Darlene stood there with tears streaming from her eyes, messing up her glasses again right after she'd cleaned them, but that didn't matter because she'd just shot Beryl! It was the stupidest, worst, most horrible thing she could've possibly done, and it was because she was herself stupid and horrible and the worst, but not entirely. There was, she thought, as the others nearby got to work on useful things like trying to stop the blood spurting from the girl's torso, blame to go around in this situation. It wasn't like she'd wanted this to happen! Someone should've told her, or stopped her, or explained things better.
She would tell Beryl that, as soon as the girl got up. Because she had to get up, right? Darlene had read once that bullet wounds didn't really kill you right away, most of the time. They hurt you and messed you up but way more people survived than how the movies showed, and Beryl had to be one of them, right? Even though Darlene didn't really trust her or totally like her, that was different from wanting to hurt her. She'd shown them how to use the guns, and she'd been so good at it, so why hadn't she been better at explaining what to do to make it safe again?
The boy Jonah had been hugging was running their way now too, to help also, and Darlene felt useless as everyone else did things for Beryl and she just stood there crying. The boy was doing this weird zigzag run, maybe because the toothy claw was so large and unwieldy, and then she saw he was coming more in her direction than Beryl's, and she was confused for just enough time that there was no room to do anything besides get snagged and bowled straight over by the grabber.
Its teeth sank into her arm and shoulder, and she hadn't braced for the the impact at all, or even expected it really, and so she was forced into a stumbled kneel which quickly transformed into her lying sprawled on her back, right arm pinned to the dirt by the claw, fingers twitching, clutching the gun. It hurt, not a lot but it hurt, and the dirt ground into her back and she could see the way the teeth caught in the fabric of her sweater and made little holes and the ants were probably going to crawl all over her and her finger had squeezed the trigger again when she fell but nothing had happened this time because this time the gun was properly safe and she was crying harder and wiggling around, thrashing and tugging futilely against the claw but her heart wasn't even in it because she was more focused on what was going on off to the side, in parallel, the other girl on the ground who should be getting up now.
"Let me go," she still choked out. She grabbed at the shaft of the claw with her left hand and pushed at it ineffectually. "Let me go."
][
Open.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
"Useless."
That's all Lucas could think of when he knelt before Beryl's prone form, unable to do anything. He wanted to do something, but as he looked to Henry and saw him crying, Lucas realize the truth: there was nothing he could do. His friend was lying here, disabled and possibly dying. His stared down at the ground, his vision getting cloudy and most from tears forming in his eyes. Beryl didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to suffer, to bleed out to death on some god forsaken island. None of them did. He stared at Beryl and slowly his head swiveled over to Darlene, the one who shot her, down on the ground, gun still in her hand. Silently he contemplated the scene and slowly an idea dawned on him.
Slowly Lucas rose to his feet then slowly shambling forward towards Darlene's position. Lucas stood over the girl, his gaze falling upon her hand held to the ground by Max's mancatcher which held the murder weapon. He knelt down to the ground next to Darlene, reaching and taking the gun in his hand and prying it violently from her grip. She stared at the firearm, slightly tilting it to inspect it.
He stood back up to his full height.
"I have to do something."
He turned around and looked back down to Beryl.
"I have to do something."
He raised the gun up and aimed it at her head.
"I have to do something."
He pulled back the hammer of the pistol.
"I have to help her."
His hand shook, the gun feeling heavier in his grip. His throat felt dry, tears running down his face. Memories of better days flooding back as he looked at his injured friend. The world seemed to fade out around him, people other than Beryl becoming featureless blurs in his vision and sounds becoming muted as his heart pounded in his chest. A new blur enters his vision but he couldn't notice who.
It felt like ages ago that the two of them were in that auditorium together, taking about a dumb movie idea he had. Why couldn't they just go back to that? Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to do this?
Slowly he lowered the gun, lowering his head in defeat as he began to cry. He couldn't do this.
"Useless."
That's all Lucas could think of when he knelt before Beryl's prone form, unable to do anything. He wanted to do something, but as he looked to Henry and saw him crying, Lucas realize the truth: there was nothing he could do. His friend was lying here, disabled and possibly dying. His stared down at the ground, his vision getting cloudy and most from tears forming in his eyes. Beryl didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to suffer, to bleed out to death on some god forsaken island. None of them did. He stared at Beryl and slowly his head swiveled over to Darlene, the one who shot her, down on the ground, gun still in her hand. Silently he contemplated the scene and slowly an idea dawned on him.
Slowly Lucas rose to his feet then slowly shambling forward towards Darlene's position. Lucas stood over the girl, his gaze falling upon her hand held to the ground by Max's mancatcher which held the murder weapon. He knelt down to the ground next to Darlene, reaching and taking the gun in his hand and prying it violently from her grip. She stared at the firearm, slightly tilting it to inspect it.
He stood back up to his full height.
"I have to do something."
He turned around and looked back down to Beryl.
"I have to do something."
He raised the gun up and aimed it at her head.
"I have to do something."
He pulled back the hammer of the pistol.
"I have to help her."
His hand shook, the gun feeling heavier in his grip. His throat felt dry, tears running down his face. Memories of better days flooding back as he looked at his injured friend. The world seemed to fade out around him, people other than Beryl becoming featureless blurs in his vision and sounds becoming muted as his heart pounded in his chest. A new blur enters his vision but he couldn't notice who.
It felt like ages ago that the two of them were in that auditorium together, taking about a dumb movie idea he had. Why couldn't they just go back to that? Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to do this?
Slowly he lowered the gun, lowering his head in defeat as he began to cry. He couldn't do this.
"Useless."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
((Nick Ogilvie continued from Rigor Samsa.))
When Nick Ogilvie first heard the gunshot, his reaction was...exhaustion. It was near enough to startle him, far enough to be no more impactful to his life than a birdsong or a muffled argument. He wrinkled his nose in agitation. It had forced him to look up from the ground, to check his skin for injuries he might have been too numbed to notice at first, to do the cursory concession to his survival instincts and try and assess the direction of the noise.
But it was not against him. It was someone else’s act of vengeance, or self-defence, or escape. Nick would care, of course. But without a name to be put to the face of that victim, without even knowing if there was a victim, he would wait until the announcements, use the brief luxury of living in a time of ignorance to distance himself from the inevitable horrors of the island, to pretend that these were things that he could walk away from.
Nick was prepared to turn his attention back to the ground. The detritus of the forest floor was...not interesting, but distracting. A diversion from the indignity of being spurned in such a callous way by people still holding pre-island grudges or deciding arbitrarily that Nick was their new enemy.
But then he heard someone shout ‘Beryl’.
Nick didn’t need to pause to decipher the tone, didn’t need to work out what it meant, didn’t need to search hard for meaning in the timbre and cadence of that eerily disembodied voice. He knew Beryl. He knew Beryl better than he knew this game. For all her eccentricities, Beryl would not be the aggressor. Beryl would not be the instigator. Nick had always feared she would be too pacifistic a girlfriend, if anything, too keen to keep people happy instead of side with the ones she was meant to side with. Hearing her name screamed in this place - and Nick knew this even before he stopped to consider the tone or context - might only one thing.
She was in danger. Danger that she didn’t deserve.
Nick was already sprinting, as fast as he could with a cumbersome bag over one shoulder and a dagger in the other, before he remembered that they’d broken up. Because of him. But fuck it. She was in danger. He’d already started running. Nick would trust his instincts here. His instincts had a better track record than his critical faculties, after all.
Nick ran in a straight line. As straight a line as he could, anyway. Each tree seemed to rush out of the ground in front of him, trying to put an ignoble stop to his righteous dash, but he evaded them all, without slowing, without giving them any victory in the form of a more considered pace. He was darting from opening to opening, hoping in his rush that he wouldn’t trip over an ill-placed branch or a clunky piece of decomposing bark, stumbling a couple of times in his graceless run over the forest floor but never pausing to look down at what had almost caused his fall. He didn’t care. Unnecessary details, details that he only cared about when it was his own life on the line.
He ran. He heard more shouting. Profanity. Exclamations. Beryl’s name was shouted again. At least the others in the scene seemed to recognise that she didn’t deserve whatever fate they’d subjected her to.
Could hear talking too. He was still too far to make out the words that weren’t being shouted, but he could pick up the voices and the inflections. Male voices, panicking. No female voices. None that he could hear. No. He couldn’t be too late. Beryl could be stoic sometimes. If anyone could stifle a scream, it would be her.
Saw someone running. Away. Coward. Sure, Nick was a hypocrite to think that, but he didn’t care.
Then, through the trees, the details of the scene became visible. He could see the others first. He saw a guy holding a girl on the ground, using some weird and ugly instrument to do so. She wasn’t Beryl. It seemed like restraint more than aggression. He would intervene - he hoped he would - if it went further than that.
Then he saw two guys, attending to someone on the ground. He knew it was Beryl. He knew the names of everyone here. He was good with names. Didn’t bother actually thinking about them, though. Only Beryl counted.
Nick stopped. At the perimeter of the impromptu gathering. He let his bag fall to the ground. He looked at Beryl.
His first thought was how to help. He could see, though, that that was beyond what he could do. He wasn’t too good at recognising wounds or delivering an on-the-spot prognosis, but it looked bad. A bullet wound - gnarled and visceral. Blood everywhere. So much blood, far too much blood loss to wrap his head around. She was awake. Still conscious. But...still. Lifeless on first glance, even. The word ‘paralysed’ didn’t jump to Nick’s mind, not immediately, but he knew what he was witnessing.
