((Bryan continued from Setbacks))
Mud in his hand, Bryan finished applying the final cross to 'MEET IN THE TOWN' on the wall of one of the houses. Two left facing arrows indicatied where the message was meant to signal. He took a step back, then another couple, trying to see how much it caught the eye from a distance. Decently so. A change in wind could see the rain falling directly onto it though, so, maybe it would need maintaining later. He'd already hit up a couple of other walls so far this morning, creating an arrow funnel. Hopefully, people weren't going to view that as a trap. Hope was what he had right now.
Him and Ashlynn had split up for now; definitely a gamble, but a necessary one to cover the amount of ground that marking out the area demanded. Besides, if they ran into other people, that'd give them the opportunity to spread the word more easily. Bryan had to hope—there it was again—that it'd work out for them. Something. Something was better than nothing, and this something was better than the other something which was killing to survive. Anything was better than that. Bryan would pointlessly die a hundred times for the sake of not turning into that kind of monster.
Was what he told himself. Was how pushed away his family's faces. Could he cause them that grief a hundred times?
He closed his eyes, flicked mud off his hand, and knocked on the next door.
"Anyone home?"
Valediction
PM if you really need
The lights were off, but someone was indeed home.
The light had gone off everywhere, not just within the house. Electricity had departed the island long ago, save for the occasional thunderclap and strike of lightning that would come along with it. The rainstorm hadn't gotten to that point yet, though the ominous-looking clouds that filled the sky were a close parallel to the feelings from the occupant within the house.
The light had departed from his mind and instead, a black hole sat in its place.
Just inside of the small house, a crossbow sat upon the table, supplies from a duffel bag strewn overtop of the table, some even spilling onto the floor. Water spilled around the legs of the chair and down onto the floor, the majority of it coming from the waterlogged pack and the still very damp occupant seated at the table.
Looking deep into the duffel bag, it seemed as though the boy was searching for something. Indeed, in a manner of speaking, he was. For the first time in his life, the boy searched for anything to give his own existence meaning, and while he knew it wasn't likely to come at the bottom of a terrorist-issued duffel bag, he wasn't sure where else to look.
Here came someone from outside — perhaps it was a sign. From whom?
From no one.
That much was now clear.
He was lost, and had been for some time. It felt wrong; everything all at once. His entire life. This situation, the feelings in his mind, the misery that felt. It was all wrong. His despair was a force of nature, pulling everything good he could conjure into a black darkness that he saw no escape from. Part of him wanted to tell whomever was outside to leave, to go away, to find help or help themselves. That would be selfless, and that was always how he had believed himself to be. He had always prided in exuding an aura of selflessness, putting others above and beyond his own needs.
Enough of that. He was lost, and needed help. For once, it was time for him to try and help himself.
"Come in," Claudeson's hollow voice called out from within.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Even Jesus got his crown in front of a crowd))
The light had gone off everywhere, not just within the house. Electricity had departed the island long ago, save for the occasional thunderclap and strike of lightning that would come along with it. The rainstorm hadn't gotten to that point yet, though the ominous-looking clouds that filled the sky were a close parallel to the feelings from the occupant within the house.
The light had departed from his mind and instead, a black hole sat in its place.
Just inside of the small house, a crossbow sat upon the table, supplies from a duffel bag strewn overtop of the table, some even spilling onto the floor. Water spilled around the legs of the chair and down onto the floor, the majority of it coming from the waterlogged pack and the still very damp occupant seated at the table.
Looking deep into the duffel bag, it seemed as though the boy was searching for something. Indeed, in a manner of speaking, he was. For the first time in his life, the boy searched for anything to give his own existence meaning, and while he knew it wasn't likely to come at the bottom of a terrorist-issued duffel bag, he wasn't sure where else to look.
Here came someone from outside — perhaps it was a sign. From whom?
From no one.
That much was now clear.
He was lost, and had been for some time. It felt wrong; everything all at once. His entire life. This situation, the feelings in his mind, the misery that felt. It was all wrong. His despair was a force of nature, pulling everything good he could conjure into a black darkness that he saw no escape from. Part of him wanted to tell whomever was outside to leave, to go away, to find help or help themselves. That would be selfless, and that was always how he had believed himself to be. He had always prided in exuding an aura of selflessness, putting others above and beyond his own needs.
Enough of that. He was lost, and needed help. For once, it was time for him to try and help himself.
