((Four dead bodies on the shore.))
Neatly laid out in a row, all orderly like the leftovers of a firing squad. Seeing them there, it was all too easy to imagine death as a quick, clean thing. Four people standing tall. Blink. Bang. Four people on the ground.
Nothing was ever that simple, of course. Each one of them must have struggled, desperately clawed to keep themselves alive, to kill without being killed. They had all failed. Not the first dead, but the first massacre. That had to count for something. They’d made their mark on every person who had lived to hear the second announcement - forcing them to imagine the slaughter, to wonder if they could be next; if every group was one betrayal away from exploding into carnage. Through their deaths, they had irrevocably shaped the psyche of a hundred. Such power! Such control over the broader narrative!
Roxanne was lucky that none of them had meant anything to her, and she’d already forgotten all their names. They were just meat.
Three days in and this was the first time she was seeing a dead body - the first time in both of her lives. She’d never even been to a funeral. It was horrific. Repulsive. Overwhelming. Fascinating. She crouched down a few feet away from them, holding her breath. She was grateful for the rain - she didn’t want to imagine the putrid scene under a harsh sun. It was bad enough as it was.
Left out in the heat, in the rain. Waterlogged and desiccated. Hard to even picture them as human, anymore. Beryl looked like that, now. Roxanne would, too. One day. Everyone would, but for how long? What would happen to their bodies? She doubted the dragon would be kind enough to relinquish its grasp on its morbid hoard and ship the corpses back home in neat little boxes for the sake of funerals, so would they be incinerated? Piled into a mass unmarked grave, flesh decaying into each other until they became one dissolving mass of viscera and bone? That was where all their stories would end.
But not for her, at least not today. Never ‘today.’ With each new dawn, Roxanne would wake up, and stretch, and swear to herself to live to see just one more sunset, to stretch out her time as herself for as long as humanly possible. The victims in front of her were just a reminder of what she could never let herself become. That was what failure looked like - forgotten bodies on the shore, with only one person alive who knew the truth of what had happened.
To be known, to matter, you had to be observed, and thus Roxanne stood up, gave the crime scene a respectful nod, then spun around and walked towards what had apparently been a lighthouse. Someone had moved the bodies, and it didn’t look like a funeral - no cairns, no sheets to cover the death masks. That meant they had been an inconvenience, which meant they had been somewhere appealing enough to justify the cost of dragging a corpse around.
“Hello? Is anyone home?” She called out as she reached the entrance. No answer. She gingerly crept through the door. No answer. No alarmed cries, no gunshots. It looked like she was alone. She deflated, slightly.
Someone was going to make it off of the island, even if it probably wouldn’t be her. Thus, she had to encounter as many people as she could, as authentically as she could - make sure that once this was all over, there would still be someone who remembered Roxanne. Someone who had truly known Roxanne, if only for a brief time.
People had clearly been in the lighthouse - there was clothing and what looked like a makeshift bed on the ground. A broken window. Bullet holes in the walls. Bloodstains all over the place. Not much ambiguity about where the bodies had come from, anymore.
Roxanne approached the destruction, trailing the hand that wasn’t holding her shotgun along the wall. Felt the empty spaces the bullets had created. How many of those voids represented mortality? How many bullets had crashed into the walls after making their way through a living, breathing human, rupturing their very beings?
She took a step back. Imagined someone standing in front of her, with an ever-shifting face that took cues from everyone she knew, yet looked like no one at all. She raised her shotgun, lined it up with her fake target, remembered to properly brace herself this time. Pulled the trigger. Marvelled again at the bang, the kick, the tangible mark her shells had made on the world. Pictured someone bleeding out on the ground in front of her, now.
It all felt strangely hollow.
there are bullets in your paintings, if you want them
Day 3, some time after announcements - Open
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
((The shape of the lighthouse had called to her.))
The rain loudly pounded the ground around her, as the crack of a gunshot was heard in the far distance.
Roaming under blackened skies beneath a blackened sun, watched by blackened eyes in a blackened landscape for what felt like so long, the aimless Wanderer had finally arrived at her forgotten, ruined destination. The path she had taken had not been her own, she had simply picked one direction and followed it, to the island's edge, to the tallest landmark she could see. She did not know what lay ahead of her, which of her classmates might be occupying this dilapidated structure, what they might have, what they might do.
She paid no heed to the inherent horror of the unknown. She did not care where her footfalls took her, or when her life was being guided by nothing but chance. To care would imply there was meaning in the destination, that it was somehow significant in the grand scheme of the universe. But it was not, everywhere on this island was all the same, and the people on it were all the same. She didn't care where she found herself, because it didn't matter. Wherever she arrived, it would be the same vacant, lifeless, loveless world.
The Wanderer stood in front of the mangled entrance to the building, staring out onto the shore. Broken, battered, bullet-riddled bodies not unlike the corpse of her lover laid out neatly in a line, as if calling to the ocean to swallow them up and take away the only evidence that they were ever even real, thinking beings. A grim, artificial display of the depravity of their situation. The sickening, inherent violence of it.
Each of them had been to someone like her girlfriend was to her. Their losses were each an incalculable tragedy to someone, even if they weren't such to her. Someone had murdered them, taken them away from the world. Unable to create any more meaning for the others around them. Just like someone had murdered her beloved and deprived her of the meaning she gave to her life, they too had been stolen away from someone.
And that was the fate that awaited her too. The fate that she had so desperately wanted, but had been told not to bring about. Perhaps there was still some meaning she still provided, for someone else. Meaning that would be a crime to take away from the world, as pointless as its existence now was to her personally.
The Wanderer stared at the bodies, pondered the possibility of vengeance. To destroy the essence of the cruel creature that had taken away everything from her. To pay evil unto evil, give them the wrath that they had wrought.
She pushed the thoughts away. Vengeance, no matter how cruelly executed, could not bring back the dead. It would just destroy more meaning, not bring back meaning that was lost. She did not have the right to be the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Vacant eyes stared at the shadowy, forgotten doorway. The quiet, musty building. Abused feet walked through slowly, kicking up fine dust. The inside had been lived in, as much as one can live in this place, and sickeningly familiar signs of violence decorated the scene.
It reminded her, it called forth the image that had been burned into her mind, carved into her retinas. Try as she might, she couldn't be rid of the sight of her girlfriend's empty eyes. Eyes that did not belong to her beloved anymore, eyes that did not look upon her warmly, eyes that instead only mocked her. The blood, the bullet holes, everything within called this image forth. And no matter where she went, it would all be the same. The same scenes of violence, of loss. The same image, relentlessly haunting her.
There was another. Another that the Wanderer easily could have missed, despite in no way being invisible to her. A new chance, another meeting of minds, after so much has changed. Someone so familiar, yet so distant.
"Roxy?"
The rain loudly pounded the ground around her, as the crack of a gunshot was heard in the far distance.
Roaming under blackened skies beneath a blackened sun, watched by blackened eyes in a blackened landscape for what felt like so long, the aimless Wanderer had finally arrived at her forgotten, ruined destination. The path she had taken had not been her own, she had simply picked one direction and followed it, to the island's edge, to the tallest landmark she could see. She did not know what lay ahead of her, which of her classmates might be occupying this dilapidated structure, what they might have, what they might do.
She paid no heed to the inherent horror of the unknown. She did not care where her footfalls took her, or when her life was being guided by nothing but chance. To care would imply there was meaning in the destination, that it was somehow significant in the grand scheme of the universe. But it was not, everywhere on this island was all the same, and the people on it were all the same. She didn't care where she found herself, because it didn't matter. Wherever she arrived, it would be the same vacant, lifeless, loveless world.
The Wanderer stood in front of the mangled entrance to the building, staring out onto the shore. Broken, battered, bullet-riddled bodies not unlike the corpse of her lover laid out neatly in a line, as if calling to the ocean to swallow them up and take away the only evidence that they were ever even real, thinking beings. A grim, artificial display of the depravity of their situation. The sickening, inherent violence of it.
Each of them had been to someone like her girlfriend was to her. Their losses were each an incalculable tragedy to someone, even if they weren't such to her. Someone had murdered them, taken them away from the world. Unable to create any more meaning for the others around them. Just like someone had murdered her beloved and deprived her of the meaning she gave to her life, they too had been stolen away from someone.
And that was the fate that awaited her too. The fate that she had so desperately wanted, but had been told not to bring about. Perhaps there was still some meaning she still provided, for someone else. Meaning that would be a crime to take away from the world, as pointless as its existence now was to her personally.
The Wanderer stared at the bodies, pondered the possibility of vengeance. To destroy the essence of the cruel creature that had taken away everything from her. To pay evil unto evil, give them the wrath that they had wrought.
She pushed the thoughts away. Vengeance, no matter how cruelly executed, could not bring back the dead. It would just destroy more meaning, not bring back meaning that was lost. She did not have the right to be the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Vacant eyes stared at the shadowy, forgotten doorway. The quiet, musty building. Abused feet walked through slowly, kicking up fine dust. The inside had been lived in, as much as one can live in this place, and sickeningly familiar signs of violence decorated the scene.
It reminded her, it called forth the image that had been burned into her mind, carved into her retinas. Try as she might, she couldn't be rid of the sight of her girlfriend's empty eyes. Eyes that did not belong to her beloved anymore, eyes that did not look upon her warmly, eyes that instead only mocked her. The blood, the bullet holes, everything within called this image forth. And no matter where she went, it would all be the same. The same scenes of violence, of loss. The same image, relentlessly haunting her.
There was another. Another that the Wanderer easily could have missed, despite in no way being invisible to her. A new chance, another meeting of minds, after so much has changed. Someone so familiar, yet so distant.
"Roxy?"
Sometimes endings weren’t endings, goodbyes weren’t goodbyes; no matter how final you had meant them to be. Roxanne had expected - had hoped - to never see Marcy again. She’d expected her to find a box to hide in, with her girlfriend and whoever else she had dragged along with them, where she’d stay until she inevitably died, where Roxanne wouldn’t have to think about her any more.
But now, here she was. Standing in the doorway. When Marcy had called out Roxanne’s name, she had instinctively spun around, levelled the gun at her; but she lowered it just as quickly. She should’ve realized - anyone who knew Roxanne wasn’t a physical threat, but maybe that made them all even more dangerous, existentially.
But still. Marcy was alone. That meant something had changed - that she had changed, and the thought intrigued her. Maybe now was a chance for the two of them to get to truly know each other, for the last time. She’d be a good a witness as any.
“Marcy.” She acknowledged the girl’s question flatly, letting nothing show on her face.
