I Was Just A Kid

[Frozen Smoke]

((Faith Clementine Marshal-Mackenzie continued from many men (wish death)))

Faith's fingers scrabbled and scratched for purchase on the bark of the tree as she slid down it. She wasn't sure how far she'd walked, but she had to hope it was enough, as her legs spilled out underneath her. A ruddy light still covered the forest, the sun starting to dip below a horizon she couldn't see through the trees, giving her just enough to see by. The heat that it continued to pour onto her was much less comforting, making every part of her that she couldn't reach itch with the unfulfilled need to sweat, and adding to the weight of the exhaustion.

She'd have taken off her shirt, but the tourniquet on her arm wound tightly over it, and she doubted she'd be able to fix that back in place again. Besides, it seemed to be working, it didn't hurt any more. It didn't feel like anything any more, it just hung there by her side, occasionally bouncing off of her hip as she walked. The wound had formed a thick, black scab, and the trails of blood that had leaked down her arm had dulled into light brown streaks. She'd have to clean that, at some point.

For now though, sleep felt like the most important thing. Tingling finger tips, clutching another set of bandages reached up, and wiped the sweat off of her face. Her head lolled forwards, resting up against the tree. Her eyes drifted closed.

It was dark when she opened them again. And cold. The breeze whipping through the trees found the sweat that was coating her body, making each droplet feel like an icy pinprick as her teeth chattered. She clumsily gathered up her limbs and dragged herself around to the other side of the tree, trying to find some cover from it. A desperate, numb hand rummaged through the bag that she'd brought with her, but only confirmed that no warm clothes had magically appeared inside it.

The contents were scattered around herself. A compass' plastic casing was shattered against a tree, the first aid kit gutted besides her, a swirl of wrapper and empty bottles blowing around her like leaves on the wind. Throwing it all away had helped make her feel warmer, but just for a moment, and the cold began to creep in once more as she stared at the carcass of her bag hatefully. Why couldn't it have had something in it to help her? Why? Why? Why?

The tears that had streamed down her face were dry by the time her eyes fluttered open again. The early morning light burned her eyes as it streamed through the canopy, and she brought her hand up to shield her face from it, as she shuffled herself into a marginally less uncomfortable position. Her head wobbled back and forth as she did so, feeling like it was filled with cotton wool as every motion seemed to require her whole body to go with it. At least the burning hunger in the pit of her stomach had been replaced with a bitter nausea that wouldn't have let her eat with a full buffet in front of her.

A low buzzing scratched at the periphery of her senses, and it took her a few moments to figure out the source, before glancing down at the collar she could barely see poking out from underneath her chin. The sound of the speakers idling was quickly replaced with the sound of smug, familiar speech, that sounded oddly distant - Like she was listening to her parents having a loud conversation downstairs. Even as she strained her ears, it was hard to make out the specific words, names that were being called out. There was one name she was sure hadn't graced Tracen's lips though, by the time the broadcast finally petered out.

Hers.

She was still alive.

Faith's woozy, indistinct expression twisted and broke into a smile. She wasn't sure what was so funny about it, but she couldn't stop the emotion from welling up inside her. A few weak peals of laughter trickled out of her mouth, followed by a few louder, heartier ones as the sound of her own laughing rung in her ears. She'd done it. She wasn't sure what she'd done, but she had. It felt like she'd finally gotten something over on the terrorists.

The laughter turned into coughing, then wheezing, but the smile remained as she rested her head back against the tree. Her eyes began to drift closed again, and her breathing became shallower and shallower, the fog of sleep that she'd risen from beginning to reclaim her.

There was a beeping that she could hear, faintly. Short, sharp, electronic bursts of sound that echoed in her head. It kind of sounded like her alarm clock, insistently reminding her that she needed to get out of bed. That she needed to wake up. Her eyes moved back and forth a few times under her eyelids.

Maybe when she next woke up, it would be in her bed.

Yeah, maybe.

Faith C. Marshal Mackenzie - Dead - 13 Students Remain