And so did the others. Henry and Lucas. They had been there. They had seen it all play out. They were scrambling, in vain, trying to do something. Trying to do anything. Then Lucas went for the gun, prying it from Darlene’s fingers. Darlene must have done it. It hadn’t even been a quick and merciful death, Nick felt with a pang of anger. She couldn’t even give Beryl that basic token of decency, of humanity.
Lucas then took it upon himself to succeed where Darlene had failed.
But he couldn’t.
It wasn’t a conscious decision on Nick’s part. Nick knew what he was doing, was making rational choices, but only around the periphery. He was looking where he was going now, monitoring his gait to make sure he came across as purposeful yet not menacing, as determined yet mournful. But the big decision had been made on instinct. He looked around the clearing. Wanted to see any objections as he knelt down, dagger lifted up in a reverse grip, his face barely containing the tears that threatened to break out.
He looked at Beryl. “I’m sorry, Beryl.” The knife hovered over her heart. That should be quick, right? But no. He stopped himself. The ribcage. It would be too grisly, too distressing, to navigate all that. It would be excruciating for Beryl - if she could still feel, Nick didn’t know how paralysis worked - and harrowing for Nick. He might not have the guts to see it through that way. That would be an even worse act of surrender than Lucas’s.
So his knife found a place, just above her collar. He held it there. “I’m so sorry. For everything.” He looked around, one last time. If there were any objections, if there was any precedent for a medical miracle here, he hoped someone would stop him.
Nobody did.
He killed her.
When Nick Ogilvie first heard the gunshot, his reaction was...exhaustion. It was near enough to startle him, far enough to be no more impactful to his life than a birdsong or a muffled argument. He wrinkled his nose in agitation. It had forced him to look up from the ground, to check his skin for injuries he might have been too numbed to notice at first, to do the cursory concession to his survival instincts and try and assess the direction of the noise.
But it was not against him. It was someone else’s act of vengeance, or self-defence, or escape. Nick would care, of course. But without a name to be put to the face of that victim, without even knowing if there was a victim, he would wait until the announcements, use the brief luxury of living in a time of ignorance to distance himself from the inevitable horrors of the island, to pretend that these were things that he could walk away from.
Nick was prepared to turn his attention back to the ground. The detritus of the forest floor was...not interesting, but distracting. A diversion from the indignity of being spurned in such a callous way by people still holding pre-island grudges or deciding arbitrarily that Nick was their new enemy.
But then he heard someone shout ‘Beryl’.
Nick didn’t need to pause to decipher the tone, didn’t need to work out what it meant, didn’t need to search hard for meaning in the timbre and cadence of that eerily disembodied voice. He knew Beryl. He knew Beryl better than he knew this game. For all her eccentricities, Beryl would not be the aggressor. Beryl would not be the instigator. Nick had always feared she would be too pacifistic a girlfriend, if anything, too keen to keep people happy instead of side with the ones she was meant to side with. Hearing her name screamed in this place - and Nick knew this even before he stopped to consider the tone or context - might only one thing.
She was in danger. Danger that she didn’t deserve.
Nick was already sprinting, as fast as he could with a cumbersome bag over one shoulder and a dagger in the other, before he remembered that they’d broken up. Because of him. But fuck it. She was in danger. He’d already started running. Nick would trust his instincts here. His instincts had a better track record than his critical faculties, after all.
Nick ran in a straight line. As straight a line as he could, anyway. Each tree seemed to rush out of the ground in front of him, trying to put an ignoble stop to his righteous dash, but he evaded them all, without slowing, without giving them any victory in the form of a more considered pace. He was darting from opening to opening, hoping in his rush that he wouldn’t trip over an ill-placed branch or a clunky piece of decomposing bark, stumbling a couple of times in his graceless run over the forest floor but never pausing to look down at what had almost caused his fall. He didn’t care. Unnecessary details, details that he only cared about when it was his own life on the line.
He ran. He heard more shouting. Profanity. Exclamations. Beryl’s name was shouted again. At least the others in the scene seemed to recognise that she didn’t deserve whatever fate they’d subjected her to.
Could hear talking too. He was still too far to make out the words that weren’t being shouted, but he could pick up the voices and the inflections. Male voices, panicking. No female voices. None that he could hear. No. He couldn’t be too late. Beryl could be stoic sometimes. If anyone could stifle a scream, it would be her.
Saw someone running. Away. Coward. Sure, Nick was a hypocrite to think that, but he didn’t care.
Then, through the trees, the details of the scene became visible. He could see the others first. He saw a guy holding a girl on the ground, using some weird and ugly instrument to do so. She wasn’t Beryl. It seemed like restraint more than aggression. He would intervene - he hoped he would - if it went further than that.
Then he saw two guys, attending to someone on the ground. He knew it was Beryl. He knew the names of everyone here. He was good with names. Didn’t bother actually thinking about them, though. Only Beryl counted.
Nick stopped. At the perimeter of the impromptu gathering. He let his bag fall to the ground. He looked at Beryl.
His first thought was how to help. He could see, though, that that was beyond what he could do. He wasn’t too good at recognising wounds or delivering an on-the-spot prognosis, but it looked bad. A bullet wound - gnarled and visceral. Blood everywhere. So much blood, far too much blood loss to wrap his head around. She was awake. Still conscious. But...still. Lifeless on first glance, even. The word ‘paralysed’ didn’t jump to Nick’s mind, not immediately, but he knew what he was witnessing.
And so did the others. Henry and Lucas. They had been there. They had seen it all play out. They were scrambling, in vain, trying to do something. Trying to do anything. Then Lucas went for the gun, prying it from Darlene’s fingers. Darlene must have done it. It hadn’t even been a quick and merciful death, Nick felt with a pang of anger. She couldn’t even give Beryl that basic token of decency, of humanity.
Lucas then took it upon himself to succeed where Darlene had failed.
But he couldn’t.
It wasn’t a conscious decision on Nick’s part. Nick knew what he was doing, was making rational choices, but only around the periphery. He was looking where he was going now, monitoring his gait to make sure he came across as purposeful yet not menacing, as determined yet mournful. But the big decision had been made on instinct. He looked around the clearing. Wanted to see any objections as he knelt down, dagger lifted up in a reverse grip, his face barely containing the tears that threatened to break out.
He looked at Beryl. “I’m sorry, Beryl.” The knife hovered over her heart. That should be quick, right? But no. He stopped himself. The ribcage. It would be too grisly, too distressing, to navigate all that. It would be excruciating for Beryl - if she could still feel, Nick didn’t know how paralysis worked - and harrowing for Nick. He might not have the guts to see it through that way. That would be an even worse act of surrender than Lucas’s.
So his knife found a place, just above her collar. He held it there. “I’m so sorry. For everything.” He looked around, one last time. If there were any objections, if there was any precedent for a medical miracle here, he hoped someone would stop him.
Nobody did.
He killed her.
((OOC: Reminder that the format of links goes- initial text link is the original post, the ellipses link after is an 'edited' version. Also a reminder- these are all strictly optional reading experiences. Not one is needed for this death post to work as intended.))
And she died!
Well not exactly in that order, though. She was having a bit of difficulty sorting it all out.
This thing, for example, had happened at some point. But she couldn’t quite remember it right- maybe it had happened minutes before. Or days.
….
The flow of time suddenly wasn’t so sticky, the sensation of her blood flowing free and merry on the opposite side of her skin washed away most other sensations. She had to focus to anchor herself to understand herself- and it wasn’t easy going.
There was the pain, which if anything was almost irrelevant because it slipped in and out of the stream of her freely leaking thoughts, along with everything else. She hurt, she vaguely remembered an old broken leg only she had two of them and all those furiously weeping bones were shoved into her rib cage and swirled around until the gristle and meat were clogging up her throat. That’s right, she had to breathe. Not for long, but while she still had the opportunity. She tried to breathe, in out. She failed! It sounded like what she expected death to sound like, hollow, echoing in her ears.
She wondered what closure sounded like. Probably nothing at all.
....
There were the shapes of people around her- somewhat vague. Wispy silhouettes in a looming midnight black of odd humanoid forms- warped and blurry. Maybe she was looking at them through a curtain of tears. Or maybe her own optic nerve was already giving out under the strain. Hard to know for sure. She wished they’d come closer, and she also wished she could tell them that. But again, nothing but the strange sounds of her own self frothing like a rabid dog would come out. She’d try really hard to reach out, and she’d find herself coming up short. Bits of herself coming out, too. It was sad, actually. She really wanted to say something. She wished she knew who was there, at least.
She thought she recognized one of the voices, but she couldn’t be sure. Could be that he’d run, abandoned her. She wouldn’t have blamed him.
….
It sounded like someone was crying. She felt sorry for whoever they were. They didn’t need to cry.
She wanted to say it was going to be okay- then, of course, she’d run into the whole couldn’t speak issue again. Unfortunate, that. She still sort of had the mental acuity to at least pretend she was saying comforting things to the people who may or may not have been people surrounding her like blankets- somewhere left and center of the part of her brain that was a flickering light swaying in a flickering breeze. Random ons and offs. Beryl as a concept was beginning to slip away. Loud as that concept was in her own head. It was incoherent yelling- purposeless. She continued to focus. In and among all the memories that constituted her, she didn’t want to lose herself.
But that was the problem, then. This wasn’t okay.
And it never had been.
….
She finally felt like she was in a safe enough place to admit it.