“Dolores isn’t with you.” It was an observation that carried horrific implication with it. There would be no happy answer, but she needed to know. Marcy had succeeded where Roxanne had failed - she had found a group of people who cared about her, a place where she mattered. And yet she had still let it slip away from her.
Fascinating. Maybe infuriating. Roxanne needed to know how she had failed. Maybe every attempt to find somewhere to belong on the island was inherently doomed - maybe, if the strangers in the garden had taken her in, they would have already dragged her down with them. Maybe she'd been doing the best thing for herself, all along.
But now, here she was. Standing in the doorway. When Marcy had called out Roxanne’s name, she had instinctively spun around, levelled the gun at her; but she lowered it just as quickly. She should’ve realized - anyone who knew Roxanne wasn’t a physical threat, but maybe that made them all even more dangerous, existentially.
But still. Marcy was alone. That meant something had changed - that she had changed, and the thought intrigued her. Maybe now was a chance for the two of them to get to truly know each other, for the last time. She’d be a good a witness as any.
“Marcy.” She acknowledged the girl’s question flatly, letting nothing show on her face.
“Dolores isn’t with you.” It was an observation that carried horrific implication with it. There would be no happy answer, but she needed to know. Marcy had succeeded where Roxanne had failed - she had found a group of people who cared about her, a place where she mattered. And yet she had still let it slip away from her.
Fascinating. Maybe infuriating. Roxanne needed to know how she had failed. Maybe every attempt to find somewhere to belong on the island was inherently doomed - maybe, if the strangers in the garden had taken her in, they would have already dragged her down with them. Maybe she'd been doing the best thing for herself, all along.
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Like a blade rammed into her chest, her girlfriend's name ran her through and sliced her insides to ribbons. Roxanne knew, even without witnessing the whole sordid affair, that she had failed. That she had allowed Dolly to die. That it was all her fault. Her fault.
Her fault.
She tried to speak, but her throat betrayed her, closing up and denying her speech. Her vision grew blurry as she began to cry anew, her hands reaching up to cover her face. Some time passed with her like that, as she was wracked with involuntary sobs. Eventually, words finally managed to rise past her tongue. Thoughts forcefully, weakly, choked out.
"Dolly's gone, Roxy. She... she's gone, and it's all my fault."
Her voice wavering. Her face, uncovered. Her gaze, cast aside. No denial. No avoidance. No downplaying. Just the cold, naked truth of how despicable she truly was.
"She went off on her own, and I stupidly let her. Someone... someone found her, or maybe she found them, and I heard the gunshot and..."
She sniffled and wiped her eyes, trying to maintain what little composure she could as she relived the grief that had completely destroyed her hours earlier. Someone else had to know, someone else needed to hear her confession. She couldn't allow anything to get in the way.
"And I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. A-And I found her and..."
She inhaled, putting her hand on the memento around her neck, gripping it with such force that her knuckles turned white, hoping that it would give her some relief from the way she was feeling, to no avail. The look in her eyes betrayed her emotions, revealing just how scared she was. How alone she was.
"She was broken, bleeding, dying."
She choked on that last word, her knees wobbling and growing weak as she recounted the events. Soon, she found herself passively drifting towards the nearest wall for support. Never before in her life had she allowed herself to be this vulnerable around Roxanne, or anyone besides Dolly, for that matter. She had always kept her anguish hidden behind layers and layers of manic energy, afraid of the response she would get if she ever let it slip. Afraid of people pitying her when she didn't want it, or thinking badly of her like she thought of herself.
But now, she did not have it in herself to hide. Not anymore.
"She couldn't even say anything. I couldn't do anything to save her." Leaning her back against the wall, she slowly slid down its length, until she was sitting on the floor, staring at the old, damp concrete below her, still speaking. "A-All I did was hold her as she went, and I'm not... I'm not even sure she knew I was there."
Her throat tightened further as her voice threatened to give out, a response to the sheer horror of that notion. She paused to take another deep breath, doing her best to stave off her larynx giving out on her. She had to keep going, she had to finish. Someone else had to know.
"For all I know, she could have died alone and in pain thinking I abandoned her."
How she hoped that was not true. How she hoped that she had, at the very least, given Dolly some comfort before her end. She let go of the memento, covering her face with her hands once again as her knees quickly brought up in front of her, as if to hide herself from Roxanne's judgement.
"Maybe... maybe she did know. Maybe she didn't. Either way, it's still all my fault."
Her fault.
White hot rage began to bubble up beneath her skin, the desire to hurt herself, punish herself, make herself bleed for her failure threatening to overwhelm her. Threatening to tear her apart from the inside if she did not tear herself apart from the outside.
"I remember every goddamn second," she hissed, "I keep replaying it in my head. If only I had been faster, or smarter, o-or..."
She dug her nails into the flesh of her cheeks, stabbing pain needling her face as she raked at her own skin.
"But... I wasn't. I was just me. She died because I wasn't good enough. She was my entire world, I didn't love anything more than I loved her, and now..." She stopped, her voice returned to how it had been, unsteady, its pitch wavering. "...now I have nothing left."
She quit clawing at herself, her breathing beginning to become heavy. She fell onto the floor beneath her, curling up into a ball in the process, completely overwhelmed, unable to cope with everything that had happened to her.
"It should have been me," she whined, her volume lowering, beginning to become difficult to hear. "She deserved to live, and I didn't. Yet, she's gone, and I'm still here."
The sounds of her blubbering grew more intense, her futile attempts to maintain her composure finally collapsing under the strain of all her anguish.
"A-And I'm not even allowed to die with her. Minutes before she died, she told me that if anything happened to her, I had to live, as if she knew. As if she knew..."
She trailed off, sobbing on the ground, the tangled mess of her soaking wet hair splayed out under her on the rough, unfeeling floor. When she finally spoke again, it was naught but a melancholic whisper, almost inaudible.
"S-So... mock me. Shoot me. I don't care. I deserve all that and more."
Her fault.
She tried to speak, but her throat betrayed her, closing up and denying her speech. Her vision grew blurry as she began to cry anew, her hands reaching up to cover her face. Some time passed with her like that, as she was wracked with involuntary sobs. Eventually, words finally managed to rise past her tongue. Thoughts forcefully, weakly, choked out.
"Dolly's gone, Roxy. She... she's gone, and it's all my fault."
Her voice wavering. Her face, uncovered. Her gaze, cast aside. No denial. No avoidance. No downplaying. Just the cold, naked truth of how despicable she truly was.
"She went off on her own, and I stupidly let her. Someone... someone found her, or maybe she found them, and I heard the gunshot and..."
She sniffled and wiped her eyes, trying to maintain what little composure she could as she relived the grief that had completely destroyed her hours earlier. Someone else had to know, someone else needed to hear her confession. She couldn't allow anything to get in the way.
"And I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. A-And I found her and..."
She inhaled, putting her hand on the memento around her neck, gripping it with such force that her knuckles turned white, hoping that it would give her some relief from the way she was feeling, to no avail. The look in her eyes betrayed her emotions, revealing just how scared she was. How alone she was.
"She was broken, bleeding, dying."
She choked on that last word, her knees wobbling and growing weak as she recounted the events. Soon, she found herself passively drifting towards the nearest wall for support. Never before in her life had she allowed herself to be this vulnerable around Roxanne, or anyone besides Dolly, for that matter. She had always kept her anguish hidden behind layers and layers of manic energy, afraid of the response she would get if she ever let it slip. Afraid of people pitying her when she didn't want it, or thinking badly of her like she thought of herself.
But now, she did not have it in herself to hide. Not anymore.
"She couldn't even say anything. I couldn't do anything to save her." Leaning her back against the wall, she slowly slid down its length, until she was sitting on the floor, staring at the old, damp concrete below her, still speaking. "A-All I did was hold her as she went, and I'm not... I'm not even sure she knew I was there."
Her throat tightened further as her voice threatened to give out, a response to the sheer horror of that notion. She paused to take another deep breath, doing her best to stave off her larynx giving out on her. She had to keep going, she had to finish. Someone else had to know.
"For all I know, she could have died alone and in pain thinking I abandoned her."
How she hoped that was not true. How she hoped that she had, at the very least, given Dolly some comfort before her end. She let go of the memento, covering her face with her hands once again as her knees quickly brought up in front of her, as if to hide herself from Roxanne's judgement.
"Maybe... maybe she did know. Maybe she didn't. Either way, it's still all my fault."
Her fault.
White hot rage began to bubble up beneath her skin, the desire to hurt herself, punish herself, make herself bleed for her failure threatening to overwhelm her. Threatening to tear her apart from the inside if she did not tear herself apart from the outside.
"I remember every goddamn second," she hissed, "I keep replaying it in my head. If only I had been faster, or smarter, o-or..."
She dug her nails into the flesh of her cheeks, stabbing pain needling her face as she raked at her own skin.
"But... I wasn't. I was just me. She died because I wasn't good enough. She was my entire world, I didn't love anything more than I loved her, and now..." She stopped, her voice returned to how it had been, unsteady, its pitch wavering. "...now I have nothing left."
She quit clawing at herself, her breathing beginning to become heavy. She fell onto the floor beneath her, curling up into a ball in the process, completely overwhelmed, unable to cope with everything that had happened to her.
"It should have been me," she whined, her volume lowering, beginning to become difficult to hear. "She deserved to live, and I didn't. Yet, she's gone, and I'm still here."
The sounds of her blubbering grew more intense, her futile attempts to maintain her composure finally collapsing under the strain of all her anguish.
"A-And I'm not even allowed to die with her. Minutes before she died, she told me that if anything happened to her, I had to live, as if she knew. As if she knew..."
She trailed off, sobbing on the ground, the tangled mess of her soaking wet hair splayed out under her on the rough, unfeeling floor. When she finally spoke again, it was naught but a melancholic whisper, almost inaudible.
"S-So... mock me. Shoot me. I don't care. I deserve all that and more."
Roxanne stood witness as Marcy broke down and confessed her myriad failures, as she tried to physically scratch the sin out of her skin, as she gave up and curled into a quivering, sobbing ball. She had set her sights so, so low, and still she had lost the most precious thing in the world to her. With her carelessness, she had thrown away more love than Roxanne would ever know.
She’d never seen Marcy cry before, in all those years of being her friend, never knew her to possess even a trace of mild, human sadness. Anything less than complete hyperactivity felt like a rarity. It was part of what she had loved about her. Part of why she had been so often, so easily tired with her.
The island had already changed her so much. First, it had forced her into uncharacteristic caution. Now, all-consuming despair.
