here."
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
The figure stepped out from the shadows. It looked as if her face was covered by a mask, plus their hair was wet. Their voice, definitely female. What was she doing? Cleaning herself with this dirty ass water? Whatever, Zach wasn’t one to judge. He hadn’t had a shower in days and he smelled like shit.
The girl stated she wasn’t going to hurt him. Sure, that’s what they say as they’re luring you into a false sense of security, and then, wham! Zach kept a defensive position.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Zach said reluctantly, “And no, nobody’s with me.”
At least not anymore. Zach’s mind kept coming back to Sean. This made Zach feel more agitated.
So, Zach was safe here, huh? Guess Zach could at least feel obligated to be blunt with the girl.
“Rough few of days doesn’t cut it,” Zach responded, “I’ve seen some real shit since the start of this nightmare.”
The girl stated she wasn’t going to hurt him. Sure, that’s what they say as they’re luring you into a false sense of security, and then, wham! Zach kept a defensive position.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Zach said reluctantly, “And no, nobody’s with me.”
At least not anymore. Zach’s mind kept coming back to Sean. This made Zach feel more agitated.
So, Zach was safe here, huh? Guess Zach could at least feel obligated to be blunt with the girl.
“Rough few of days doesn’t cut it,” Zach responded, “I’ve seen some real shit since the start of this nightmare.”
Paloma gave the bottle of water a little shake as she listened to the conversation. The water was turning a tint of brown edging on beige. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to do that, but she didn't have any other choice than to do it, so she hoped for the best. Worse case scenario, she would need to filter it with to make sure she doesn't sick.
"A nightmare," she echoed the boy's voice, "feels more like a fever dream to me."
A nightmare would be too kind to describe the experience, at least for her. Nightmares couldn't really hurt her, they were all intangible, coming from too far away to affect her. But this, this was a fever dream. There was an illness underneath it, and Paloma was deeply sick.
It didn't stop when she woke up. If it were a nightmare, she'd be in her bed right now, already forgetting the source of her trauma. But now, even if she woke up, even if her eyes opened in the darkness, she would still be sick. There was a still a cancer eating her away underneath all of this darkness and it wouldn't go away in a second.
"Anyways," Paloma said a bit louder, she peeked into the cave, "'sup."
"A nightmare," she echoed the boy's voice, "feels more like a fever dream to me."
A nightmare would be too kind to describe the experience, at least for her. Nightmares couldn't really hurt her, they were all intangible, coming from too far away to affect her. But this, this was a fever dream. There was an illness underneath it, and Paloma was deeply sick.
It didn't stop when she woke up. If it were a nightmare, she'd be in her bed right now, already forgetting the source of her trauma. But now, even if she woke up, even if her eyes opened in the darkness, she would still be sick. There was a still a cancer eating her away underneath all of this darkness and it wouldn't go away in a second.
"Anyways," Paloma said a bit louder, she peeked into the cave, "'sup."
'Course there were more people just so happening to stumble and to poke their nose into conversations. High school didn't end, not even this far removed from the scene of the crimes.
Kelly took a moment to relax, her blistering nerves bubbling raw like a freshly popped pimple. It was the act of reminding herself that she was different, that she was no longer that scampering little mouse girl from the halls of GHHS, whatever people tried to throw at her in the hopes that it'd stick her to their little pin-up board walls.
Weird to think Paloma had been the first among them, right? Her's were rookie numbers. It was a quaint notion now, that there could have been an original killing when everyone was now dead meat to everyone else. Whomever still living who walked among them, who saw the world with the tempered eyes of a humble photographer. Strange, almost cursed image type of snapshot. Kelly plus two kids huddling in a damp cave. No food, no rescue. Blursed, maybe. Opportunity existed somewhere in the bleakness- so said every samey self-help rag ever written.
"We're all fucked. Our best bet at this point is that this was all a shared delusion."