"Come in," Claudeson's hollow voice called out from within.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Even Jesus got his crown in front of a crowd))
Someone was in there.
...
Someone was in there!
Wow, actually wow. It'd become so rote to Bryan to knock, no response, move along, that for a second his brain didn't quite catch up to what the next step was. Right! People! Finding people and talking to them about his and Ashlynn's plan! That was the whole point!
Bryan took a second, cranked down on the excitement so that he didn't spook whoever was in there with overenthusiasm. It'd be a damn shame to mess up his pitch because he came on too strong, especially now that the idea had grown up into an O-fficial plan. He had to wonder whether if he'd come in with this level of preparedness if Alex and Nia would have acted differently. Maybe. If—when—he saw them again, he'd have more to show them, would be able to give them something substantial to deserve their faith.
Anyway, anyway, task at hand.
Bryan cracked open the door and stepped inside.
"Howdy in here. It's Bryan. Everything okay?"
Well, no, but you still had to ask.
...
Someone was in there!
Wow, actually wow. It'd become so rote to Bryan to knock, no response, move along, that for a second his brain didn't quite catch up to what the next step was. Right! People! Finding people and talking to them about his and Ashlynn's plan! That was the whole point!
Bryan took a second, cranked down on the excitement so that he didn't spook whoever was in there with overenthusiasm. It'd be a damn shame to mess up his pitch because he came on too strong, especially now that the idea had grown up into an O-fficial plan. He had to wonder whether if he'd come in with this level of preparedness if Alex and Nia would have acted differently. Maybe. If—when—he saw them again, he'd have more to show them, would be able to give them something substantial to deserve their faith.
Anyway, anyway, task at hand.
Bryan cracked open the door and stepped inside.
"Howdy in here. It's Bryan. Everything okay?"
Well, no, but you still had to ask.
Everything was so far from being okay that Claudeson wasn't sure how exactly to answer the query. As the door slipped open and the voice and the name belonged to a face, he stared, his eyes bloodshot from the tears that he no longer possessed. Bryan. The name was familiar and he knew him; he'd met him many times before, yet he felt as though he were staring at a stranger. His hands wrapping around what he'd been aimlessly searching for within his pack, Claudeson let the bag drop to the ground with a soft thud. His mind felt as though it were searching through clay for an answer.
Bryan.
Vague recollections floated through his mind. Sports. running. Helping others. Laughing. Bryan was kind. Bryan was the kind of person who least deserved this kind of hell. None of them deserved it — a sentiment that he wasn't entirely sure he believed anymore — but someone like Bryan least of all. This was a good person, someone devoid of malice and bereft of guile.
"No," he whispered. "Nothing is okay. I do not know if anything will be okay, ever again."
Raising his left hand to the table, he set a tin of crackers down with a metallic clank. They were rations, barely enough calories to sustain anyone for any amount of time. They were all biding time. They were all intended to suffer.
There was no God here.
There was nothing.
Nothing except Bryan, Claudeson, and the tin of crackers.
He looked up, his eyes haunted, his face straining against the misery that threatened to drip from every pore in his body.
"I don't know what to do," his lip quivered, and he said nothing more.
Bryan.
Vague recollections floated through his mind. Sports. running. Helping others. Laughing. Bryan was kind. Bryan was the kind of person who least deserved this kind of hell. None of them deserved it — a sentiment that he wasn't entirely sure he believed anymore — but someone like Bryan least of all. This was a good person, someone devoid of malice and bereft of guile.
"No," he whispered. "Nothing is okay. I do not know if anything will be okay, ever again."
Raising his left hand to the table, he set a tin of crackers down with a metallic clank. They were rations, barely enough calories to sustain anyone for any amount of time. They were all biding time. They were all intended to suffer.
There was no God here.
There was nothing.
Nothing except Bryan, Claudeson, and the tin of crackers.
He looked up, his eyes haunted, his face straining against the misery that threatened to drip from every pore in his body.
"I don't know what to do," his lip quivered, and he said nothing more.
Oh. Claudeson looked awful.
Bryan took a couple of steps into the building, letting his concern show on his face, but doing his best not to let that drift into shock. He wasn't used to seeing Claude looking like this; wasn't used to seeing anyone look this darn broken. Bryan couldn't stand that the first thought which rose to mind was that it was only what should be expected. No, this shouldn't be an expectation. A croak, red, raw eyes, with no purpose and no hope. This wasn't right. Not one bit.