It hurt to watch. Roxanne told herself that it’d hurt to see anyone like this, not just someone who had once been her dear friend.
Her shotgun was the ultimate power on the island, but she didn’t need to be powerful at the moment. She set it down beside her, then knelt down next to Marcy, started gently rubbing her back, running her fingers through her hair.
“Shh.”
It took a concentrated effort to keep herself from wincing from the texture of her damp, greasy hair. It wasn’t Marcy’s fault. Even as the island freed them, it took other freedoms away from them - Roxanne would never get the opportunity to freely choose her own wardrobe. Her image was being shaped by her circumstance alone. She reminded herself to take the clothing on the floor before she left. Even if it didn’t fit, it could work as makeshift bedding. Or towels.
“She told you to live. So why are you telling me to shoot you?”
Giving up was worse than death - resigning yourself to be changed by the whims of fate. Marcy just needed a push to break out of her chrysalis. Roxanne would be ready and waiting for whatever came out of the shell. She would do her best to be there for whoever Marcy became. She owed her that much.
“Dolores loved you. That means you need to love yourself, too. You don’t get to have a choice anymore.”
She’d never seen Marcy cry before, in all those years of being her friend, never knew her to possess even a trace of mild, human sadness. Anything less than complete hyperactivity felt like a rarity. It was part of what she had loved about her. Part of why she had been so often, so easily tired with her.
The island had already changed her so much. First, it had forced her into uncharacteristic caution. Now, all-consuming despair.
It hurt to watch. Roxanne told herself that it’d hurt to see anyone like this, not just someone who had once been her dear friend.
Her shotgun was the ultimate power on the island, but she didn’t need to be powerful at the moment. She set it down beside her, then knelt down next to Marcy, started gently rubbing her back, running her fingers through her hair.
“Shh.”
It took a concentrated effort to keep herself from wincing from the texture of her damp, greasy hair. It wasn’t Marcy’s fault. Even as the island freed them, it took other freedoms away from them - Roxanne would never get the opportunity to freely choose her own wardrobe. Her image was being shaped by her circumstance alone. She reminded herself to take the clothing on the floor before she left. Even if it didn’t fit, it could work as makeshift bedding. Or towels.
“She told you to live. So why are you telling me to shoot you?”
Giving up was worse than death - resigning yourself to be changed by the whims of fate. Marcy just needed a push to break out of her chrysalis. Roxanne would be ready and waiting for whatever came out of the shell. She would do her best to be there for whoever Marcy became. She owed her that much.
“Dolores loved you. That means you need to love yourself, too. You don’t get to have a choice anymore.”
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
The Stray did not respond to Roxanne's words initially. Instead, she continued to cry for an indeterminate length of time, her tears slowing, her whimpering quieting down. The gentle touch gradually, eventually calming her into a state of lucidity once more.
Once her tears finally stopped coming, once her whimpering finally ceased, she slowly, carefully, sat up. She leaned back against the wall of the lighthouse, locks of damp hair clinging to her face, the damp, bloody, uncomfortable concrete feeling stiffer than ever. She was still unable to meet Roxanne's gaze again, still fearing its judgement, despite the comfort her presence had already brought her. Roxanne's words had been truthful, and powerful. Dolly had loved her, and her love did not lack rationale. If the Stray could earn Dolly's love, then that meant she was worthy of love. It meant she was worthy of her own love.
Pondering those words, accurate as they may be, did not change how she felt. How worthless, how guilty, how terrified she felt. How isolated she felt. It did not, indeed, could not change how much she desired to right the wrongs, to turn back time, to undo her mistakes. There must have been something different that she could have done, she thought. How she tried to focus on it, how she tried to dwell on it, how she tried to fixate on it to avoid the awful reality that her beloved was irrevocably gone.
That wasn't how the story was supposed to go, she thought. But this was not a book, or a video game, or a movie. This was not a story following a cliché plot of tragic love and bittersweet triumph. This was her life, her meaningless path in this meaningless world. If it was a story at all, it was a void of nothingness. Disjointed, unfocused, and sadistically tragic. There was nothing left to gain from it, and nothing left to lose.
That's what she thought.
"...Roxy," the Stray began to speak, her tone monotonous, her voice quiet. "I-"
She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say. If she even had anything to add in the first place. What could she utter that would possibly make this moment any more profound, any more meaningful than it already was? There was nothing. She was nothing.
Her hand reached up to grasp at her memento again. Despite everything, it made her feel just a little bit warmer. Just a little bit safer, just a little bit less isolated. When she spoke again, her words were more powerful, but still just as monotonous. "Roxy... thank you."
She brought her legs up in front of her again, resting her arms and her chin on her knees, still averting her eyes from Roxanne's own.
"You know," she began once more, "Dolly and I used to talk about our future a lot. What we would want to do, how we would want to spend our lives. Our visions," she frowned momentarily, "didn't really match up. She had real plans, college admissions, specific majors, jobs she wanted after she graduated."
She brushed some of her hair aside, trying her best to get it out of her face. She needed no distractions. The gears in her head were beginning to really whir to life, ideas coming to her unbidden, creeping realizations bearing down upon her. She wasn't sure if she really wanted them, but deep down, she felt like she needed them.
"But I never really had an idea of who I wanted to be." She said, her speech taking on an uncharacteristically introspective tone. "The best plan I had was just continuing with our band and... if I'm being honest, I don't think we would've stayed together after high school. The only thing I really cared about was... staying with her."
The Stray swallowed, closing her eyes in contemplation.
"I had felt... so empty inside. I was this void of emotions and desires and meaning that couldn't be sated by anything. Nothing helped me, nothing made me feel better," she paused, briefly, to allow her words the time to sink in. "Except for her. She made me feel whole again, she made me feel loved, and valuable, and happy." A small, soft smile danced, ever so briefly, across her face. "I loved her so much, for everything she did for me without even knowing. All I knew from that point on, after I met her, was that I wanted to continue to be by her side, and as far as I was concerned, that was all that mattered."
She tugged on the memento, feeling the gentle pressure on the back of her neck. All of it, pendant and necklace alike, felt hot to the touch.
"Before all this, my biggest fear was that she would stop loving me." Her frown returned, staying this time. "That she would move away and find some other girl at college and forget about me, or that we'd stay together despite it all, but we'd turn into different people and drift apart." Her hands began to tremble slightly, her fingers gently grasping at whatever they could to quell it. "I was afraid of losing her, because I didn't know what I would do without her. I didn't know how I'd cope with the emptiness again, without her."
She got the urge to grip the sides of her skull, but she resisted it. It was a fruitless effort to hide from the horrible conclusions that she had been threatening to reach ever since the moment of her beloved's last breath. She thought that by squeezing her head, she could somehow stop her train of thought from arriving at its inexorable destination, but...
It was time to be honest with Roxanne, and honest with herself.
"And now," her voice wavered. "Now that I don't have her... I've realized, for the first time, that I don't actually know who I am anymore. I had defined myself completely by my relationship with her, because it was the only thing that made me feel okay."
She shook her head, her legs shifting to no longer obscure herself from view. Her eyes open, finally meeting Roxanne's own.
"But, as much as it hurts me to say it, I was wrong to do that," she declared, her speech finally losing the monotonous tone. "She loved me dearly, I loved her dearly, but our relationship should've been something that gave each of us extra comfort, not be anyone's sole source of it. I should've learned to be able to cope in other ways, because this outcome was inevitable, even if we had stayed together forever."
Her frown deepened. Her attention returned to the floor.
"I just wish," she said, her tears starting up once again. "That she didn't have to die for me to finally realize that."
Once her tears finally stopped coming, once her whimpering finally ceased, she slowly, carefully, sat up. She leaned back against the wall of the lighthouse, locks of damp hair clinging to her face, the damp, bloody, uncomfortable concrete feeling stiffer than ever. She was still unable to meet Roxanne's gaze again, still fearing its judgement, despite the comfort her presence had already brought her. Roxanne's words had been truthful, and powerful. Dolly had loved her, and her love did not lack rationale. If the Stray could earn Dolly's love, then that meant she was worthy of love. It meant she was worthy of her own love.
Pondering those words, accurate as they may be, did not change how she felt. How worthless, how guilty, how terrified she felt. How isolated she felt. It did not, indeed, could not change how much she desired to right the wrongs, to turn back time, to undo her mistakes. There must have been something different that she could have done, she thought. How she tried to focus on it, how she tried to dwell on it, how she tried to fixate on it to avoid the awful reality that her beloved was irrevocably gone.
That wasn't how the story was supposed to go, she thought. But this was not a book, or a video game, or a movie. This was not a story following a cliché plot of tragic love and bittersweet triumph. This was her life, her meaningless path in this meaningless world. If it was a story at all, it was a void of nothingness. Disjointed, unfocused, and sadistically tragic. There was nothing left to gain from it, and nothing left to lose.
That's what she thought.
"...Roxy," the Stray began to speak, her tone monotonous, her voice quiet. "I-"
She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say. If she even had anything to add in the first place. What could she utter that would possibly make this moment any more profound, any more meaningful than it already was? There was nothing. She was nothing.
Her hand reached up to grasp at her memento again. Despite everything, it made her feel just a little bit warmer. Just a little bit safer, just a little bit less isolated. When she spoke again, her words were more powerful, but still just as monotonous. "Roxy... thank you."
She brought her legs up in front of her again, resting her arms and her chin on her knees, still averting her eyes from Roxanne's own.
"You know," she began once more, "Dolly and I used to talk about our future a lot. What we would want to do, how we would want to spend our lives. Our visions," she frowned momentarily, "didn't really match up. She had real plans, college admissions, specific majors, jobs she wanted after she graduated."
She brushed some of her hair aside, trying her best to get it out of her face. She needed no distractions. The gears in her head were beginning to really whir to life, ideas coming to her unbidden, creeping realizations bearing down upon her. She wasn't sure if she really wanted them, but deep down, she felt like she needed them.
"But I never really had an idea of who I wanted to be." She said, her speech taking on an uncharacteristically introspective tone. "The best plan I had was just continuing with our band and... if I'm being honest, I don't think we would've stayed together after high school. The only thing I really cared about was... staying with her."
The Stray swallowed, closing her eyes in contemplation.
"I had felt... so empty inside. I was this void of emotions and desires and meaning that couldn't be sated by anything. Nothing helped me, nothing made me feel better," she paused, briefly, to allow her words the time to sink in. "Except for her. She made me feel whole again, she made me feel loved, and valuable, and happy." A small, soft smile danced, ever so briefly, across her face. "I loved her so much, for everything she did for me without even knowing. All I knew from that point on, after I met her, was that I wanted to continue to be by her side, and as far as I was concerned, that was all that mattered."
