Lori had been acceptable company, obviously burdened by the choice she had made between he and Michael. On paper, it was an impossible scenario for her brain to comprehend; which set of damaged goods would she have chosen to chain herself to. Yet in the end, she had opted to go with that which hoped for her, rather than those who might choose to break her down. While Claudeson felt the myriad waves of condemnation, frustration, horror and helplessness all within him at any given time, allowing himself a goal helped focus all of that negative energy. He had gone over all that he knew of Lori Martin; a cheerleader, on the periphery of the school's ruling elite, never one to fit in or particularly enjoy the social settings she found herself within. At a cursory glance, he had been almost glad that she had chosen to come with him — her own sense of self-loathing radiated from her at times, perhaps almost mirroring his own. He understood that while he had been misled, his own belief system almost entirely a lie, hers was actually fairly clear. She saw the world for what it was, and he felt that as he exchanged idle chatter with her during their travels, he began to see her for who she truly was. He started to see the true impact that clarity had within the human brain.
When one truly saw the world for what it was, there was no happiness to be found. For too long, Claudeson understood that his mind had been clouded by the zealous nature of his upbringing, beliefs that had been forcibly implanted by his parents. What made it worse was that as members of the church, they had to know. In a sense, that made it worse. It was one thing were they to be championing a cause that was a fool's errand. But to knowingly spread misinformation and lies?
It made him sick to his stomach.
Indeed, at one instance, he had involuntarily lost control of his faculties and vomited on the trailside as they walked. Nutrition was at a premium, and Claudeson had been actively avoiding some of the rations, perhaps as a penance, perhaps simply out of a lack of care for his own well-being. The things he had done, the lies he had spread; the actions—
He still saw Bryan's face every time he closed his eyes. It stared at him, leered through a visage of smoke and blood. Bryan had not visited him in his dreams the night prior, but mercifully, he did not recall his dreams that evening. He feared that eventually, he would not be so fortunate.
After a day of mostly aimless wandering around the forested area of the island, suggesting that they make camp for the night had been simple, both Claudeson and Lori were exhausted, and almost six days in to their ordeal, energy was at a premium. There was still minimal conversation between the two; though he had again affirmed his desire to help her. Lori may not have been an overly pleasant person, nor someone who was a do-gooder, but she was honest, and in the end, that was where his values lay. There had been so many lies, they permeated everything. The trees, the forest, the island itself — all he could smell and see were the lies that had made it all up. It soured him, and yet; he knew that he could not give up.
There was much work to be done. Honest people who needed his aid. Evil people who had to pay a penance for what they had done.
Sleep came for him quickly, but in his dreams, he found no peace.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
You did this to me, Claudeson. This was all your doing. You were the one who shot me, you were the one who murdered me. You have ended all that I was, all that I could ever be.
Bryan had no face, so how could he speak?
Half of his head was missing, the blood spurted from the gaping hole that existed where his temple and a large part of his brain had once been. His facial features were contorted at a strange angle, his eyes bloodshot and leaking from their sockets, his nose cracked so violently that he could see the bone beneath. Bryan had once been a strapping All-American lad, and now he was something out of Dante's Inferno.
Over and over, he called for Claudeson.
He reached out.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
Bryan had no face.
Claudeson had no face.
Claudeson had no face.
Claudeson had no face.
Claudeson had no face wait why don't I have a face this isn't me I haven't done anything to myself except
you know what you did
you know exactly what you did
you gave in to the darkness it is a part of you now
What did you do, Claudeson, what did you do now? Why are you such a disappointment to us, why are you
no please I don't want to face you, I can't face you it's not
Mother you lied to me, you taught me nothing but lies.
You know that isn't true, Claudeson, you know you're damaged and it wasn't our fault, it wasn't anyone's fault but your own. You knew this was coming, you knew this was coming and you pretended it wasn't there, and so this is all on you. Bryan's death is all on you. You had no greater purpose, no greater power
pleaseno
God is angry with you, Claudeson. God is angry with you for hurting one of his children, and God is going to make you pay for what you have done
Claudeson had no face.
Claudeson had no face.
Claudeson had no face.
Bryan had a face.
Bryan had Claudeson's face.
Bryan was wearing Claudeson's face.
It's the least I can do, Claudeson, it's the least I can do, it's the least I can do, it's the least I can do, it's the least i can do, it's the least i can do itstheleast i can do itstheleastican doitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticandoitstheleasticando
i'm so sorry
I don't care.
Bryan wore Claudeson's face and raised the pistol to his own head and pulled the trigger with an incredibly loud crackle and laughed as his face twisted into a mask and ANOTHER WONDERFUL MORNING TO YOU KIDS, HERE'S SOMETHING TO CHEER YOU UP—
"OHH," Claudeson awoke with a start, his heart pounding.
Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, his body slick with perspiration. The air was thick, damp with humidity befitting the tropical island prison they had now lived for five days. Gasping for air and blinking numerous times, almost trying to remove the horrific visage from his memory, pieces started to fall back into place. He was struck with a sense of guilt, more overpowering than any emotion he'd ever felt before. It prevented him from jumping to his feet, but he slowly raised his head off the ground.
It was not yet announcement time, and yet he heard the grinding voice of Danya in the cockles of his soul. At least, somehow, he had managed to make it through the night. He allowed his head to fall back to his makeshift pillow; his own duffel bag. Reaching out, he felt Min-jae's familiar hard comfort at his side. The familiar feeling of the crossbow on his palms helped anchor him back to reality. As he took stock of his own mortality, he realized that he had been crying; likely in his sleep.
As the darkness settled into his soul once more, eradicating the guilt and easing the pain that he both simultaneously desired and tried to avoid, he had a momentary urge to say a prayer for the deceased.
The moment passed.
It would have been wasted energy as it was.
The air was thick and still dark, he had only slept but an hour or two, and morning was still far from close. In his mind, he went over the list of the deceased once more. None of the names on the list from the day prior elicited any emotional reaction from him, rather he noted the fact that he would likely have to be wary of Quinn, Erika or Blaise were he to stumble upon them, Marco as well becoming a repeat offender. These were all terrible people, who deserved to suffer in their prison, but at a point, they became almost too dangerous to leave alive. The worst of them would require salvation, whether they deserved it or not.
Clearing his throat, he sighed, and wiped the remnants of his tears away from his dirty face. He supposed he still likely had dirt and blood covering his skin, not having had a shower for days now. Everyone had a distinct odor now.
But was that the stench of decay, or was it something else?
"We should be wary, anyone we come upon today is likely to be violent," he finally said, turning his head to look for Lori's reaction. He looked left, then looked right. Alarmed, he sat up. Her bags were still sitting where she'd left them, but she was gone.
"Lori?" He called out, waiting for a response.
Still nothing.
The girl in the owl suit was nowhere to be found.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued in Swerve))