Her's of sweet, indulgent grandeur. Victory still imminent, somehow, when all her supplies plus some amount extra of her skin were forfeited. Kelly found a particularly blunt outcropping of rock arbitrarily more comfortable than all the other featureless bits of rock, sat. She opened her bag wide, showed off the many intimidatingly useless things within.
"Sit wherever... Don't have much in the way of supplies or I'd share. If anyone wants broken shoes maybe." A blase sigh, she tossed the warped and melted leather that had once been straps on a now thin, mealy sole not built for hoofing it through a jungle. It landed somewhere between her and the people she supposed she called peers.
"Here's a question. Is everything that's happened to us our fault to take blame for? ... Or just our problem to deal with?" There was only one right answer.
Kelly took a moment to relax, her blistering nerves bubbling raw like a freshly popped pimple. It was the act of reminding herself that she was different, that she was no longer that scampering little mouse girl from the halls of GHHS, whatever people tried to throw at her in the hopes that it'd stick her to their little pin-up board walls.
Weird to think Paloma had been the first among them, right? Her's were rookie numbers. It was a quaint notion now, that there could have been an original killing when everyone was now dead meat to everyone else. Whomever still living who walked among them, who saw the world with the tempered eyes of a humble photographer. Strange, almost cursed image type of snapshot. Kelly plus two kids huddling in a damp cave. No food, no rescue. Blursed, maybe. Opportunity existed somewhere in the bleakness- so said every samey self-help rag ever written.
"We're all fucked. Our best bet at this point is that this was all a shared delusion."
Her's of sweet, indulgent grandeur. Victory still imminent, somehow, when all her supplies plus some amount extra of her skin were forfeited. Kelly found a particularly blunt outcropping of rock arbitrarily more comfortable than all the other featureless bits of rock, sat. She opened her bag wide, showed off the many intimidatingly useless things within.
"Sit wherever... Don't have much in the way of supplies or I'd share. If anyone wants broken shoes maybe." A blase sigh, she tossed the warped and melted leather that had once been straps on a now thin, mealy sole not built for hoofing it through a jungle. It landed somewhere between her and the people she supposed she called peers.
"Here's a question. Is everything that's happened to us our fault to take blame for? ... Or just our problem to deal with?" There was only one right answer.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Zach turned around to see another girl had stumbled upon this cave. Paloma Salt, who looked worse for wear. Zach grimaced a bit at sight of her face. What the fuck even happened? And how. But rather than engage in conversation with the new arrival, Zach turned his attention back to the girl in the mask.
“A shared delusion,” Zach scoffed. Such thought was ridiculous. “How could over a hundred student have a shared fucking delusion over God damn death game!?”
Zach was suddenly shouting. His fists were clenched tightly, his teeth grit. All this stress was getting to him. He could feel the same anger overwhelming him, like when he was about to bash Thomas in the head.
“Yeah! I agree! We’re all fucked!”, Zach continued, “Even after God-knows-who survives this, they’re still fucked!”
“A shared delusion,” Zach scoffed. Such thought was ridiculous. “How could over a hundred student have a shared fucking delusion over God damn death game!?”
Zach was suddenly shouting. His fists were clenched tightly, his teeth grit. All this stress was getting to him. He could feel the same anger overwhelming him, like when he was about to bash Thomas in the head.
“Yeah! I agree! We’re all fucked!”, Zach continued, “Even after God-knows-who survives this, they’re still fucked!”
Everyone here were papier-mâchés dolls, ready to crumble at the first sign of stress.
"I disagree" Paloma replied, "I think this is the best opportunity to remake yourself."
It was simple, at least for her.
"When you get hurt, your body heals over the wounds," she said softly, "it's the same with the soul."
A mentality that kept her going, there was light, somewhere at the end of the tunnel. It was somewhere, waiting for her to reach it and take her to whatever better place she would go. It would be wrong to say that she wasn't scared shitless, but she was able to do this. She was always able to do anything, and she was able to do what she needed to do.
"The winner might end up fucked but," she paused, put drumming her fingers against her wrist, "that just depends on them at that point."