She tugged on the memento, feeling the gentle pressure on the back of her neck. All of it, pendant and necklace alike, felt hot to the touch.
"Before all this, my biggest fear was that she would stop loving me." Her frown returned, staying this time. "That she would move away and find some other girl at college and forget about me, or that we'd stay together despite it all, but we'd turn into different people and drift apart." Her hands began to tremble slightly, her fingers gently grasping at whatever they could to quell it. "I was afraid of losing her, because I didn't know what I would do without her. I didn't know how I'd cope with the emptiness again, without her."
She got the urge to grip the sides of her skull, but she resisted it. It was a fruitless effort to hide from the horrible conclusions that she had been threatening to reach ever since the moment of her beloved's last breath. She thought that by squeezing her head, she could somehow stop her train of thought from arriving at its inexorable destination, but...
It was time to be honest with Roxanne, and honest with herself.
"And now," her voice wavered. "Now that I don't have her... I've realized, for the first time, that I don't actually know who I am anymore. I had defined myself completely by my relationship with her, because it was the only thing that made me feel okay."
She shook her head, her legs shifting to no longer obscure herself from view. Her eyes open, finally meeting Roxanne's own.
"But, as much as it hurts me to say it, I was wrong to do that," she declared, her speech finally losing the monotonous tone. "She loved me dearly, I loved her dearly, but our relationship should've been something that gave each of us extra comfort, not be anyone's sole source of it. I should've learned to be able to cope in other ways, because this outcome was inevitable, even if we had stayed together forever."
Her frown deepened. Her attention returned to the floor.
"I just wish," she said, her tears starting up once again. "That she didn't have to die for me to finally realize that."
How gruesome, to become so entwined in another that you lost sight of who you really were. How beautiful, to have been gifted a chance to experience a bond that dangerously strong in the first place.
Roxanne wasn’t sure if she envied or pitied Marcy more, but she continued to kneel by her side and gently hold her, regardless. It felt like the right thing to do - and much more importantly, it felt like what she wanted to do. Ideals were for people who had more than a week to live, so she’d play everything by ear. If it felt good to help someone in pain, she would help them. If she found that she hated someone enough to want to cause them agony, well. She could burn those bridges once she crossed them. Roxanne had grudges, just like anyone else; but she hadn’t deemed any of them worthy of being repaid in blood.
Still. A lot could change over the course of a single day.
Marcy was making progress. This was good. For all of Roxanne’s sympathy for the girl, she had no desire to spend the rest of her days watching her snivel in a corner. Her psyche just needed a little more time to melt in the fire before she could truly rebuild herself.
“Now’s your chance to figure out who you really are. Better do it quick, though.” Roxanne’s voice was not warm, but not unkind. Calm. Measured. She unflinchingly met Marcy’s eyes, whenever the girl deigned to look up at her.
There was a void in the vague shape of a girl in front of her, and Roxanne could understand. Countless motivations stirred within her, and even she couldn’t say for sure which drove her actions - maybe all of them, in their own ways. Empathy. Friendship. Curiosity. She had never intended to shackle herself to any companion for long, but this promise of a person was too fascinating to ignore; and the memories they had shared in a past life too precious to completely discard.
She would witness, and be witnessed in turn.
With a final pat to the head, Roxanne left Marcy’s side and retrieved her shotgun. She slung it over her shoulder in a way she hoped looked confidently casual.
“...If you want help buying time, I’ll protect you.”
Roxanne wasn’t sure if she envied or pitied Marcy more, but she continued to kneel by her side and gently hold her, regardless. It felt like the right thing to do - and much more importantly, it felt like what she wanted to do. Ideals were for people who had more than a week to live, so she’d play everything by ear. If it felt good to help someone in pain, she would help them. If she found that she hated someone enough to want to cause them agony, well. She could burn those bridges once she crossed them. Roxanne had grudges, just like anyone else; but she hadn’t deemed any of them worthy of being repaid in blood.
Still. A lot could change over the course of a single day.
Marcy was making progress. This was good. For all of Roxanne’s sympathy for the girl, she had no desire to spend the rest of her days watching her snivel in a corner. Her psyche just needed a little more time to melt in the fire before she could truly rebuild herself.
“Now’s your chance to figure out who you really are. Better do it quick, though.” Roxanne’s voice was not warm, but not unkind. Calm. Measured. She unflinchingly met Marcy’s eyes, whenever the girl deigned to look up at her.
There was a void in the vague shape of a girl in front of her, and Roxanne could understand. Countless motivations stirred within her, and even she couldn’t say for sure which drove her actions - maybe all of them, in their own ways. Empathy. Friendship. Curiosity. She had never intended to shackle herself to any companion for long, but this promise of a person was too fascinating to ignore; and the memories they had shared in a past life too precious to completely discard.
She would witness, and be witnessed in turn.
With a final pat to the head, Roxanne left Marcy’s side and retrieved her shotgun. She slung it over her shoulder in a way she hoped looked confidently casual.
“...If you want help buying time, I’ll protect you.”
((Forrest Quin continued from ieatnothing))
She ran a hand through her hair, again and again and again and again. It got messier and more, control being wiped from the previously carefully kept curls. The rainbow was fuzzy and faded she was sure but it needed to be messier. They needed to believe she had been through some shit and the best way to do convince people you'd had a bad time was to turn up messy. Seeing was believing after all and she had seen stuff already, hearing was also believing as it turned out and that caused her current flight and landing point. A migrant tree, lost on a coast it had never been to before. Mid-life crisis at the age of what...shit she was eighteen. Good job kidd. No. Kid. One D. But that wasn't a good sign, her birthday was November. Mid-life crisis at eighteen put her at what? Thirty-six max possible if all was well and she survived. That tracked. There was only so long you could live with so many ghosts. It made sense as a path. Was she on it? Who the fuck knew! No one knew fucking anything really when you got down to it. Dark matter made up like what? Most of the known universe and they still didn't know what that shit was. So a bunch of kids in a death game trying to thing up plans on how to survive weren't exactly going to do great at any critical thinking.
Regardless, the Forrest had traveled to the sea because the wordplay couldn't be missed or at least that was what the Forrest was telling herself because your actions became easier to stomach if you coated them in a layer of irony first. Ha fucking ha. Couldn't be hurt emotionally if you were already emotionally crippled suckers. But still, her heart was busy beating itself to death, whether that was due to the exercise her body was being forced to do or nerves about whatever it was she was doing she didn't really know. She knew she was going to try to avoid thinking about it though. She wanted to find Andy or Abe but that would require a miracle with how based on luck and coincidence it was. Although then again when you thought about it, what was a miracle but a coincidence with a fancy cape.
But hey here she was, crouched on the edge of her known world, deliberately fucking up her appearance so that people wouldn't think she had spent three days having a jolly adventure across the island, the good times only momentarily interrupted by a running tally of who of all the people she knew was dying and how. Aside from that, probably the best three days she could have asked for, oh and minus the fact she had lost her bag and had been starving for much of it. A hand moved and pulled her top out of the way and she observed her body. Yeah, she was suffering from a bad diet, her ribs noticeably poked through her skin like tentpoles, her hip bones also popping in to join the party. Who the fuck knew how her face looked but it probably wasn't great! No way to sugarcoat that one. She had been bad at looking after herself before ending up on the death island and then without the food, she wasn't going to lie and say she would have been fine regardless she probably would have fucked it someway but shit, she'd had her bag back for ages and had just forgotten to eat because that was the level of person she was and now-ah fuck it.
She stepped towards the door.
She ran a hand through her hair, again and again and again and again. It got messier and more, control being wiped from the previously carefully kept curls. The rainbow was fuzzy and faded she was sure but it needed to be messier. They needed to believe she had been through some shit and the best way to do convince people you'd had a bad time was to turn up messy. Seeing was believing after all and she had seen stuff already, hearing was also believing as it turned out and that caused her current flight and landing point. A migrant tree, lost on a coast it had never been to before. Mid-life crisis at the age of what...shit she was eighteen. Good job kidd. No. Kid. One D. But that wasn't a good sign, her birthday was November. Mid-life crisis at eighteen put her at what? Thirty-six max possible if all was well and she survived. That tracked. There was only so long you could live with so many ghosts. It made sense as a path. Was she on it? Who the fuck knew! No one knew fucking anything really when you got down to it. Dark matter made up like what? Most of the known universe and they still didn't know what that shit was. So a bunch of kids in a death game trying to thing up plans on how to survive weren't exactly going to do great at any critical thinking.
Regardless, the Forrest had traveled to the sea because the wordplay couldn't be missed or at least that was what the Forrest was telling herself because your actions became easier to stomach if you coated them in a layer of irony first. Ha fucking ha. Couldn't be hurt emotionally if you were already emotionally crippled suckers. But still, her heart was busy beating itself to death, whether that was due to the exercise her body was being forced to do or nerves about whatever it was she was doing she didn't really know. She knew she was going to try to avoid thinking about it though. She wanted to find Andy or Abe but that would require a miracle with how based on luck and coincidence it was. Although then again when you thought about it, what was a miracle but a coincidence with a fancy cape.
But hey here she was, crouched on the edge of her known world, deliberately fucking up her appearance so that people wouldn't think she had spent three days having a jolly adventure across the island, the good times only momentarily interrupted by a running tally of who of all the people she knew was dying and how. Aside from that, probably the best three days she could have asked for, oh and minus the fact she had lost her bag and had been starving for much of it. A hand moved and pulled her top out of the way and she observed her body. Yeah, she was suffering from a bad diet, her ribs noticeably poked through her skin like tentpoles, her hip bones also popping in to join the party. Who the fuck knew how her face looked but it probably wasn't great! No way to sugarcoat that one. She had been bad at looking after herself before ending up on the death island and then without the food, she wasn't going to lie and say she would have been fine regardless she probably would have fucked it someway but shit, she'd had her bag back for ages and had just forgotten to eat because that was the level of person she was and now-ah fuck it.
She stepped towards the door.
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
"And here I was, thinking I'd be the protector," the Larva responded, sniffling, the slightest bit of amusement expressed by her voice. "But, if you're offering to stay with me, I accept."