She was, only just now, for the first time ever in her entire life, given permission by the powers that be to meet her Mom and Dad. There seemed to be something inappropriate about that. That’s just the way it was, she’d tell herself. But she said a lot of things, looking back. She’d said things true and things strange. And probably, things false. And still strange, because that never stopped being a thing.
She never stopped being a thing. Up until now.
She should have felt more of something. This was the end, right? She was running out of time. All her emotions should have been pouring out of her, same as all of her vitality neatly foamed and whipped and staining her shirt cherry red. If she had on a shirt. That was another detail being lost to the void- it was an ever expanding void, within her, without. It was peaceful. Lonely.
She didn’t like it much, but she kind of had no choice but to float on into it.
And then, she finally recognized a face. He was close enough.
….
That stirred something. All the mixed and muted hues that stirred together to create a blend of herself, slowly bleeding away, evaporating to condense into other molecules of the universe that might make up a new girl or plant or fish in the deep sea. That was turbulence, within herself.
That’s right. She had regrets. She had a reason to feel wronged. To feel robbed- of what? Her parents. Her pets, they’d died too, and she’d buried them herself, and she’d hated it but she’d told herself she’d been alright with it. That was just life. Her friends- she’d hurt them, she’d used them. She’d made mistakes. And yet she just let all those things slip away. Just how it was.
She did lie to herself. A lot.
Nick got closer. She could see him. Was he trembling? Was that her, the one who was unsteady? He had knife. He was close enough to hug her, and instead he was going to kill her.
Was she okay with that?
Well, she tried one last time to speak. Bubbles popped, playfully, out of the cavity in her chest. Her lips still didn’t move- they felt cold, dead now. A shape without purpose.
She just wanted to tell him something she thought might have been important. Don’t do it. Let me die slow. They’ll blame you.
But that didn’t come out, and now she was here!
Staring at him. Wondering if she could, for once in her life, stop being herself for just a moment so she could actually dispense with all the lies. Their eyes seemed to meet. Or maybe she was just imagining that, and maybe she was just imagining everything.
She could, at least, choose her final message. She didn’t want to lie to him. But...
The facade refused to crumble. Serenity, the last thing she’d ever try to say. She wanted him to think she was okay. In these final moments, where absolutely nothing was okay and all the weight of that fact burdened her all the way down to whatever circle of hell she belonged in. That same stupid smile of hers, all in the eyes. A desperately vague thumbs up, without weight, without meaning.
She hoped she was born screaming in her next life.
G018, Beryl Mahelona Deceased
155 Students Remaining
And she died!
Well not exactly in that order, though. She was having a bit of difficulty sorting it all out.
This thing, for example, had happened at some point. But she couldn’t quite remember it right- maybe it had happened minutes before. Or days.
….
The flow of time suddenly wasn’t so sticky, the sensation of her blood flowing free and merry on the opposite side of her skin washed away most other sensations. She had to focus to anchor herself to understand herself- and it wasn’t easy going.
There was the pain, which if anything was almost irrelevant because it slipped in and out of the stream of her freely leaking thoughts, along with everything else. She hurt, she vaguely remembered an old broken leg only she had two of them and all those furiously weeping bones were shoved into her rib cage and swirled around until the gristle and meat were clogging up her throat. That’s right, she had to breathe. Not for long, but while she still had the opportunity. She tried to breathe, in out. She failed! It sounded like what she expected death to sound like, hollow, echoing in her ears.
She wondered what closure sounded like. Probably nothing at all.
....
There were the shapes of people around her- somewhat vague. Wispy silhouettes in a looming midnight black of odd humanoid forms- warped and blurry. Maybe she was looking at them through a curtain of tears. Or maybe her own optic nerve was already giving out under the strain. Hard to know for sure. She wished they’d come closer, and she also wished she could tell them that. But again, nothing but the strange sounds of her own self frothing like a rabid dog would come out. She’d try really hard to reach out, and she’d find herself coming up short. Bits of herself coming out, too. It was sad, actually. She really wanted to say something. She wished she knew who was there, at least.
She thought she recognized one of the voices, but she couldn’t be sure. Could be that he’d run, abandoned her. She wouldn’t have blamed him.
….
It sounded like someone was crying. She felt sorry for whoever they were. They didn’t need to cry.
She wanted to say it was going to be okay- then, of course, she’d run into the whole couldn’t speak issue again. Unfortunate, that. She still sort of had the mental acuity to at least pretend she was saying comforting things to the people who may or may not have been people surrounding her like blankets- somewhere left and center of the part of her brain that was a flickering light swaying in a flickering breeze. Random ons and offs. Beryl as a concept was beginning to slip away. Loud as that concept was in her own head. It was incoherent yelling- purposeless. She continued to focus. In and among all the memories that constituted her, she didn’t want to lose herself.
But that was the problem, then. This wasn’t okay.
And it never had been.
….
She finally felt like she was in a safe enough place to admit it.
She was, only just now, for the first time ever in her entire life, given permission by the powers that be to meet her Mom and Dad. There seemed to be something inappropriate about that. That’s just the way it was, she’d tell herself. But she said a lot of things, looking back. She’d said things true and things strange. And probably, things false. And still strange, because that never stopped being a thing.
She never stopped being a thing. Up until now.
She should have felt more of something. This was the end, right? She was running out of time. All her emotions should have been pouring out of her, same as all of her vitality neatly foamed and whipped and staining her shirt cherry red. If she had on a shirt. That was another detail being lost to the void- it was an ever expanding void, within her, without. It was peaceful. Lonely.
She didn’t like it much, but she kind of had no choice but to float on into it.
And then, she finally recognized a face. He was close enough.
….
That stirred something. All the mixed and muted hues that stirred together to create a blend of herself, slowly bleeding away, evaporating to condense into other molecules of the universe that might make up a new girl or plant or fish in the deep sea. That was turbulence, within herself.
That’s right. She had regrets. She had a reason to feel wronged. To feel robbed- of what? Her parents. Her pets, they’d died too, and she’d buried them herself, and she’d hated it but she’d told herself she’d been alright with it. That was just life. Her friends- she’d hurt them, she’d used them. She’d made mistakes. And yet she just let all those things slip away. Just how it was.
She did lie to herself. A lot.
Nick got closer. She could see him. Was he trembling? Was that her, the one who was unsteady? He had knife. He was close enough to hug her, and instead he was going to kill her.
Was she okay with that?
Well, she tried one last time to speak. Bubbles popped, playfully, out of the cavity in her chest. Her lips still didn’t move- they felt cold, dead now. A shape without purpose.
She just wanted to tell him something she thought might have been important. Don’t do it. Let me die slow. They’ll blame you.
But that didn’t come out, and now she was here!
Staring at him. Wondering if she could, for once in her life, stop being herself for just a moment so she could actually dispense with all the lies. Their eyes seemed to meet. Or maybe she was just imagining that, and maybe she was just imagining everything.
She could, at least, choose her final message. She didn’t want to lie to him. But...
The facade refused to crumble. Serenity, the last thing she’d ever try to say. She wanted him to think she was okay. In these final moments, where absolutely nothing was okay and all the weight of that fact burdened her all the way down to whatever circle of hell she belonged in. That same stupid smile of hers, all in the eyes. A desperately vague thumbs up, without weight, without meaning.
She hoped she was born screaming in her next life.
G018, Beryl Mahelona Deceased
155 Students Remaining
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
What? No, seriously, what the fuck? Like, really? Did that just happen? Did all of those things just happen, in sequence, in reality, in the real world, like, where if you died in real life you died in real life? That real world? The one that all evidence pointed to him living in, unfortunately?
Well. How about that.
After the gunshot - the gunshot, the singular gunshot, legally distinct from all the other, friendlier gunshots Abe had been surrounded with for the past while - everyone jumped into action while his world stood still, because, like, he was just standing there, because what the fuck else was he gonna do?
New girl immediately got the fuck out of there, so she was smarter than Abe. New guy tackled and trapped the bush mouse, whose right to a name had been summarily revoked, he never shoulda let his guard down around her. It could've easily been him that got capped by whatever the fuck she'd done. Henry and the other new guy ran to Beryl's side. Jonah at least seemed similarly overwhelmed, and the two of them shared a very nice moment of exchanging wild-eyed 'oh my god what' looks.
Abe didn't have any skills, so he didn't help, and he didn't have anything smart to say, so he didn't say anything, because someone was fucking bleeding out right in front of him and now wasn't the time for anything he could offer. It looked bad, so he didn't want to look, so he closed his eyes, ignoring the space boy's sobs and the bush mouse’s struggles to get free like she didn't deserve whatever discomfort she was in, and then he opened his eyes again because he'd heard footsteps and he still had something approaching a self-preservation instinct, and then Nick was there for some reason, Nick from the parties, pretty alright dude, but he was holding a knife to her throat?
Too panicked to tell him to slow down, too paralyzed to look away, Abe got a front-row view of that magical moment where a living breathing human being turned into putrefying insect food.
Wow, if Beryl had been planning to get herself killed like a chump five minutes into the game she coulda just kicked the bucket from her condition or whatever and saved everyone else the trouble and the trauma, haha. That wasn't funny.
Abe had dismissed all of his strangers so quickly, but it'd been cool how patiently Beryl'd been giving everyone advice on how to properly wield their deathsticks, right? She'd just seemed kinda cute, kinda spacey, but he'd only known her for like an hour, counting her coma-time, so there had to be a lot more to her, right? He'd never know. Y'know. Because she was fucking dead.