If Paloma was allowed to win once, she'd be able to win for the rest of her life. It was the only thing that mattered.
"I disagree" Paloma replied, "I think this is the best opportunity to remake yourself."
It was simple, at least for her.
"When you get hurt, your body heals over the wounds," she said softly, "it's the same with the soul."
A mentality that kept her going, there was light, somewhere at the end of the tunnel. It was somewhere, waiting for her to reach it and take her to whatever better place she would go. It would be wrong to say that she wasn't scared shitless, but she was able to do this. She was always able to do anything, and she was able to do what she needed to do.
"The winner might end up fucked but," she paused, put drumming her fingers against her wrist, "that just depends on them at that point."
If Paloma was allowed to win once, she'd be able to win for the rest of her life. It was the only thing that mattered.
"Weren't you supposed to be able to take a joke?"
Kelly sighed, stiffly. Winced with as much grace, her ribs a bit colder against her innards when her nerves registered how the air she breathed subtly went the wrong way, out the extra holes in the side of her face. She slapped two hands to her cheeks, fingers gently pressing, as if she could hold herself together with just her own willpower. That just intensified the low throbbing sting.
"I agree with Paloma, honestly." She hoped the slut appreciated the solidarity. It hadn't exactly been earned.
"Like, who else is going to appreciate us now? We all had our reasons but they don't care about that." They- everyone else. The soul was a solitary thing. Infinite, but not shared.
"No one else is going to listen to us, Zach. Anyone who was is already somehow dead."
If she remembered the names right. He'd killed one of the few people who trusted him. Sean... something or another. The rest of the name didn't matter. Just the idea it represented. The consequences of a decision.
"If we're fucked up we don't owe anything to any of the other fucked up ones. None of them." She shrugged, settled her back against the cave wall, her face settling deep into the shadows once more. Bit more comfortable there- she hated being looked at, all of a sudden, with the stupid face mask and all. She'd spent years trying to avoid being that kind of Asian girl.
Kelly sighed, stiffly. Winced with as much grace, her ribs a bit colder against her innards when her nerves registered how the air she breathed subtly went the wrong way, out the extra holes in the side of her face. She slapped two hands to her cheeks, fingers gently pressing, as if she could hold herself together with just her own willpower. That just intensified the low throbbing sting.
"I agree with Paloma, honestly." She hoped the slut appreciated the solidarity. It hadn't exactly been earned.
"Like, who else is going to appreciate us now? We all had our reasons but they don't care about that." They- everyone else. The soul was a solitary thing. Infinite, but not shared.
"No one else is going to listen to us, Zach. Anyone who was is already somehow dead."
If she remembered the names right. He'd killed one of the few people who trusted him. Sean... something or another. The rest of the name didn't matter. Just the idea it represented. The consequences of a decision.
"If we're fucked up we don't owe anything to any of the other fucked up ones. None of them." She shrugged, settled her back against the cave wall, her face settling deep into the shadows once more. Bit more comfortable there- she hated being looked at, all of a sudden, with the stupid face mask and all. She'd spent years trying to avoid being that kind of Asian girl.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
“I‘m not in the mood for jokes,” Zach growled.
Zach thought Paloma’s comment on this being a chance to remake themselves was fucking stupid. The only way people in this game could remake themselves into were predators and prey. Killers and victims. Aggressors and reactors. Sure, physical wounds heal, but what about psychological wounds. Trauma can fuck up the brain beyond repair.
“Someone was willing to listen to me,” Zach said in a dour tone, “now they’re gone.”
Another wave of guilt washed over Zach. The image of him whamming Sean in the face with his billhook played over and over again. And then, he thought back to the cliffs, where Sean offered him a second chance. Zach leaned against the cave’s walls, tears beginning to form in his eyes, just like on that day.
Zach thought Paloma’s comment on this being a chance to remake themselves was fucking stupid. The only way people in this game could remake themselves into were predators and prey. Killers and victims. Aggressors and reactors. Sure, physical wounds heal, but what about psychological wounds. Trauma can fuck up the brain beyond repair.