Just when she had needed the help that only Roxanne could have provided, she had managed to find her way to her. With her help, the despair that had been previously been squeezing the life out of her had had been lifted, ever so slightly. Now, even though it hurt her to her core, she had a chance to try to look forward. This world of blank shapes and silent echoes still might not be worth living in, but if she had to survive within it, she would also need to carve her own path forward. She could not afford to spend her last days wallowing in hopelessness. Dolly wouldn't have wanted that.
The Larva's eyes flitted briefly to Roxanne and her weapon, before looking down at her sack of belongings, Dolly's dagger tucked away in it. She didn't want to say it, or rather it didn't need to be said, but she would protect Roxanne with everything she had, just as Roxanne would protect her. Since she was right, through the immense tragedy that had befallen her, the Larva had a chance to rediscover herself. How she would have loved to do this with Dolly still by her side, but the Larva might not have ever tried had Dolly continued to live, had her original plan come to fruition, had she given her life for Dolly's sake. Now with her crutch stolen away from her, the Larva needed to learn to walk again, on her own.
She reached up, pawing at the memento yet again, briefly seeking its comfort, before tucking it into her shirt, the pendant now resting near her heart, where it belonged. Set on abandoning her dependence she may be, but she would still never dare to let go. So long as she had her way, Dolly would always be with her, in body or spirit.
"...I think I'll start with what Dolly told me to do," she began again, standing up from where she had been sitting as she did so. "Maybe that's just me leaning on her for support again," she muttered, wistfully, "but it's my decision too. I can't rediscover what I want for myself if I die. The side bonus of fulfilling her last request is still nice, though."
The Larva pondered how she was leaving behind the false personality she had constructed to protect herself, shedding it like an old set of skin. The constant mania and hyperactivity would go with it, leaving just herself behind, the woman underneath the mask. By doing so, she would be forced to embrace her authentic, vulnerable self. The self that only Dolly had ever been allowed to see. It terrified her, to be taking her first steps without that protective layer disguising her true vulnerability, without Dolly by her side to hold her hand and tell her everything would be okay.
At least she had someone else to be by her side, now. She wouldn't be forced to walk this new path alone. Roxanne seemed intent on being her new support, as long as she needed it, and she was deeply grateful for that. Nobody, not even someone from her band, would be able to replace the special bond she had with Dolly, but they could still face this bleak world, together.
The Larva never understood Roxanne properly before all of this, but she was starting to understand her now. Roxanne had always struggled with self-realization, the desire to break free of the expectations placed on her and be who she truly wanted to be. The Larva had only ever been allowed small glimpses into who the real Roxanne was, her name being part of that, but it seemed to her that the person Roxanne was now was her true, authentic self. The Roxanne that she had always wanted to be, all along. Perhaps that was why she was so intent on sticking with the Larva now, despite their previous departure. Now they had something in common, their two journeys of self-discovery newly parallel and slowly intertwining.
She shuffled over to the decrepit entrance of the lighthouse, looking out of it at the bodies again. The fetid monument to mortality on the beach reminded her that there was still much besides her journey to consider. To begin with, after Dolly's passing, the status of Rhonda and Meka had not crossed her mind, until now. Surely they were fine, in the bunker that they had created together. They didn't need her, and if they did, they would surely find their way to her, like she had found her way to Roxanne.
Additionally, there was still the unresolved issue of who had murdered her beloved. She was still unsure if she wanted to seek vengeance for the butcher's transgression. No amount of torture she could inflict could bring back the dead, but it could perhaps bring her peace that she did not have. Surely, it was still something to consider for the future, but perhaps should not be given the highest priority just yet. She had Dolly's pendant by her chest, and her knife by her side, and those would be sufficient as constant reminders of what she had lost, and what she still had left to do. Perhaps they could even serve as reminders for everyone else she had lost too, like her dear, sweet Beryl.
Her eyes flitted back over to Roxanne, briefly, before staring back out into the rain and at the bodies. Perhaps they could even serve as reminders for everyone she still had left to lose, too.
Her gaze remained affixed to that spot for some time. The scale of the tragedy of this place was difficult for her to truly comprehend. She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, and for every loss she had experienced, there were a hundred of her other classmates experiencing the same. The cruelty inherent to this situation was profound, and so many of her classmates had fallen to participating in it, reveling in and perpetuating the cruelty just to buy themselves a little bit of extra time. Dolly's murderer, whoever they may be, was one of those people.
She closed her eyes, holding onto the frame of the door as she scrunched up her nose a bit in disgust. She still needed more time to think about what she was going to do, about who she was going to be, and she still needed more time to properly mourn Dolly's loss. Despite that, however, she also knew that she needed to take some time to rest. She wouldn't be able to continue at this rate, if she was just over-exerting her mental faculties.
Although, she still could not shake this new feeling, even if it was only temporary respite she needed. Already there had been so much cruelty, so many wrongs committed, and yet, nobody had already arisen to right those wrongs, to fight back against it all. There were people who needing protecting, people like Dolly that needed saving, and yet, it seemed like nobody was trying.
The Larva opened her eyes again, emitting a heavy sigh, before trudging over to the lighthouse steps, taking a seat in a position where she could see the entrance. Just for now, she needed to focus on what was right in front of her, and not weighty concepts of right and wrong. She could return to that after making sure she did not repeat the same mistakes she had already made.
"I think we should stay here, until the rain stops, Roxy," she stated, her speech lacking any kind of emotional flair. "Rain hurts visibility, which is good for sneaking around, but it isn't so great if we want to constantly watch our backs. Plus," she gestured to the entrance. "There's only one entrance to this place, so it'd be easy for us to take turns watching it, if you feel that would be necessary."
Just then, shortly after she had finished speaking, a new arrival appeared in the doorway, catching her by surprise. A friendly face, at least, and one that the Larva was surprisingly happy to see.
"Oh, uh!" She exclaimed, lacking any sort of elegance. "Hey there, Forrest."
Just when she had needed the help that only Roxanne could have provided, she had managed to find her way to her. With her help, the despair that had been previously been squeezing the life out of her had had been lifted, ever so slightly. Now, even though it hurt her to her core, she had a chance to try to look forward. This world of blank shapes and silent echoes still might not be worth living in, but if she had to survive within it, she would also need to carve her own path forward. She could not afford to spend her last days wallowing in hopelessness. Dolly wouldn't have wanted that.
The Larva's eyes flitted briefly to Roxanne and her weapon, before looking down at her sack of belongings, Dolly's dagger tucked away in it. She didn't want to say it, or rather it didn't need to be said, but she would protect Roxanne with everything she had, just as Roxanne would protect her. Since she was right, through the immense tragedy that had befallen her, the Larva had a chance to rediscover herself. How she would have loved to do this with Dolly still by her side, but the Larva might not have ever tried had Dolly continued to live, had her original plan come to fruition, had she given her life for Dolly's sake. Now with her crutch stolen away from her, the Larva needed to learn to walk again, on her own.
She reached up, pawing at the memento yet again, briefly seeking its comfort, before tucking it into her shirt, the pendant now resting near her heart, where it belonged. Set on abandoning her dependence she may be, but she would still never dare to let go. So long as she had her way, Dolly would always be with her, in body or spirit.
"...I think I'll start with what Dolly told me to do," she began again, standing up from where she had been sitting as she did so. "Maybe that's just me leaning on her for support again," she muttered, wistfully, "but it's my decision too. I can't rediscover what I want for myself if I die. The side bonus of fulfilling her last request is still nice, though."
The Larva pondered how she was leaving behind the false personality she had constructed to protect herself, shedding it like an old set of skin. The constant mania and hyperactivity would go with it, leaving just herself behind, the woman underneath the mask. By doing so, she would be forced to embrace her authentic, vulnerable self. The self that only Dolly had ever been allowed to see. It terrified her, to be taking her first steps without that protective layer disguising her true vulnerability, without Dolly by her side to hold her hand and tell her everything would be okay.
At least she had someone else to be by her side, now. She wouldn't be forced to walk this new path alone. Roxanne seemed intent on being her new support, as long as she needed it, and she was deeply grateful for that. Nobody, not even someone from her band, would be able to replace the special bond she had with Dolly, but they could still face this bleak world, together.
The Larva never understood Roxanne properly before all of this, but she was starting to understand her now. Roxanne had always struggled with self-realization, the desire to break free of the expectations placed on her and be who she truly wanted to be. The Larva had only ever been allowed small glimpses into who the real Roxanne was, her name being part of that, but it seemed to her that the person Roxanne was now was her true, authentic self. The Roxanne that she had always wanted to be, all along. Perhaps that was why she was so intent on sticking with the Larva now, despite their previous departure. Now they had something in common, their two journeys of self-discovery newly parallel and slowly intertwining.
She shuffled over to the decrepit entrance of the lighthouse, looking out of it at the bodies again. The fetid monument to mortality on the beach reminded her that there was still much besides her journey to consider. To begin with, after Dolly's passing, the status of Rhonda and Meka had not crossed her mind, until now. Surely they were fine, in the bunker that they had created together. They didn't need her, and if they did, they would surely find their way to her, like she had found her way to Roxanne.
Additionally, there was still the unresolved issue of who had murdered her beloved. She was still unsure if she wanted to seek vengeance for the butcher's transgression. No amount of torture she could inflict could bring back the dead, but it could perhaps bring her peace that she did not have. Surely, it was still something to consider for the future, but perhaps should not be given the highest priority just yet. She had Dolly's pendant by her chest, and her knife by her side, and those would be sufficient as constant reminders of what she had lost, and what she still had left to do. Perhaps they could even serve as reminders for everyone else she had lost too, like her dear, sweet Beryl.
Her eyes flitted back over to Roxanne, briefly, before staring back out into the rain and at the bodies. Perhaps they could even serve as reminders for everyone she still had left to lose, too.
Her gaze remained affixed to that spot for some time. The scale of the tragedy of this place was difficult for her to truly comprehend. She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, and for every loss she had experienced, there were a hundred of her other classmates experiencing the same. The cruelty inherent to this situation was profound, and so many of her classmates had fallen to participating in it, reveling in and perpetuating the cruelty just to buy themselves a little bit of extra time. Dolly's murderer, whoever they may be, was one of those people.
She closed her eyes, holding onto the frame of the door as she scrunched up her nose a bit in disgust. She still needed more time to think about what she was going to do, about who she was going to be, and she still needed more time to properly mourn Dolly's loss. Despite that, however, she also knew that she needed to take some time to rest. She wouldn't be able to continue at this rate, if she was just over-exerting her mental faculties.