Well. It was a good reminder of priority number one: keeping that from happening to him. There was a whole world of people who didn't know how much of a garbage can Abe was yet. It'd be a tragedy if he wound up in a ditch before he could spread the good word.
There was no way their group - the living members of their group, haha - were gonna stick together after this. Not after a murder, a mercy kill, an accident, whatever the fuck this all added up to. They were gonna fragment into factions, and honestly? Abe didn't care enough about any of them to pick a side. He never should've stuck around in the first place, to hell with the Giorno Gat Group or whatever the fuck he'd called them.
Annoyingly enough, he'd still kinda miss them - Jonah's sincerity. Henry pretending like he had a plan. Even the bush mouse's fucking singing. Oh well. Sacrifices had to be made for the greatest Abe.
At least the first tithe was something none of them would miss. During their target practice, they'd all piled their bags by a tree to make sure no one like, tripped over one and fell into the line of fire. Everyone else had better things to be doing at the moment than guard their belongings, like they were decent people who needed to mourn or whatever the fuck. Sucked to be them.
He'd been trying not to think about it, but he was in the woods again. New habits died hard.
Before he had time to second-guess his shitty plan, Abe made a break for the supplies. Scooped up his bag and one other - didn't have time to look at the number. It was barely even stealing this time, right? The person whose shit got stolen could just have Beryl's bag instead. Just adding a spice of variety to everyone's life.
Two bags slung over his shoulder, full of food, ammo, medical supplies, whatever the fuck. SMG in his hands. Boy, Abe was turning into a real loot pinata, wasn't he? Did he even need all that food and shit? That sounded like a question for someone with half a fuckin' brain who wasn't operating on pure selfish instinct. All he knew was that someone would get to use the bag, so might as well be him, right?
((Bolting like a rabbit implied some sorta terrified wide-eyed white-furred innocence and Abe was rotten to the core, so he scuttled away like a cockroach.))
Well. How about that.
After the gunshot - the gunshot, the singular gunshot, legally distinct from all the other, friendlier gunshots Abe had been surrounded with for the past while - everyone jumped into action while his world stood still, because, like, he was just standing there, because what the fuck else was he gonna do?
New girl immediately got the fuck out of there, so she was smarter than Abe. New guy tackled and trapped the bush mouse, whose right to a name had been summarily revoked, he never shoulda let his guard down around her. It could've easily been him that got capped by whatever the fuck she'd done. Henry and the other new guy ran to Beryl's side. Jonah at least seemed similarly overwhelmed, and the two of them shared a very nice moment of exchanging wild-eyed 'oh my god what' looks.
Abe didn't have any skills, so he didn't help, and he didn't have anything smart to say, so he didn't say anything, because someone was fucking bleeding out right in front of him and now wasn't the time for anything he could offer. It looked bad, so he didn't want to look, so he closed his eyes, ignoring the space boy's sobs and the bush mouse’s struggles to get free like she didn't deserve whatever discomfort she was in, and then he opened his eyes again because he'd heard footsteps and he still had something approaching a self-preservation instinct, and then Nick was there for some reason, Nick from the parties, pretty alright dude, but he was holding a knife to her throat?
Too panicked to tell him to slow down, too paralyzed to look away, Abe got a front-row view of that magical moment where a living breathing human being turned into putrefying insect food.
Wow, if Beryl had been planning to get herself killed like a chump five minutes into the game she coulda just kicked the bucket from her condition or whatever and saved everyone else the trouble and the trauma, haha. That wasn't funny.
Abe had dismissed all of his strangers so quickly, but it'd been cool how patiently Beryl'd been giving everyone advice on how to properly wield their deathsticks, right? She'd just seemed kinda cute, kinda spacey, but he'd only known her for like an hour, counting her coma-time, so there had to be a lot more to her, right? He'd never know. Y'know. Because she was fucking dead.
Well. It was a good reminder of priority number one: keeping that from happening to him. There was a whole world of people who didn't know how much of a garbage can Abe was yet. It'd be a tragedy if he wound up in a ditch before he could spread the good word.
There was no way their group - the living members of their group, haha - were gonna stick together after this. Not after a murder, a mercy kill, an accident, whatever the fuck this all added up to. They were gonna fragment into factions, and honestly? Abe didn't care enough about any of them to pick a side. He never should've stuck around in the first place, to hell with the Giorno Gat Group or whatever the fuck he'd called them.
Annoyingly enough, he'd still kinda miss them - Jonah's sincerity. Henry pretending like he had a plan. Even the bush mouse's fucking singing. Oh well. Sacrifices had to be made for the greatest Abe.
At least the first tithe was something none of them would miss. During their target practice, they'd all piled their bags by a tree to make sure no one like, tripped over one and fell into the line of fire. Everyone else had better things to be doing at the moment than guard their belongings, like they were decent people who needed to mourn or whatever the fuck. Sucked to be them.
He'd been trying not to think about it, but he was in the woods again. New habits died hard.
Before he had time to second-guess his shitty plan, Abe made a break for the supplies. Scooped up his bag and one other - didn't have time to look at the number. It was barely even stealing this time, right? The person whose shit got stolen could just have Beryl's bag instead. Just adding a spice of variety to everyone's life.
Two bags slung over his shoulder, full of food, ammo, medical supplies, whatever the fuck. SMG in his hands. Boy, Abe was turning into a real loot pinata, wasn't he? Did he even need all that food and shit? That sounded like a question for someone with half a fuckin' brain who wasn't operating on pure selfish instinct. All he knew was that someone would get to use the bag, so might as well be him, right?
((Bolting like a rabbit implied some sorta terrified wide-eyed white-furred innocence and Abe was rotten to the core, so he scuttled away like a cockroach.))
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Jonah was standing off to the side, talking with Max, who had asked about some of the other boys they knew. He was a little embarrassed to admit how focused he had been on just two people. A shot rang out, and at first Jonah ignored it as just another in the many that had sounded during their target practice. Why would it have been something else?
Then there was screaming and the unmistakable shift of the air into chaos. Henry screamed Beryl's name and Jonah turned to see her hit the ground. His heart sped up. He couch hear the blood rushing in his ears and he felt queasy, with cold hands. She wasn't moving.
"Wha-?"
He rushed to the fallen girl, only to be stopped in his tracks when another scream came from behind him. Jonah turned on his heels to see Darlene weeping, with Max clamping the weird teeth thing on her arm. He looked between the two girls quickly and backtracked, going back to Darlene.
"Hey, stop!" he said to Max.
She was sobbing and her gun had fallen to the ground while she flailed helplessly at the claw. She had shot Beryl, but they had just been looking at the gun. Darlene has been asking about it, and now she seemed terrified.
"Everyone just stop for a second --"
He was trying to inspect the damage that the man-catcher had done. There was a strange sound from behind him and Jonah whipped around to see Nick with a knife dragging across Beryl's throat.
"Wha-, who are you?! What are you doing?!"
They were down one of the girls from before who had run off and just as the deed had been done, Abe streaked by, grabbing some bags from the pile and disappearing into the woods.
Jonah blinked. A pool of blood was rapidly expanding under Beryl's immobile body. An eerie calm washed over Jonah as his brain shut down and he grabbed Max by the arm and took Darlene’s hand to help her up.
"Let's leave, please," he said, looking far off into the middle distance.
Then there was screaming and the unmistakable shift of the air into chaos. Henry screamed Beryl's name and Jonah turned to see her hit the ground. His heart sped up. He couch hear the blood rushing in his ears and he felt queasy, with cold hands. She wasn't moving.
"Wha-?"
He rushed to the fallen girl, only to be stopped in his tracks when another scream came from behind him. Jonah turned on his heels to see Darlene weeping, with Max clamping the weird teeth thing on her arm. He looked between the two girls quickly and backtracked, going back to Darlene.
"Hey, stop!" he said to Max.
She was sobbing and her gun had fallen to the ground while she flailed helplessly at the claw. She had shot Beryl, but they had just been looking at the gun. Darlene has been asking about it, and now she seemed terrified.
"Everyone just stop for a second --"
He was trying to inspect the damage that the man-catcher had done. There was a strange sound from behind him and Jonah whipped around to see Nick with a knife dragging across Beryl's throat.
"Wha-, who are you?! What are you doing?!"
They were down one of the girls from before who had run off and just as the deed had been done, Abe streaked by, grabbing some bags from the pile and disappearing into the woods.
Jonah blinked. A pool of blood was rapidly expanding under Beryl's immobile body. An eerie calm washed over Jonah as his brain shut down and he grabbed Max by the arm and took Darlene’s hand to help her up.
"Let's leave, please," he said, looking far off into the middle distance.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
"Drop the gun," Max commanded.
"Now."
Darlene stared upwards towards Max's countenance with sniveling eyes, a scrunched up facial expression horrendous in appearance and convenient in its emotionally disarming factor. Max did not doubt the authenticity of her suffering, and for a brief moment it moved him. He did not waver, however. Her limp, undeveloped hands tried fruitlessly to lift the grasp of the maw on her person. This was the meaning of 'Survival of the Fittest,' Max realized. He was not so much as compelled to lift his foot and place it on her chest to keep her pinned to the dirt ground, as he had anticipated he might have been required to do in order to keep her from wriggling out from underneath his teeth.
"Drop the gun," he reiterated, "or I will begin to twis—"
His instruction was interrupted by the interjection of Lucas, who took it upon himself to reach down and snatch up the gun. Max turned and looked in his direction, caught off-guard by this reminder that outside of himself there was a world that needed addressing.