“Someone was willing to listen to me,” Zach said in a dour tone, “now they’re gone.”
Another wave of guilt washed over Zach. The image of him whamming Sean in the face with his billhook played over and over again. And then, he thought back to the cliffs, where Sean offered him a second chance. Zach leaned against the cave’s walls, tears beginning to form in his eyes, just like on that day.
Paloma crossed her arms over her chest. The pain flared up throughout her body. Every movement was a new reminder of the pain she had amassed over the days spent here, and she hated every single seconds of it.
"Who?"
Paloma was curious about the identity of the person. In a way, she hoped she never knew them. Paloma couldn't fathom thinking about Tony walking up to someone and discussing his situation. Paloma had killed him for that very specific reason and nobody had never asked why or tried to let her explain herself.
Paloma put her shoulder against the cold wall of the cavern as she stared at the boy. In the darkness, she couldn't quite make out the details of his face, but it was clear he had struggled for the past few days on the island.
Like everyone else, Paloma tried to care.
"Who?"
Paloma was curious about the identity of the person. In a way, she hoped she never knew them. Paloma couldn't fathom thinking about Tony walking up to someone and discussing his situation. Paloma had killed him for that very specific reason and nobody had never asked why or tried to let her explain herself.
Paloma put her shoulder against the cold wall of the cavern as she stared at the boy. In the darkness, she couldn't quite make out the details of his face, but it was clear he had struggled for the past few days on the island.
Like everyone else, Paloma tried to care.
Sure. Why not hear him out?
Kelly stared down at her own feet. She could hear the struggle fine in their voices, acknowledging the rest of them just seemed redundant. A story could only be made so compelling when it was poorly thought out and composed. She'd heard better before. A good story, in fact, was what drove her.
Inspiration could be fickle, but she knew her own muse better than anyone else here could hope to pretend they understood.
Kelly stared down at her own feet. She could hear the struggle fine in their voices, acknowledging the rest of them just seemed redundant. A story could only be made so compelling when it was poorly thought out and composed. She'd heard better before. A good story, in fact, was what drove her.
Inspiration could be fickle, but she knew her own muse better than anyone else here could hope to pretend they understood.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
“Sean,” Zach replied to Paloma, “Sean Leibowitz. He was on the announcements this morning.”
The tears began to flow down his cheeks.
“I did something stupid, and right after he offered me a chance to redeem myself,” Zach said, his voice welled up.
He wiped his eyes as he continued.
“I lost control of myself and I hurt him,” Zach continued, “I could have been there for him, but it’s too late.”
Zach’s continued to cry. He took a deep sniff, trying to prevent any snot from flowing out of his nose.
“I’m nothing but a filthy, fucking murderer!”, he cried out.
The tears began to flow down his cheeks.
“I did something stupid, and right after he offered me a chance to redeem myself,” Zach said, his voice welled up.
He wiped his eyes as he continued.
“I lost control of myself and I hurt him,” Zach continued, “I could have been there for him, but it’s too late.”
Zach’s continued to cry. He took a deep sniff, trying to prevent any snot from flowing out of his nose.
“I’m nothing but a filthy, fucking murderer!”, he cried out.
Okay so Paloma hadn't killed him.
"Oof," she said curtly, "that sucks."
She took three steps back. Paloma clicked her flashlight opened to reveal that the water was still brown. She rolled her eyes and came back into the scene.
"I'm sorry that happened," she continued with her basic polite comments taught from years of practice, "if it makes you feel better, I don't think you're that bad."
It was another free lie to throw out there as a random bandage to cover up a wound that couldn't be reached.
"Oof," she said curtly, "that sucks."
She took three steps back. Paloma clicked her flashlight opened to reveal that the water was still brown. She rolled her eyes and came back into the scene.
"I'm sorry that happened," she continued with her basic polite comments taught from years of practice, "if it makes you feel better, I don't think you're that bad."
It was another free lie to throw out there as a random bandage to cover up a wound that couldn't be reached.