Although, she still could not shake this new feeling, even if it was only temporary respite she needed. Already there had been so much cruelty, so many wrongs committed, and yet, nobody had already arisen to right those wrongs, to fight back against it all. There were people who needing protecting, people like Dolly that needed saving, and yet, it seemed like nobody was trying.
The Larva opened her eyes again, emitting a heavy sigh, before trudging over to the lighthouse steps, taking a seat in a position where she could see the entrance. Just for now, she needed to focus on what was right in front of her, and not weighty concepts of right and wrong. She could return to that after making sure she did not repeat the same mistakes she had already made.
"I think we should stay here, until the rain stops, Roxy," she stated, her speech lacking any kind of emotional flair. "Rain hurts visibility, which is good for sneaking around, but it isn't so great if we want to constantly watch our backs. Plus," she gestured to the entrance. "There's only one entrance to this place, so it'd be easy for us to take turns watching it, if you feel that would be necessary."
Just then, shortly after she had finished speaking, a new arrival appeared in the doorway, catching her by surprise. A friendly face, at least, and one that the Larva was surprisingly happy to see.
"Oh, uh!" She exclaimed, lacking any sort of elegance. "Hey there, Forrest."
Marcy was able to stand up on her own again. For how long, Roxanne didn’t know, but this was a start. Only time would tell how genuine her newfound strength was, but watching it flicker would be interesting in its own right. She could fan her flames, if need be.
“I don’t mind staying here for a bit.” She would have ordinarily chafed at making camp in a single place for too long, but she had been walking around since the announcement, and spending some time out of the relentless rain sounded nice, not that she would ever be truly dry or comfortable again.
Roxanne now had the freedom to define herself to be whoever she wanted to be. She no longer had the freedom to feel physically at ease. Give and take. If only she’d been able to negotiate, somehow.
There was a newcomer. Roxanne unslung the shotgun from her shoulder, holding it solidly in her hands. Not pointing, not threatening. Just present.
She didn’t really know Forrest, but she’d always envied her; even if she tried not to admit it to herself. The girl seemed like someone who was always able to just do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No expectations. No reputation to uphold, at least not the respectable kind. And what did she do with that freedom? Party herself into oblivion. Roxanne didn’t exactly look down on her - or anyone - for that, but it seemed like a waste. Maybe she was just annoyed that she’d never been in a situation where she’d even been offered a beer.
Those were high school concerns, though. Ridiculously petty. Something she’d meant to leave behind. They kept resurfacing, like drowned bodies under the water. She had to cling to the morbid, remember where she was, who she was.
“You know each other?” It did make sense that Forrest would be friends with Marcy’s old facade. Maybe there was something more to the other girl, too.
“I don’t mind staying here for a bit.” She would have ordinarily chafed at making camp in a single place for too long, but she had been walking around since the announcement, and spending some time out of the relentless rain sounded nice, not that she would ever be truly dry or comfortable again.
Roxanne now had the freedom to define herself to be whoever she wanted to be. She no longer had the freedom to feel physically at ease. Give and take. If only she’d been able to negotiate, somehow.
There was a newcomer. Roxanne unslung the shotgun from her shoulder, holding it solidly in her hands. Not pointing, not threatening. Just present.
She didn’t really know Forrest, but she’d always envied her; even if she tried not to admit it to herself. The girl seemed like someone who was always able to just do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No expectations. No reputation to uphold, at least not the respectable kind. And what did she do with that freedom? Party herself into oblivion. Roxanne didn’t exactly look down on her - or anyone - for that, but it seemed like a waste. Maybe she was just annoyed that she’d never been in a situation where she’d even been offered a beer.
Those were high school concerns, though. Ridiculously petty. Something she’d meant to leave behind. They kept resurfacing, like drowned bodies under the water. She had to cling to the morbid, remember where she was, who she was.
“You know each other?” It did make sense that Forrest would be friends with Marcy’s old facade. Maybe there was something more to the other girl, too.
No nickname was bad news. Something has happened, obviously. There was of course only so long you could hide yourself from the truth. Eventually death would come for you and the island would only be full of corpses, frozen in time at the moment of their demise. And you may not have wanted to think about it but eventually it would snatch away someone you cared about and it would be the only thing on your mind because it was unstoppable and inescapable. Time marched ever onwards and people died yo. Just try not to be one of the names read out each day and you were already ahead of the curve.
Anna had a shotgun and made a show of having it. It was a safety blanket that could also blow someone’s head off and Forrest had no interest in being the person who got gibbed. It didn’t matter if she planned to use it or not, it was there and obviously so. Like, what was she going to do? Bonk her with the cast? The message was clear and Forrest could read so it was no problem but it was still tone death, not that it mattered much. Anna got to make the rules because she had the biggest gun and that was how life worked now.
She asked a simple question that opened up some doorways of interaction. Although many of the options weren’t very enticing or logical, no matter how much fun saying ‘no fuck you!’ would have been. Instead she settled for the simple and easily used.
“Hi, yeah! We know each other.” Neutral words of greeting and ignoring the fact she was a future corpse talking to other future corpses. Unless she really made a change at least but hey that’s what she had Andy or Abe for. That’s what she could have also had Anna for guessed another A name that she had met at a good time. Ignoring the fact time wasn’t ever good on their little island home. Man she hoped she looked enough of a mess to be believable. Inquisitive look around the ruins that claimed to be a lighthouse like she claimed to be a person. Look at the shore...
Ah.
Ignore corpse of friend and keep going because everything is fine and everybody dies.
“What’re y’all doing?”
Anna had a shotgun and made a show of having it. It was a safety blanket that could also blow someone’s head off and Forrest had no interest in being the person who got gibbed. It didn’t matter if she planned to use it or not, it was there and obviously so. Like, what was she going to do? Bonk her with the cast? The message was clear and Forrest could read so it was no problem but it was still tone death, not that it mattered much. Anna got to make the rules because she had the biggest gun and that was how life worked now.
She asked a simple question that opened up some doorways of interaction. Although many of the options weren’t very enticing or logical, no matter how much fun saying ‘no fuck you!’ would have been. Instead she settled for the simple and easily used.
“Hi, yeah! We know each other.” Neutral words of greeting and ignoring the fact she was a future corpse talking to other future corpses. Unless she really made a change at least but hey that’s what she had Andy or Abe for. That’s what she could have also had Anna for guessed another A name that she had met at a good time. Ignoring the fact time wasn’t ever good on their little island home. Man she hoped she looked enough of a mess to be believable. Inquisitive look around the ruins that claimed to be a lighthouse like she claimed to be a person. Look at the shore...
Ah.
Ignore corpse of friend and keep going because everything is fine and everybody dies.
“What’re y’all doing?”
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Everything considered, Forrest's question was quite humorous, given the nature of the situation they were in. The Drifter wanted to give her a simple answer and just say that they were surviving, but that wasn't entirely correct. The Drifter had been dead from the moment she arrived, and this reality simply had yet to catch up to her in the present. Surviving was impossible, instead she was merely existing. Floating from place to place, trying to find answers as to what she desired, now that her beloved's presence was lost to her forever.
She did not believe that either of those answers would satisfy Forrest, however.
Forrest had always been a relatively cheerful type for the entire time that the Drifter had known her. She was energetic in a way that was real, not like the fake mania that the Drifter had used as a shield. Indeed, even now, just from the body language of her entering this place, Forrest seemed to have her wits about her much more so than the Drifter did. To tear that away from her by vomiting out the philosophical prose running through the Drifter's head would be cruel.
No, instead of cruelty, Forrest was clearly someone in need of protection, even without the cast on her arm making that much extremely obvious. She was just like most of their fellows trapped on this island, innocent and undeserving of the horrible crime that had been inflicted upon all of them. A crime that was currently still being perpetuated by the monsters among them.
It was too bad, then, that the Drifter was such an inadequate protector. She would not be able to provide Forrest, or anyone for that matter, the safety they deserved, as much as she might desire that ability. However, despite all of that, she knew in her heart of hearts that she would still try, as fruitless as it would no doubt be in the end. She had to try to make up for the mistakes that were tearing her apart from the inside, somehow.
With that thought, she finally spoke, her tone rigid. "Roxy and I were just talking. We had just decided to camp out here until the rain passes. You're welcome to join us for the time being, if you would like."
As she finished speaking, the Drifter's thoughts turned to her father, and how he would feel about what she had just said. If he were here with her, he would no doubt tell her how asinine it was for her to have said that. He had always been the paranoid type, having previously taught her numerous means of self defense to, in his mind, prepare her for potential assailants that could threaten her later in her life. In this situation, he would have no doubt taken the cautious stance and told Forrest to leave, perhaps even using force to make sure it happened.
The Drifter had always believed him to be foolish for this behavior, having significantly more trust in the world around her than he did, but as of the last few days she had found herself unwittingly adopting some of his anxious mindset, with the rapidly deteriorating conditions of this place playing well with those neurotic tendencies. Despite this, she still believed him to ultimately be in the wrong, however. She thought that most people were good-natured at heart, and she was not about to let this place prove her wrong or corrupt her to the point that she would abandon that idea.
Extending her trust towards Forrest was a part of that. Forrest was not on her list of homicidal maniacs, and she doubted that Forrest would ever come to be on it, given their past experiences and the current state of Forrest's injury. She had no reason to believe that Forrest was or would be a threat, and she would not allow herself to treat her like one, even for a moment.
Roxanne, however, might not feel the same way. Perhaps she would be like the Drifter's father, and dislike the idea of inviting an unknown quantity into their group. Perhaps she would be preoccupied with concerns of Forrest being a potential wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. Should these feelings arise, the Drifter would not know how to assuage them, as she had never before managed to quell them within her father, but she was willing to vouch for Forrest all the same, if it came to that.
The Drifter yawned, interrupting her thoughts. She briefly covered her mouth, as it began to dawn on her just how exhausted she was. She was worn ragged, both mentally and physically. She desperately needed some time to rest and recover from the morning's events, so she may begin to heal however much she could in the small amount of time she had left.
"I think," she began, another yawn interrupting her. "I need to take a nap."
She did not believe that either of those answers would satisfy Forrest, however.
Forrest had always been a relatively cheerful type for the entire time that the Drifter had known her. She was energetic in a way that was real, not like the fake mania that the Drifter had used as a shield. Indeed, even now, just from the body language of her entering this place, Forrest seemed to have her wits about her much more so than the Drifter did. To tear that away from her by vomiting out the philosophical prose running through the Drifter's head would be cruel.
No, instead of cruelty, Forrest was clearly someone in need of protection, even without the cast on her arm making that much extremely obvious. She was just like most of their fellows trapped on this island, innocent and undeserving of the horrible crime that had been inflicted upon all of them. A crime that was currently still being perpetuated by the monsters among them.