Beryl was critically, fatally, mortally wounded. Camilla was gone. Henry was kneeling over Beryl's draining body, Lucas was making his way over to accept the killing blow, to place her squarely outside of her misery. Abe was staring at death from a safe distance. Darlene was beneath him. Jonah was telling him to relent. The trees were howling with the stench of death.
Max removed the man-catcher from Darlene's arm. He had to put a foot on the limb and yank upwards to get it to come off—later he would find a way to teach himself a less violent way of releasing captives—but it did so cleanly without the spikes getting snagged on her any further. When he turned back, there was an additional person standing over Beryl, knife in—
He averted his eyes. It was too gruesome a spectacle for him to witness at this moment. He was caught in his own grip as Jonah pulled him—and Darlene, oddly enough—by the arm. Why her? Were they going elsewhere to continue to punish her? Max admired Jonah's resolve, but knew it wasn't necessary. Darlene had likely been scared off of firearms for life. The feeling of guilt in his chest rose. An apology later would not suffice, he knew. His eyes searched for any other place, anywhere other than the scene of the mercy killing to set themselves, and he found a conspicuously more-empty-than-he-remembered space.
"There are some bags missing," he observed plainly.
"Now."
Darlene stared upwards towards Max's countenance with sniveling eyes, a scrunched up facial expression horrendous in appearance and convenient in its emotionally disarming factor. Max did not doubt the authenticity of her suffering, and for a brief moment it moved him. He did not waver, however. Her limp, undeveloped hands tried fruitlessly to lift the grasp of the maw on her person. This was the meaning of 'Survival of the Fittest,' Max realized. He was not so much as compelled to lift his foot and place it on her chest to keep her pinned to the dirt ground, as he had anticipated he might have been required to do in order to keep her from wriggling out from underneath his teeth.
"Drop the gun," he reiterated, "or I will begin to twis—"
His instruction was interrupted by the interjection of Lucas, who took it upon himself to reach down and snatch up the gun. Max turned and looked in his direction, caught off-guard by this reminder that outside of himself there was a world that needed addressing.
Beryl was critically, fatally, mortally wounded. Camilla was gone. Henry was kneeling over Beryl's draining body, Lucas was making his way over to accept the killing blow, to place her squarely outside of her misery. Abe was staring at death from a safe distance. Darlene was beneath him. Jonah was telling him to relent. The trees were howling with the stench of death.
Max removed the man-catcher from Darlene's arm. He had to put a foot on the limb and yank upwards to get it to come off—later he would find a way to teach himself a less violent way of releasing captives—but it did so cleanly without the spikes getting snagged on her any further. When he turned back, there was an additional person standing over Beryl, knife in—
He averted his eyes. It was too gruesome a spectacle for him to witness at this moment. He was caught in his own grip as Jonah pulled him—and Darlene, oddly enough—by the arm. Why her? Were they going elsewhere to continue to punish her? Max admired Jonah's resolve, but knew it wasn't necessary. Darlene had likely been scared off of firearms for life. The feeling of guilt in his chest rose. An apology later would not suffice, he knew. His eyes searched for any other place, anywhere other than the scene of the mercy killing to set themselves, and he found a conspicuously more-empty-than-he-remembered space.
"There are some bags missing," he observed plainly.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Darlene's tears lightened a bit as the boy set his foot on her arm and pulled at the spiny claw, but he didn't push hard enough to do more than make her ache and sting. Nothing cracked, nothing splintered, and she didn't even know if she'd be bruised. He seemed mollified by the removal of the gun from her grasp. It appeared that, now that she was disarmed, he and the others thought things would be okay.
Well, Darlene disagreed with that! She took big heaving breaths and looked at the boy who'd taken the revolver as he looked at it and Beryl, and she thought how unfair it was, how easy it was for others to push her down and take something from her and render her helpless and captive. They didn't trust her, though Darlene had to admit that maybe they had a pretty decent reason for that right now. They hadn't seen it all, or they had but they hadn't heard what Beryl said. They didn't know that Darlene had just been following instructions and that the instructions had sucked. Beryl would tell them, though, and then Darlene could have her gun back and she'd be more careful and—
She'd propped herself up to sitting just in time to watch the newcomer drag his knife across Beryl's throat. Darlene tried to cry out, but came up empty, just a little hiccup noise. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles an hour now, and now she knew that, whatever they thought and however justified it was, if nobody trusted her that was okay because she didn't trust them either! Her gaze dropped to the ground beside Beryl, or Beryl's body, and that was horrible to think about, that Beryl was just a body now, so she wouldn't. She would think about other things instead, like how to make things okay again, or failing that how to make things least-bad, how to steady her breathing and feel like she didn't have to be afraid, because what if they turned on her? What if they came after her? What if the boy with the knife, or the boy who'd taken her gun, decided she was a big enough danger that they'd just send her off into the wilderness alone to fend for herself, without anything to help her?
She still trusted Jonah, though. Jonah had come over to see if she was alright, and Jonah had helped Beryl when she was having her attack and was still alive, and Jonah was reaching down now to help Darlene to her feet. Helping people, and helping Darlene, was what Jonah did, so she could trust him to keep doing it. She stood and the backs of her legs were covered in dirt and loose strands of dry grass, and probably all sorts of things were tangled in the weave of her sweater, maybe even bugs, but she couldn't pause for that right now. Jonah was trying to lead her away, to safety, and Darlene could've cried again but she wouldn't because she could barely see through her glasses as is and her throat was tight and her voice sticky in it. She could taste salt and snot.
"J-just," she said, and then swallowed. "Just a sec, just a sec, Jonah, I'll be right after you, I just n-need to do something quick."
She slipped her hand out of his and that took a deep breath to make herself do but she did it and felt for just a moment as brave as he'd said she was. The other boy was in tow, and Darlene was absolutely going to be quick, was going to try not to worry them again, especially because her arm still stung from the points of the claw, but she had just one thing she had to do and it was important for all of them, not just her. Her gaze turned back to Beryl and the ground around her, and then, quick as could be, Darlene darted towards the fallen girl and then back away again.
If there was one thing Darlene thought she was actually pretty good at besides singing and reading things on the internet it was being sneaky when she had to. She moved speedily but casually, to within arm's reach of her target while everyone was busy watching Beryl die or be dead, and then she was there and she scooped up the rifle that had been carried by the boy who had taken her gun. He'd just left it lying around! Well, if you did that then someone walking up and taking it was the sort of thing that could happen, and just like that Darlene was breaking into a light jog to catch up to Jonah and the other boy, holding the much larger gun by the middle of the barrel, gingerly, like it might suddenly writhe in her hands and rear back and bite her like a snake.
She'd thought at first to just do what needed doing herself, but that felt really scary and dangerous and Jonah was looking out for her and also seemed most likely to stand between her and the claw, so as she reached him and the other boy right in the aftermath of their saying something she hadn't really heard about the bags she tugged on his sleeve and held the longer gun out to him, looking pleadingly at both him and the boy with the claw who was probably at any second going to turn around and grab her again unless Jonah did what she needed him to do.
"Here," she said very quietly.
She'd read about this sort of thing online, once. It was called collateral!
"I got this so we can trade back for mine."
Well, Darlene disagreed with that! She took big heaving breaths and looked at the boy who'd taken the revolver as he looked at it and Beryl, and she thought how unfair it was, how easy it was for others to push her down and take something from her and render her helpless and captive. They didn't trust her, though Darlene had to admit that maybe they had a pretty decent reason for that right now. They hadn't seen it all, or they had but they hadn't heard what Beryl said. They didn't know that Darlene had just been following instructions and that the instructions had sucked. Beryl would tell them, though, and then Darlene could have her gun back and she'd be more careful and—
She'd propped herself up to sitting just in time to watch the newcomer drag his knife across Beryl's throat. Darlene tried to cry out, but came up empty, just a little hiccup noise. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles an hour now, and now she knew that, whatever they thought and however justified it was, if nobody trusted her that was okay because she didn't trust them either! Her gaze dropped to the ground beside Beryl, or Beryl's body, and that was horrible to think about, that Beryl was just a body now, so she wouldn't. She would think about other things instead, like how to make things okay again, or failing that how to make things least-bad, how to steady her breathing and feel like she didn't have to be afraid, because what if they turned on her? What if they came after her? What if the boy with the knife, or the boy who'd taken her gun, decided she was a big enough danger that they'd just send her off into the wilderness alone to fend for herself, without anything to help her?
She still trusted Jonah, though. Jonah had come over to see if she was alright, and Jonah had helped Beryl when she was having her attack and was still alive, and Jonah was reaching down now to help Darlene to her feet. Helping people, and helping Darlene, was what Jonah did, so she could trust him to keep doing it. She stood and the backs of her legs were covered in dirt and loose strands of dry grass, and probably all sorts of things were tangled in the weave of her sweater, maybe even bugs, but she couldn't pause for that right now. Jonah was trying to lead her away, to safety, and Darlene could've cried again but she wouldn't because she could barely see through her glasses as is and her throat was tight and her voice sticky in it. She could taste salt and snot.
"J-just," she said, and then swallowed. "Just a sec, just a sec, Jonah, I'll be right after you, I just n-need to do something quick."
She slipped her hand out of his and that took a deep breath to make herself do but she did it and felt for just a moment as brave as he'd said she was. The other boy was in tow, and Darlene was absolutely going to be quick, was going to try not to worry them again, especially because her arm still stung from the points of the claw, but she had just one thing she had to do and it was important for all of them, not just her. Her gaze turned back to Beryl and the ground around her, and then, quick as could be, Darlene darted towards the fallen girl and then back away again.
If there was one thing Darlene thought she was actually pretty good at besides singing and reading things on the internet it was being sneaky when she had to. She moved speedily but casually, to within arm's reach of her target while everyone was busy watching Beryl die or be dead, and then she was there and she scooped up the rifle that had been carried by the boy who had taken her gun. He'd just left it lying around! Well, if you did that then someone walking up and taking it was the sort of thing that could happen, and just like that Darlene was breaking into a light jog to catch up to Jonah and the other boy, holding the much larger gun by the middle of the barrel, gingerly, like it might suddenly writhe in her hands and rear back and bite her like a snake.
She'd thought at first to just do what needed doing herself, but that felt really scary and dangerous and Jonah was looking out for her and also seemed most likely to stand between her and the claw, so as she reached him and the other boy right in the aftermath of their saying something she hadn't really heard about the bags she tugged on his sleeve and held the longer gun out to him, looking pleadingly at both him and the boy with the claw who was probably at any second going to turn around and grab her again unless Jonah did what she needed him to do.
"Here," she said very quietly.
She'd read about this sort of thing online, once. It was called collateral!
"I got this so we can trade back for mine."
Henry hadn't said anything when Nick had shown up, nor tried to stop him when he put the knife to Beryl's throat. He'd given Nick a nod of grim approval when the other boy sought it. For something like that, Henry wasn't sure he had the courage. It was clearly necessary though, given the suffering Beryl was clearly experiencing.
It wasn't just putting Beryl out of her misery - Nick was saving Darlene from being announced as the killer, he supposed. It was ultimately a selfless act, and one he was thankful for. Of course Darlene hadn't meant to kill Beryl, she had just made a stupid mistake. An extremely, catastrophically stupid accident that he couldn't possibly forgive her for, but an accident nonetheless.
Somehow she'd died with a faint smile on her face. Either she had gone genuinely at ease, or she was trying to keep everyone's spirits up into her last moments. Henry realized he couldn't possibly know, and so he chose to believe she'd found a way to make peace with it all. It didn't really make it easier, but it made it easier to walk away from this. He had to walk away.
Henry sniffed, wiping away the tears from his eyes and shaking his head. It was hard not to feel like this was somehow his fault. He was there from the time she'd woken up. Probably stopped Abe from stealing her supplies, as he'd no doubt just done. Much as Henry looked, he saw no sign of him nearby. The prospect of finding something to help them escape had blinded him to watching for potential threats. In his shock he'd failed in his vigilance and let that piece of shit run off with someone's supplies. Camila had left too, though-
She dropped one!
Slowly, Henry got up from Beryl's corpse and walked towards the downed walkie-talkie, standing out within the underbrush. He looked to the others. Someone had the bright idea to let Darlene get hold of another weapon, and it looked like she was trying to trade it back to Lucas. It didn't seem like she was in a position to hurt anyone else, at least not the way she was holding the shotgun. Still, he'd made the mistake of thinking she was harmless before.
He looked down at the walkie-talkie, and then back to the BFG he'd left next to Beryl.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled. Then exhaled.
There are way too many complications here. I have to focus on the things that matter.
Henry clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt, walking steadily towards Nick. There would be time to fiddle with it later. The other boy stared ahead of him, clearly still processing what had just happened. Henry knelt down next to him, putting his hand on Nick's shoulder to get his attention. He only caught his gaze for a moment, as he seemed transfixed on Beryl.
"Hey, look at me." They locked eyes again. "You did the right thing, Nick. Thank you." He let go of Nick's shoulder, following his eyes back to the body before them.
It was hard to speak as if she wasn't still there, somehow.
"I haven't really been to a funeral. Never really lost anyone. I don't really know what to do here. My Dad's not really religious. My Mom's people fear the dead, they'd bury someone in a shallow grave somewhere far away, wouldn't even put up a marker. We don't even have anything to dig. You're - she's Hawaiian. I think they sometimes practiced burial-at-sea. That... that seems right. It's the best I can do."
Henry produced a navy blue blanket from his bag. It was one he'd taken on the bus, to make it easier to sleep through the trip. There wasn't much use for it here, but Beryl might've appreciated the gesture. He also took the moment to stuff the BFG into his duffel bag, much as he was able - the barrel still stuck out at one end. He showed the blanket to Nick.
"I'll wrap her with this, and take her to the sea. I don't think I can do it alone, though. Can you help me?"
It wasn't just putting Beryl out of her misery - Nick was saving Darlene from being announced as the killer, he supposed. It was ultimately a selfless act, and one he was thankful for. Of course Darlene hadn't meant to kill Beryl, she had just made a stupid mistake. An extremely, catastrophically stupid accident that he couldn't possibly forgive her for, but an accident nonetheless.
Somehow she'd died with a faint smile on her face. Either she had gone genuinely at ease, or she was trying to keep everyone's spirits up into her last moments. Henry realized he couldn't possibly know, and so he chose to believe she'd found a way to make peace with it all. It didn't really make it easier, but it made it easier to walk away from this. He had to walk away.
Henry sniffed, wiping away the tears from his eyes and shaking his head. It was hard not to feel like this was somehow his fault. He was there from the time she'd woken up. Probably stopped Abe from stealing her supplies, as he'd no doubt just done. Much as Henry looked, he saw no sign of him nearby. The prospect of finding something to help them escape had blinded him to watching for potential threats. In his shock he'd failed in his vigilance and let that piece of shit run off with someone's supplies. Camila had left too, though-
She dropped one!
Slowly, Henry got up from Beryl's corpse and walked towards the downed walkie-talkie, standing out within the underbrush. He looked to the others. Someone had the bright idea to let Darlene get hold of another weapon, and it looked like she was trying to trade it back to Lucas. It didn't seem like she was in a position to hurt anyone else, at least not the way she was holding the shotgun. Still, he'd made the mistake of thinking she was harmless before.
He looked down at the walkie-talkie, and then back to the BFG he'd left next to Beryl.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled. Then exhaled.
There are way too many complications here. I have to focus on the things that matter.
Henry clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt, walking steadily towards Nick. There would be time to fiddle with it later. The other boy stared ahead of him, clearly still processing what had just happened. Henry knelt down next to him, putting his hand on Nick's shoulder to get his attention. He only caught his gaze for a moment, as he seemed transfixed on Beryl.
"Hey, look at me." They locked eyes again. "You did the right thing, Nick. Thank you." He let go of Nick's shoulder, following his eyes back to the body before them.
It was hard to speak as if she wasn't still there, somehow.
"I haven't really been to a funeral. Never really lost anyone. I don't really know what to do here. My Dad's not really religious. My Mom's people fear the dead, they'd bury someone in a shallow grave somewhere far away, wouldn't even put up a marker. We don't even have anything to dig. You're - she's Hawaiian. I think they sometimes practiced burial-at-sea. That... that seems right. It's the best I can do."
Henry produced a navy blue blanket from his bag. It was one he'd taken on the bus, to make it easier to sleep through the trip. There wasn't much use for it here, but Beryl might've appreciated the gesture. He also took the moment to stuff the BFG into his duffel bag, much as he was able - the barrel still stuck out at one end. He showed the blanket to Nick.
"I'll wrap her with this, and take her to the sea. I don't think I can do it alone, though. Can you help me?"
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
The flow of time seemed to distort as events unfolded around Lucas. It was just all too much to process. He had failed to put Beryl out of her misery and someone came in and did the job for him. He could barely focus on anything as he cried where he stood, the pistol in his hand being shook as his body trembled from the distress he was feeling. He looked down and there was Beryl, lying dead before him.
He couldn't be here anymore.
He needed to leave.
He couldn't just stand here and look at his friend's dead body.
He moved to collect his weapon to get away from this only to see Darlene take off with it towards some of the others who were standing away. Tired and emotionally exhausted, Lucas trudged after her with a slow, methodical gait. He really unsure about how long it took him to reach the other group, he was just going through the motions while trying to make out people through the blurriness of his vision from the tears. Upon reaching the group Darlene had run to with King Ghidorah, Lucas stood a few feet away from them, staring at his shotgun.
"May I have my gun back, please?" he asked, his voice hollow and quiet.
He couldn't be here anymore.
He needed to leave.
He couldn't just stand here and look at his friend's dead body.
He moved to collect his weapon to get away from this only to see Darlene take off with it towards some of the others who were standing away. Tired and emotionally exhausted, Lucas trudged after her with a slow, methodical gait. He really unsure about how long it took him to reach the other group, he was just going through the motions while trying to make out people through the blurriness of his vision from the tears. Upon reaching the group Darlene had run to with King Ghidorah, Lucas stood a few feet away from them, staring at his shotgun.
"May I have my gun back, please?" he asked, his voice hollow and quiet.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
What the others were doing was of no concern to Nick. A stupid lapse in concentration, of that he was sure. Nick had enough spatial awareness and peripheral vision to know that they were bartering with each other's guns, debating who gets what instrument of death, deciding questions that quite frankly could lead to any number of grisly and premature deaths if the wrong answer was given. An important thing to pay attention to, under any rational reading of the situation. Perhaps he could add something to the situation - a bit of mediation, or some brute strength, or even sheer misdirection - that could make the difference. Maybe he couldn't.
Whatever. That was a mystery that would never get answered.