It was too bad, then, that the Drifter was such an inadequate protector. She would not be able to provide Forrest, or anyone for that matter, the safety they deserved, as much as she might desire that ability. However, despite all of that, she knew in her heart of hearts that she would still try, as fruitless as it would no doubt be in the end. She had to try to make up for the mistakes that were tearing her apart from the inside, somehow.
With that thought, she finally spoke, her tone rigid. "Roxy and I were just talking. We had just decided to camp out here until the rain passes. You're welcome to join us for the time being, if you would like."
As she finished speaking, the Drifter's thoughts turned to her father, and how he would feel about what she had just said. If he were here with her, he would no doubt tell her how asinine it was for her to have said that. He had always been the paranoid type, having previously taught her numerous means of self defense to, in his mind, prepare her for potential assailants that could threaten her later in her life. In this situation, he would have no doubt taken the cautious stance and told Forrest to leave, perhaps even using force to make sure it happened.
The Drifter had always believed him to be foolish for this behavior, having significantly more trust in the world around her than he did, but as of the last few days she had found herself unwittingly adopting some of his anxious mindset, with the rapidly deteriorating conditions of this place playing well with those neurotic tendencies. Despite this, she still believed him to ultimately be in the wrong, however. She thought that most people were good-natured at heart, and she was not about to let this place prove her wrong or corrupt her to the point that she would abandon that idea.
Extending her trust towards Forrest was a part of that. Forrest was not on her list of homicidal maniacs, and she doubted that Forrest would ever come to be on it, given their past experiences and the current state of Forrest's injury. She had no reason to believe that Forrest was or would be a threat, and she would not allow herself to treat her like one, even for a moment.
Roxanne, however, might not feel the same way. Perhaps she would be like the Drifter's father, and dislike the idea of inviting an unknown quantity into their group. Perhaps she would be preoccupied with concerns of Forrest being a potential wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. Should these feelings arise, the Drifter would not know how to assuage them, as she had never before managed to quell them within her father, but she was willing to vouch for Forrest all the same, if it came to that.
The Drifter yawned, interrupting her thoughts. She briefly covered her mouth, as it began to dawn on her just how exhausted she was. She was worn ragged, both mentally and physically. She desperately needed some time to rest and recover from the morning's events, so she may begin to heal however much she could in the small amount of time she had left.
"I think," she began, another yawn interrupting her. "I need to take a nap."
“Rest well,” Roxanne said, only glancing briefly in Marcy’s direction before returning her gaze to meet Forrest’s. “I’m wide awake, so I won’t have a problem keeping watch.” Unsubtle, but what use did any of them have for subtly anymore? Every moment spent obsessing over the minutiae of expressions or word choice was a moment wasted.
She knew Marcy had to be completely drained - after having her heart clawed open, after desperately clutching a single saved piece of it in her hands in order to throw it into the reforging fire - but Roxanne was still surprised at how willing the girl was to simply lie down and pass out in the presence of someone she hadn’t had the chance to truly meet. Even discounting the obvious safety concerns, sleep felt inherently treacherous - every breath they took was a gift that delirious unconsciousness could only waste.
Roxanne leaned against the wall opposite their guest, shotgun propped against the ground like a violent parody of a cane. Forrest was unarmed and down an arm - ‘disarmed’ felt like a joke the old Marcy might have made - but even with her front of friendliness, anything could be lurking behind those eyes, beneath the fluorescent hair. On first glance it had felt strange that she was alone, given her evident popularity, but partying with someone was hardly a bond that’d wouldn’t be washed away by blood. How many true friends did Forrest have?
Roxanne held power in her hands, so she had the luxury of being able to indulge her curiosity in relative safety. If the girl did turn out to be a legitimate threat, that’d be fascinating enough to make up for the uncertainty of surviving such a reveal.
“If you’re gonna stick around, we might as well talk. What’ve you been up to?” She hoped Forrest wouldn’t waste her time with vague, sugar-coated small talk.
She knew Marcy had to be completely drained - after having her heart clawed open, after desperately clutching a single saved piece of it in her hands in order to throw it into the reforging fire - but Roxanne was still surprised at how willing the girl was to simply lie down and pass out in the presence of someone she hadn’t had the chance to truly meet. Even discounting the obvious safety concerns, sleep felt inherently treacherous - every breath they took was a gift that delirious unconsciousness could only waste.
Roxanne leaned against the wall opposite their guest, shotgun propped against the ground like a violent parody of a cane. Forrest was unarmed and down an arm - ‘disarmed’ felt like a joke the old Marcy might have made - but even with her front of friendliness, anything could be lurking behind those eyes, beneath the fluorescent hair. On first glance it had felt strange that she was alone, given her evident popularity, but partying with someone was hardly a bond that’d wouldn’t be washed away by blood. How many true friends did Forrest have?
Roxanne held power in her hands, so she had the luxury of being able to indulge her curiosity in relative safety. If the girl did turn out to be a legitimate threat, that’d be fascinating enough to make up for the uncertainty of surviving such a reveal.
“If you’re gonna stick around, we might as well talk. What’ve you been up to?” She hoped Forrest wouldn’t waste her time with vague, sugar-coated small talk.
An offer to stay, yeah sure why not, not like she had anything else to do other than walk around and die. She supposed part of that time could have been spent gazing at her navel judging her time alive and what the great beyond would bring to her or even if there even was anything to see there. Like was their light or darkness? Who honestly knew, she guessed those people that died and came back to life "knew" with air quotes because did they really know? Did they even really count as dead dead? They came back and common knowledge was that death was permanent, you know? Permanent death. Permadeath. Oh shit, she was in the roguelike of life. But she was getting distracted, who really gave a fuck? Not her. Death existed, cool, great, thanks for joining the party bro. Take a seat, remove the mask, have a drink, songs should be banging until 2am or until the neighbors tell us to turn it down or they're gonna call the cops. Then we'll turn it down until they fall asleep before ramping it back up, haha suckers. But hey not getting the ol' pnuemonia , wait shit, pneumonia, sounded good to her. Shelter was shelter and all the corpses could keep each warm and hey they were all going into the same mass grave anyway so what did it matter?
Marcy went for a nap because not much else to do. Hitting the fast-forward button on your day, skipping to the next chapter seemed valid. What was the worst that could happen? You die? That just left her alone with Anna and she didn't know Anna like at all. She didn't see that changing in the time they spent together. She took a post on the wall, shotgun propped up on the ground. Quiet, dignified, possessing all the power in the room. After all, Forrest possessed but a single-arm, a ball-gag and some handcuffs. There was only a small and specific list of options she possessed. Meanwhile, Anna had a gun, that fired shot, which if movies were to be believed would turn Forrest into spaghetti if it was used on her. So she understood where that feeling came from, she didn't, after all, come across as a THREAT. So when Anna from her relaxed spot on the wall and asked her a question Forrest obliged her with the truth because while she was a dumbass she wasn't a suicidal dumbass who didn't enjoy being in some shelter.
"Well, y'know did the usual waking up stuff, sure you did it to. But then I dropped this bad boy." She raised her daypack containing her supplies up in her hand and gave it a shake. "Off the lookout platform thing, then spent three days trying to find it with Meilin, Katie and Dane. Then we found a corpse and I got some news and ended up here."
There it was, all laid out, the rundown of the last days of her remaining life so far. What an epic tale. The stuff of myths. The question, once she had finished talking, became what exactly would Anna make of her story? She had the shotty, so she got to call the shots. But at the same time-wait would she even be able to use a shotgun one-handed. That was a twist. As Forrest's logic rushed to catch up with her train of thought she waited for a response.
Marcy went for a nap because not much else to do. Hitting the fast-forward button on your day, skipping to the next chapter seemed valid. What was the worst that could happen? You die? That just left her alone with Anna and she didn't know Anna like at all. She didn't see that changing in the time they spent together. She took a post on the wall, shotgun propped up on the ground. Quiet, dignified, possessing all the power in the room. After all, Forrest possessed but a single-arm, a ball-gag and some handcuffs. There was only a small and specific list of options she possessed. Meanwhile, Anna had a gun, that fired shot, which if movies were to be believed would turn Forrest into spaghetti if it was used on her. So she understood where that feeling came from, she didn't, after all, come across as a THREAT. So when Anna from her relaxed spot on the wall and asked her a question Forrest obliged her with the truth because while she was a dumbass she wasn't a suicidal dumbass who didn't enjoy being in some shelter.
"Well, y'know did the usual waking up stuff, sure you did it to. But then I dropped this bad boy." She raised her daypack containing her supplies up in her hand and gave it a shake. "Off the lookout platform thing, then spent three days trying to find it with Meilin, Katie and Dane. Then we found a corpse and I got some news and ended up here."
There it was, all laid out, the rundown of the last days of her remaining life so far. What an epic tale. The stuff of myths. The question, once she had finished talking, became what exactly would Anna make of her story? She had the shotty, so she got to call the shots. But at the same time-wait would she even be able to use a shotgun one-handed. That was a twist. As Forrest's logic rushed to catch up with her train of thought she waited for a response.
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
It didn't take long for the Fatigued to find a spot to lie down near the edge of the room. Her bag was quickly made to serve as a makeshift pillow, as she curled up on the hard, damp floor. The present lodgings weren't exactly pleasant, but anything was acceptable to her in her current state. She needed rest, and this place was not where she wanted to belong right now. She was required elsewhere, she wanted to be elsewhere. As far away from this awful island as possible, as distant from the current time as possible.
Her eyelids slid shut as she listened to the sound of conversation between Roxanne and Forrest. As her being slipped away from the realm of consciousness, her mind began to drift far from this wretched locale, to a place much more comfortable to her.
The Dreamer opened her eyes, finding herself resting in a much more comfortable place. The soft, queen-sized mattress cushioned her far better than hard concrete.
The immediate vicinity was a place quite familiar to her, yet at the same time, it was ever so slightly uncanny. Her girlfriend's bedroom had always been gothic and marginally disturbing in its decorum, but for some reason it was different. It was darker than normal. The walls and carpet were almost the same color as the Dreamer would expect them to be, but the hues were slightly off, as if they had been tampered with and minutely desaturated. The right furniture was there, in particular Dolly's bed and television looked exactly as they always have, but everything else was misplaced, rearranged just enough to be disquieting. It was quiet, like it usually was in her girlfriend's room, except for the sound coming from the television, next to the wall opposite the bed. It was a constant, uneven hissing, with accompanying static filling the television screen and illuminating the room somewhat.