Nick stared at what he'd done. His expression was blank, vacant. Sadly, his mind was anything but. He knew only too well the implications of what this meant. He would be the one labelled as a killer now, he was pretty sure of that. Something he should have considered before, in all honesty. Nick had no idea how foreknowledge of that would have changed his decision-making, but it felt unwise to do so. Oh well. It was done now. And it seemed rather selfish to contemplate that rather than...well. What he'd just done.
He'd killed Beryl. It was a mercy kill, sure. Someone else had also gotten their hands dirty too, in a far more culpable way, in a way far more deserving of scorn and condemnation. It didn't change that fact though. He had killed Beryl. He had cut the throat - brutally, viscerally - of his ex-girlfriend, of a fundamentally decent person, had brought an end to all of Beryl's thoughts and hopes and wishes and ambitions and eccentricities and memories and idiosyncrasies and everything else that made Beryl Mahelona a unique and fascinating person. He had ended that. He had killed her. He had taken the decision, without contemplation, without consultation, to just assume that mercy killing was the right thing to do in the context. Acted with arrogance in that regard, assuming that it was what she would have wanted. If he was right about that, he still had blood on his hands. If he was wrong, he was a monster.
That Nick was now a killer...Nick felt that, in the abstract, he could live with that. Extenuating circumstances and all. But it was who he had killed. And that it had come from a throat slice...that was gory. That was brutal. It made it worse. His every muscle was complicit in this act.
He couldn't look at her face. Was scared of the memories it would bring back.
So he looked at the air above her body. Blankly. Vacantly.
Henry stood in front of him. Nick looked up at him. He was small. Helpful. Kind. Non-judgemental. That was wrong. Being non-judgemental with Nick was wrong. Nick deserved judgemental glares. He always had. But Henry was focused on the here and now. On doing something kind for Beryl. Nick nodded as he talked, lips parted, eyes still glassed over. He would listen to Henry, for now at least, even though he was so clearly wrong in how he viewed Nick.
"We...talked about death before," Nick answered, slowly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop memories of Beryl coming to his mind. "She was always...keen on being returned to the earth. Or flown back to Hawaii. We never talked about it...seriously." Nick sighed, because he'd had far too few serious and meaningful conversations with Beryl, certainly nowhere near enough to make the call that she'd want to be mercy killed. "But it's as good a guess as any."
"I'll carry her. I can carry her. You're pretty small. No offence."
He allowed himself a sniffle.
"Thank you."
Whatever. That was a mystery that would never get answered.
Nick stared at what he'd done. His expression was blank, vacant. Sadly, his mind was anything but. He knew only too well the implications of what this meant. He would be the one labelled as a killer now, he was pretty sure of that. Something he should have considered before, in all honesty. Nick had no idea how foreknowledge of that would have changed his decision-making, but it felt unwise to do so. Oh well. It was done now. And it seemed rather selfish to contemplate that rather than...well. What he'd just done.
He'd killed Beryl. It was a mercy kill, sure. Someone else had also gotten their hands dirty too, in a far more culpable way, in a way far more deserving of scorn and condemnation. It didn't change that fact though. He had killed Beryl. He had cut the throat - brutally, viscerally - of his ex-girlfriend, of a fundamentally decent person, had brought an end to all of Beryl's thoughts and hopes and wishes and ambitions and eccentricities and memories and idiosyncrasies and everything else that made Beryl Mahelona a unique and fascinating person. He had ended that. He had killed her. He had taken the decision, without contemplation, without consultation, to just assume that mercy killing was the right thing to do in the context. Acted with arrogance in that regard, assuming that it was what she would have wanted. If he was right about that, he still had blood on his hands. If he was wrong, he was a monster.
That Nick was now a killer...Nick felt that, in the abstract, he could live with that. Extenuating circumstances and all. But it was who he had killed. And that it had come from a throat slice...that was gory. That was brutal. It made it worse. His every muscle was complicit in this act.
He couldn't look at her face. Was scared of the memories it would bring back.
So he looked at the air above her body. Blankly. Vacantly.
Henry stood in front of him. Nick looked up at him. He was small. Helpful. Kind. Non-judgemental. That was wrong. Being non-judgemental with Nick was wrong. Nick deserved judgemental glares. He always had. But Henry was focused on the here and now. On doing something kind for Beryl. Nick nodded as he talked, lips parted, eyes still glassed over. He would listen to Henry, for now at least, even though he was so clearly wrong in how he viewed Nick.
"We...talked about death before," Nick answered, slowly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop memories of Beryl coming to his mind. "She was always...keen on being returned to the earth. Or flown back to Hawaii. We never talked about it...seriously." Nick sighed, because he'd had far too few serious and meaningful conversations with Beryl, certainly nowhere near enough to make the call that she'd want to be mercy killed. "But it's as good a guess as any."
"I'll carry her. I can carry her. You're pretty small. No offence."
He allowed himself a sniffle.
"Thank you."
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Jonah turned slowly to look at Max, waiting a moment in silence.
"We've got an extra," he said finally.
Then Darlene walked up and presented him with a rifle as if it were a magical staff. Jonah's eyes went wide with shock, nearly bulging out of his head.
"UMMMM," he said with a hit of panic. Jonah looked at Max quickly before looking down at the weapon again, hearing that Darlene intended for them to use it to get her gun back. Next he was met with Lucas who had Darelene's gun and was asking for the rifle back. Without saying a word, Jonah took the rifle, walked to Lucas, snatched Darlene's gun from the boy and shoved the rifle back into his waiting hands.
He walked to the bags and realized it was his that had been taken. Jonah didn't have the mental space to work through that at the moment and grabbed Beryl's bag, returning to Darlene.
"Please. Be. Careful," he said, punctuating the last word by putting the pistol in her hands.
With that he guided Darlene in front of him like she was his daughter he was scooting in the direction of the parking lot after a county fair and looked back at Max, nodding his head in the direction of a path leading away from the scene.
((Jonah Heartgrave continued here))
"We've got an extra," he said finally.
Then Darlene walked up and presented him with a rifle as if it were a magical staff. Jonah's eyes went wide with shock, nearly bulging out of his head.
"UMMMM," he said with a hit of panic. Jonah looked at Max quickly before looking down at the weapon again, hearing that Darlene intended for them to use it to get her gun back. Next he was met with Lucas who had Darelene's gun and was asking for the rifle back. Without saying a word, Jonah took the rifle, walked to Lucas, snatched Darlene's gun from the boy and shoved the rifle back into his waiting hands.
He walked to the bags and realized it was his that had been taken. Jonah didn't have the mental space to work through that at the moment and grabbed Beryl's bag, returning to Darlene.
"Please. Be. Careful," he said, punctuating the last word by putting the pistol in her hands.
With that he guided Darlene in front of him like she was his daughter he was scooting in the direction of the parking lot after a county fair and looked back at Max, nodding his head in the direction of a path leading away from the scene.
((Jonah Heartgrave continued here))
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
"Thanks," Lucas said, voice still as hollow as when he arrived to the group, clutching his returned shotgun close to his person. He barely payed Jonah any mind as he left, instead turning his attention to Max.
"I'm... going to take a walk somewhere," he said quietly. "I need some alone time to... clear my head."
He sighed and walked away from Max, away from anyone else. He walked through the trees and the brush to find a place he could just sit, or stand, or lay down for a bit while he just let out his grief. But he'd be lying to himself if he honestly thought any amount of time to grieve in one day will make him feel better after witnessing the death of someone he cared about. But he needed this.
((Lucas Abernathy continued in Unbreakable))
"I'm... going to take a walk somewhere," he said quietly. "I need some alone time to... clear my head."
He sighed and walked away from Max, away from anyone else. He walked through the trees and the brush to find a place he could just sit, or stand, or lay down for a bit while he just let out his grief. But he'd be lying to himself if he honestly thought any amount of time to grieve in one day will make him feel better after witnessing the death of someone he cared about. But he needed this.
((Lucas Abernathy continued in Unbreakable))
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Jonah gave Darlene her gun back! This was an enormous surprise and it made her start crying all over again.
She'd figured there was a pretty good chance that he'd help her with the negotiations, just because he wasn't totally shunning her and he'd tried to help her still and keep her safe even after everything, but going the extra step and returning the revolver was a show of faith and trust Darlene absolutely did not deserve. Even she wouldn't have given herself the gun back! She'd more or less wanted it to be in Jonah's hands instead of the those of the boy who'd taken it, because she trusted Jonah with it and thought he would take better care of it and might even eventually be convinced to let her hold it again while she kept watch or something. But the only hint of frustration or disappointment he'd displayed was a forceful admonishment to be careful. He didn't even say "next time."
"Don't, don't worry," Darlene managed between sniffs, as her feet started moving in time with his guidance. "I will. I promise, Jonah, I will."
And she would. She would absolutely totally make sure to not make mistakes again. She was already busily going over what had happened, again and again in her mind, tiptoeing around the edges without quite stabbing at the heart of it. If she'd understood the disarming process better, or had practiced it before, it would've never happened. Or, or, or she should've not tried to do something new. She should've just pointed the gun at the ground and shot the dirt and then asked Beryl.
She didn't really want to think about Beryl right now, though.
It didn't stop her from looking over at the place where the girl lay. She still couldn't quite conceptualize that Beryl was gone, and that was especially true because it looked like Henry had gotten a blanket from somewhere and they were going to cover her. Darlene was overcome by the stupid urge to tell them to make sure to tuck her in. They weren't going to tuck her in. They were going to wrap her up entirely like a mummy, or drape it over her so that the bugs couldn't get in, or if they did at least nobody would have to see them.
She caught one word of their exchange: "carry." They were going to carry her? Beryl was way, way bigger than Henry. The other boy, the one with the knife, he was even bigger than her, though. He was also a whole lot bigger than Darlene, and he'd cut Beryl's throat, and he seemed pretty torn up about it all and it kind of trickled into Darlene's awareness that he probably hadn't yet found out just exactly how Beryl came to be lying on the ground with a hole in her, and that when he did obtain that information he might have a thing or two to say about the revolver having been returned to its rightful place, and then he might blame Jonah and there was no way Darlene was having that on her conscience. That was about the worst thing she could think of doing.
It was a good thing they were already on their way out of here! Jonah herded Darlene in front of him, and his hands felt gentle and firm all at once where they touched her. She took just a moment to scoop up her stuff, because that was important too, but she was as quick as could be. For all she sniffed as she walked, and the movement made her nose more runny, her steps were almost steady.
She gave the boy with the claw a quick suspicious up and down as they walked together, just in case. It seemed like Jonah had him on a leash right now, and he didn't seem like a bad guy—the people Darlene trusted seemed to trust him, so he got the benefit of the doubt—but even though the grabber hadn't really injured her it was scary and painful and made her feel small and weak and helpless, and she did not relish the possibility of an encore performance. She didn't have a very good place to put the gun but she kept it point way down at the ground, just so he could see she wouldn't cause trouble. They could coexist and it would be just about okay.
She briefly considered waving goodbye to the others. Henry was probably not actually sorry to see her go, and the boy who'd stolen her gun had wandered off, and she hoped the boy who'd killed Beryl would maybe just not notice she'd ever been there at all, and hey, wait, where did the president-name boy go? Okay, Darlene actually was fine not waving. They could figure it out.
She mulled, a moment later, picking up a new song, but somehow her heart had entirely gone out of it.
((Darlene Silva continued in Who Can Stay The Bottles Of Heaven?))
She'd figured there was a pretty good chance that he'd help her with the negotiations, just because he wasn't totally shunning her and he'd tried to help her still and keep her safe even after everything, but going the extra step and returning the revolver was a show of faith and trust Darlene absolutely did not deserve. Even she wouldn't have given herself the gun back! She'd more or less wanted it to be in Jonah's hands instead of the those of the boy who'd taken it, because she trusted Jonah with it and thought he would take better care of it and might even eventually be convinced to let her hold it again while she kept watch or something. But the only hint of frustration or disappointment he'd displayed was a forceful admonishment to be careful. He didn't even say "next time."
"Don't, don't worry," Darlene managed between sniffs, as her feet started moving in time with his guidance. "I will. I promise, Jonah, I will."
And she would. She would absolutely totally make sure to not make mistakes again. She was already busily going over what had happened, again and again in her mind, tiptoeing around the edges without quite stabbing at the heart of it. If she'd understood the disarming process better, or had practiced it before, it would've never happened. Or, or, or she should've not tried to do something new. She should've just pointed the gun at the ground and shot the dirt and then asked Beryl.
She didn't really want to think about Beryl right now, though.
It didn't stop her from looking over at the place where the girl lay. She still couldn't quite conceptualize that Beryl was gone, and that was especially true because it looked like Henry had gotten a blanket from somewhere and they were going to cover her. Darlene was overcome by the stupid urge to tell them to make sure to tuck her in. They weren't going to tuck her in. They were going to wrap her up entirely like a mummy, or drape it over her so that the bugs couldn't get in, or if they did at least nobody would have to see them.
She caught one word of their exchange: "carry." They were going to carry her? Beryl was way, way bigger than Henry. The other boy, the one with the knife, he was even bigger than her, though. He was also a whole lot bigger than Darlene, and he'd cut Beryl's throat, and he seemed pretty torn up about it all and it kind of trickled into Darlene's awareness that he probably hadn't yet found out just exactly how Beryl came to be lying on the ground with a hole in her, and that when he did obtain that information he might have a thing or two to say about the revolver having been returned to its rightful place, and then he might blame Jonah and there was no way Darlene was having that on her conscience. That was about the worst thing she could think of doing.
It was a good thing they were already on their way out of here! Jonah herded Darlene in front of him, and his hands felt gentle and firm all at once where they touched her. She took just a moment to scoop up her stuff, because that was important too, but she was as quick as could be. For all she sniffed as she walked, and the movement made her nose more runny, her steps were almost steady.
She gave the boy with the claw a quick suspicious up and down as they walked together, just in case. It seemed like Jonah had him on a leash right now, and he didn't seem like a bad guy—the people Darlene trusted seemed to trust him, so he got the benefit of the doubt—but even though the grabber hadn't really injured her it was scary and painful and made her feel small and weak and helpless, and she did not relish the possibility of an encore performance. She didn't have a very good place to put the gun but she kept it point way down at the ground, just so he could see she wouldn't cause trouble. They could coexist and it would be just about okay.
She briefly considered waving goodbye to the others. Henry was probably not actually sorry to see her go, and the boy who'd stolen her gun had wandered off, and she hoped the boy who'd killed Beryl would maybe just not notice she'd ever been there at all, and hey, wait, where did the president-name boy go? Okay, Darlene actually was fine not waving. They could figure it out.
She mulled, a moment later, picking up a new song, but somehow her heart had entirely gone out of it.
((Darlene Silva continued in Who Can Stay The Bottles Of Heaven?))
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
Max did not have the chance to interject, or raise concern, or react to Darlene refusing to learn the lesson he had instructed her—something that, on the most basic level of survival instincts, should have struck a chord with her, that she should not come into the possession of any more firearms in his presence or else he would crush her with his iron jaws—before Jonah sanctioned the gaffe as a completely justified and acceptable course of action. Clearly, it was not something that should have been allowed. Had Max been allowed the opportunity, he would have confiscated her weapon for himself before Jonah did anything. It was likely that he could have pilfered it from her clutches bare-handed, if need had been.
It was not his decision, however. Jonah led Darlene away, and Max was left at the scene. Lucas needed time to grieve, and disappeared. Camilla had departed. Abe had fled. Henry and Nick were figuring out what to do with the corpse of Beryl. Max, too, needed a little bit more time to process what had just transpired before his very eyes. He looked over at the body yet again, blood oozing from more wounds than he could get a visual on from this angle. It was useful to familiarize himself with this sight. This was certainly not the last body that Max would see in the days to come, and certainly not the most gruesome sight he would be confronted with by fate in that time period as well.
There was a prayer he had learned, in the days when he attended church. For some reason, he had memorized it. It was not one he had agonized over remembering, like some verses in the gospels, merely one he had been exposed to a couple of times and learned through osmosis, working in his unconsciousness behind the curtains of his daily malaise.
"May the Lord grant mercy," Max began, whispering under his breath as he prayed from a distance, "to the house of Onesiphorus, for he often refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain, but when he was in Rome, he sought me diligently, and..."
Darlene and Jonah were getting farther away. Max sighed, and looked over at his bag among the pile.
"Forget it," Max said, shaking his head. His eyes found the nearest camera.
"I'm sorry. I cannot, in good conscious, avenge this death as I should."
He walked over to the pile and picked up his bag, slinging it around his shoulders. A forlorn look crossed his eyes as he walked down the path after the latest additions to his travelling band of like-minded individuals. He had not told them, yet, of his intentions, but he was sure that Jonah would remain loyal to his cause. Darlene, of course, was a wildcard, but in another sense he knew precisely his intentions because she had been on the receiving end. The fact that he had relinquished the opportunity to punish her? More credit to the Pathos side of his argument, lest he forget that an argument was the form his life was taking.
An argument that an unknown number had already lost.
At least one.
[Max Rudolph continued in Who Can Stay The Bottles of Heaven?]
It was not his decision, however. Jonah led Darlene away, and Max was left at the scene. Lucas needed time to grieve, and disappeared. Camilla had departed. Abe had fled. Henry and Nick were figuring out what to do with the corpse of Beryl. Max, too, needed a little bit more time to process what had just transpired before his very eyes. He looked over at the body yet again, blood oozing from more wounds than he could get a visual on from this angle. It was useful to familiarize himself with this sight. This was certainly not the last body that Max would see in the days to come, and certainly not the most gruesome sight he would be confronted with by fate in that time period as well.
There was a prayer he had learned, in the days when he attended church. For some reason, he had memorized it. It was not one he had agonized over remembering, like some verses in the gospels, merely one he had been exposed to a couple of times and learned through osmosis, working in his unconsciousness behind the curtains of his daily malaise.
"May the Lord grant mercy," Max began, whispering under his breath as he prayed from a distance, "to the house of Onesiphorus, for he often refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain, but when he was in Rome, he sought me diligently, and..."
Darlene and Jonah were getting farther away. Max sighed, and looked over at his bag among the pile.
"Forget it," Max said, shaking his head. His eyes found the nearest camera.
"I'm sorry. I cannot, in good conscious, avenge this death as I should."
He walked over to the pile and picked up his bag, slinging it around his shoulders. A forlorn look crossed his eyes as he walked down the path after the latest additions to his travelling band of like-minded individuals. He had not told them, yet, of his intentions, but he was sure that Jonah would remain loyal to his cause. Darlene, of course, was a wildcard, but in another sense he knew precisely his intentions because she had been on the receiving end. The fact that he had relinquished the opportunity to punish her? More credit to the Pathos side of his argument, lest he forget that an argument was the form his life was taking.
An argument that an unknown number had already lost.
At least one.
[Max Rudolph continued in Who Can Stay The Bottles of Heaven?]
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