Still, the Dreamer wasn't bothered by any of this. This was a safe place and a room she could trust with her whole heart, because it was Dolly's room. More importantly, her beloved was here with her, right in front of her on the bed, turned away. Her beautiful, flowing pig-tails were splayed out behind her, a few locks safely curled in the Dreamer's fingers.
She breathed in deeply, trying to catch a whiff of any familiar scents. To her surprise, the air in the room was surprisingly still. More importantly, it was quite damp, with no scents for her to experience. Still, the Dreamer was not discouraged. She reached out, wrapping her partner in a loving embrace.
"Dolly, this is so nice," she cheered. "It's been so long since we've been able to really snuggle like this."
"It's kind of exciting isn't it?"
In response to Dolly's voice, the color in the room seemingly began to drain, bit by bit, the world growing ever more gray. It was slow, ineffable, and unnoticeable.
"Yeah! It is," the Dreamer echoed, happily. "It's not every day that we can hang out in your room like this."
"I wish nobody could see us like this."
The television was much closer to the bed than before, sitting now at the foot of the bed, its hissing much louder, and its ever-changing screen illuminating the space around the Dreamer much more than before.
"Mhm," she replied, wistfully. "Just us together, sharing a moment, not having to worry about anyone watching. Being able to enjoy each other's company in peace, that's the best."
"You do make my day brighter, you know that?"
A new sound filled the room, seemingly from outside of it. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof. At first the sound was gentle, but then it quickly grew into the roar of a storm.
"Yeah, you make my day brighter too!" The Dreamer exclaimed, unperturbed by the noise. "Hell, without you around I might as well be stumbling around in the dark. I'd be good as dead!"
"You're not allowed to die for me."
The Dreamer blinked in surprise. In that instant of blindness, the television had moved, now just in front of where Dolly was laying, her face towards the screen. It was displaying some kind of black and white footage of them both on the bed. The Dreamer searched the area for any kind of camera watching them, but turned up nothing.
"Wait... what do you mean by that?" She said, turning back to her beloved, her voice betraying her sudden concern. "We're both fine! Neither of us have to die or anything."
"If anything happens to me, you have to live."
The Dreamer pulled her hands away from her girlfriend ever so briefly, unsure of how to react to all of this, only to notice that her palms came back stained, red and malodorous.
"Wh-what... the hell?" She spluttered, trying to wipe her hands off on her shirt, but no matter what she did, the stain wouldn't go away. "Dolly, what's going on?"
In response, all she heard was a faint choking noise, as the now gray walls of the room began to melt, the locale changing entirely to some kind of drab, generic dwelling, the sound of the rain on the roof growing even louder than before. Dolly was now laying in the floor in the middle of the room, still facing away from her. Suddenly, they were so, so very far away from each other. In her heart of hearts, she knew that time was of the essence, she needed to get to Dolly's side, right now.
The Dreamer ran towards Dolly as fast as she could, only to find herself getting further away, the space between them seeming to grow and grow, faster and faster. A pool of blood began to form underneath her girlfriend's prone body, forming a spiral out and away.
"Dolly!" The Dreamer screamed, in a panic. "Dolly, I'm here! I'm coming!"
She ran faster, and faster, and faster, but it didn't matter how hard she tried, she was never quick enough to close the gap between them. The color began to drain from Dolly's skin, and the Dreamer's newfound terror grew more and more fervent.
"Dolly, get up! Come back!"
She screamed for help, but there was nobody there to help her. She screamed for Dolly to hold on, but there was nothing for her to hold on to. She begged for her girlfriend's life, but there was no life left to beg for.
The Dreamer threw her arm forward, desperately reaching for her beloved. Her ears began to ring as she ran, drowning out the sound of her footsteps, the sound of the rain, and the sound of her desperate cries.
Then, when there was nothing left but the constant ring, two thunderclaps rang out, and the world was torn asunder.
The Restless awoke in a terror-stricken panic, jolting upwards from where she had been laying on the lighthouse floor. Her breathing was fast and labored as her head twisted around, her eyes scanning her surroundings; fingers clawing for something that did not exist, quiet, panicked muttering escaping her lips.
"Come back... come back..."
The realization of her loss washed over her once again. The fact that Dolly was well and truly gone, that all of this was not in fact some kind of bad dream. Fresh tears wet her cheeks as she wept anew, wishing that all this could be undone; that this reality of hers wasn't the true one, because that was all she had left. Bargaining with fate to turn the wheel, change this course, undo what had already been set in stone.
She curled up into a ball, unable to handle the resurgence of her grief. Before she could get settled, the horrid sound signalling the beginnings of the newest announcements began to play, and the Restless realized that she had slept for many, many hours. She needed to get herself together, if only for a few minutes.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her list and her pencil, and steeled herself for what was to come.
Her eyelids slid shut as she listened to the sound of conversation between Roxanne and Forrest. As her being slipped away from the realm of consciousness, her mind began to drift far from this wretched locale, to a place much more comfortable to her.
A Dream
The Dreamer opened her eyes, finding herself resting in a much more comfortable place. The soft, queen-sized mattress cushioned her far better than hard concrete.
The immediate vicinity was a place quite familiar to her, yet at the same time, it was ever so slightly uncanny. Her girlfriend's bedroom had always been gothic and marginally disturbing in its decorum, but for some reason it was different. It was darker than normal. The walls and carpet were almost the same color as the Dreamer would expect them to be, but the hues were slightly off, as if they had been tampered with and minutely desaturated. The right furniture was there, in particular Dolly's bed and television looked exactly as they always have, but everything else was misplaced, rearranged just enough to be disquieting. It was quiet, like it usually was in her girlfriend's room, except for the sound coming from the television, next to the wall opposite the bed. It was a constant, uneven hissing, with accompanying static filling the television screen and illuminating the room somewhat.
Still, the Dreamer wasn't bothered by any of this. This was a safe place and a room she could trust with her whole heart, because it was Dolly's room. More importantly, her beloved was here with her, right in front of her on the bed, turned away. Her beautiful, flowing pig-tails were splayed out behind her, a few locks safely curled in the Dreamer's fingers.
She breathed in deeply, trying to catch a whiff of any familiar scents. To her surprise, the air in the room was surprisingly still. More importantly, it was quite damp, with no scents for her to experience. Still, the Dreamer was not discouraged. She reached out, wrapping her partner in a loving embrace.
"Dolly, this is so nice," she cheered. "It's been so long since we've been able to really snuggle like this."
"It's kind of exciting isn't it?"
In response to Dolly's voice, the color in the room seemingly began to drain, bit by bit, the world growing ever more gray. It was slow, ineffable, and unnoticeable.
"Yeah! It is," the Dreamer echoed, happily. "It's not every day that we can hang out in your room like this."
"I wish nobody could see us like this."
The television was much closer to the bed than before, sitting now at the foot of the bed, its hissing much louder, and its ever-changing screen illuminating the space around the Dreamer much more than before.
"Mhm," she replied, wistfully. "Just us together, sharing a moment, not having to worry about anyone watching. Being able to enjoy each other's company in peace, that's the best."
"You do make my day brighter, you know that?"
A new sound filled the room, seemingly from outside of it. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the roof. At first the sound was gentle, but then it quickly grew into the roar of a storm.
"Yeah, you make my day brighter too!" The Dreamer exclaimed, unperturbed by the noise. "Hell, without you around I might as well be stumbling around in the dark. I'd be good as dead!"
"You're not allowed to die for me."
The Dreamer blinked in surprise. In that instant of blindness, the television had moved, now just in front of where Dolly was laying, her face towards the screen. It was displaying some kind of black and white footage of them both on the bed. The Dreamer searched the area for any kind of camera watching them, but turned up nothing.
"Wait... what do you mean by that?" She said, turning back to her beloved, her voice betraying her sudden concern. "We're both fine! Neither of us have to die or anything."
"If anything happens to me, you have to live."
The Dreamer pulled her hands away from her girlfriend ever so briefly, unsure of how to react to all of this, only to notice that her palms came back stained, red and malodorous.
"Wh-what... the hell?" She spluttered, trying to wipe her hands off on her shirt, but no matter what she did, the stain wouldn't go away. "Dolly, what's going on?"
In response, all she heard was a faint choking noise, as the now gray walls of the room began to melt, the locale changing entirely to some kind of drab, generic dwelling, the sound of the rain on the roof growing even louder than before. Dolly was now laying in the floor in the middle of the room, still facing away from her. Suddenly, they were so, so very far away from each other. In her heart of hearts, she knew that time was of the essence, she needed to get to Dolly's side, right now.
The Dreamer ran towards Dolly as fast as she could, only to find herself getting further away, the space between them seeming to grow and grow, faster and faster. A pool of blood began to form underneath her girlfriend's prone body, forming a spiral out and away.
"Dolly!" The Dreamer screamed, in a panic. "Dolly, I'm here! I'm coming!"
She ran faster, and faster, and faster, but it didn't matter how hard she tried, she was never quick enough to close the gap between them. The color began to drain from Dolly's skin, and the Dreamer's newfound terror grew more and more fervent.
"Dolly, get up! Come back!"
She screamed for help, but there was nobody there to help her. She screamed for Dolly to hold on, but there was nothing for her to hold on to. She begged for her girlfriend's life, but there was no life left to beg for.
The Dreamer threw her arm forward, desperately reaching for her beloved. Her ears began to ring as she ran, drowning out the sound of her footsteps, the sound of the rain, and the sound of her desperate cries.
Then, when there was nothing left but the constant ring, two thunderclaps rang out, and the world was torn asunder.
The Restless awoke in a terror-stricken panic, jolting upwards from where she had been laying on the lighthouse floor. Her breathing was fast and labored as her head twisted around, her eyes scanning her surroundings; fingers clawing for something that did not exist, quiet, panicked muttering escaping her lips.
"Come back... come back..."
The realization of her loss washed over her once again. The fact that Dolly was well and truly gone, that all of this was not in fact some kind of bad dream. Fresh tears wet her cheeks as she wept anew, wishing that all this could be undone; that this reality of hers wasn't the true one, because that was all she had left. Bargaining with fate to turn the wheel, change this course, undo what had already been set in stone.
She curled up into a ball, unable to handle the resurgence of her grief. Before she could get settled, the horrid sound signalling the beginnings of the newest announcements began to play, and the Restless realized that she had slept for many, many hours. She needed to get herself together, if only for a few minutes.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her list and her pencil, and steeled herself for what was to come.