The answer he gave to Bryan's question was right in line with his slumped shoulders and the despair written all across his expression.
Without thinking for another moment, Bryan walked across the room over to Claudeson, trying a smile on for size with all the sympathy he could muster. Thoughts of the plan fell away. That could come later. Now was for compassion, being the support that the guy so clearly needed. It was the right thing to do. He rested a hand on the table and leaned down, putting himself at eye level with Claudeson, who seemed almost stooped with the weight of everything.
"Hey," he said gently. "Wanna talk about it? Or just yell? Anything. I'm here, okay? I'm not going nowhere."
Bryan took a couple of steps into the building, letting his concern show on his face, but doing his best not to let that drift into shock. He wasn't used to seeing Claude looking like this; wasn't used to seeing anyone look this darn broken. Bryan couldn't stand that the first thought which rose to mind was that it was only what should be expected. No, this shouldn't be an expectation. A croak, red, raw eyes, with no purpose and no hope. This wasn't right. Not one bit.
The answer he gave to Bryan's question was right in line with his slumped shoulders and the despair written all across his expression.
Without thinking for another moment, Bryan walked across the room over to Claudeson, trying a smile on for size with all the sympathy he could muster. Thoughts of the plan fell away. That could come later. Now was for compassion, being the support that the guy so clearly needed. It was the right thing to do. He rested a hand on the table and leaned down, putting himself at eye level with Claudeson, who seemed almost stooped with the weight of everything.
"Hey," he said gently. "Wanna talk about it? Or just yell? Anything. I'm here, okay? I'm not going nowhere."
Bryan acted the way that he should have; the way that anyone still holding on to their humanity would have - he approached the situation with empathy. It was that empathy that Claudeson admired as a trait in Bryan. He would always look at the person before him through the filter of what he could do to help them, rather than what helping them could potentially do for him. Such a filter was rare, and few students in his class possessed it. Bryan was one. He was another..
Was he?
It hit him all at once - amidst the questions that he desperately didn't want to ask, underneath of the realizations that he was slowly approaching, one further quandary rose from the ashes. Was he truly as selfless as he'd always thought himself to be? Had he always truly acted in service to God, as his parents had taught and his conscience had always informed him?
Maybe it was all a lie. Perhaps he'd been lying to himself the entire time.
Had he been aware - or worse, had he known all along and chosen to ignore what he felt, deep down in his heart?
"None of us are going anywhere," Claudeson echoed Bryan's words, his voice still falling flat amid the squalor of the abandoned house. "This is it. For everyone. Our stories shall end here, a footnote in someone's history book."
Half-heartedly pounding his left fist down upon the table with barely enough force to make a sound, he closed his eyes, unable to look upon anything without it causing him despair.
"What next, Bryan? Our stories come to a close, and then what?"
Claudeson opened his eyes, and finally, tears had reappeared, his bloodshot eyes glistening in the dim interior light.
"My parents always instructed me in the ways of the church. That God would have a place for those who were worthy once we pass from this life to the next," his voice cracked. "In the end, our souls would be granted eternal salvation next to Christ."
Wiping his cheek, he set his left hand back down and looked at the tin of crackers.
"What kind of God would allow," he gestured at the room, his expression pained, "all of this to happen under His watch?"
Cheek trembling, more tears leaked from his eyes.
"How could he— how could there be—"
Stammering for a moment, Claudeson found himself unable to complete the thought, and instead, began to weep. The insinuation was clear; held out in clear view for Bryan to behold.
Was he?
It hit him all at once - amidst the questions that he desperately didn't want to ask, underneath of the realizations that he was slowly approaching, one further quandary rose from the ashes. Was he truly as selfless as he'd always thought himself to be? Had he always truly acted in service to God, as his parents had taught and his conscience had always informed him?
Maybe it was all a lie. Perhaps he'd been lying to himself the entire time.
Had he been aware - or worse, had he known all along and chosen to ignore what he felt, deep down in his heart?
"None of us are going anywhere," Claudeson echoed Bryan's words, his voice still falling flat amid the squalor of the abandoned house. "This is it. For everyone. Our stories shall end here, a footnote in someone's history book."
Half-heartedly pounding his left fist down upon the table with barely enough force to make a sound, he closed his eyes, unable to look upon anything without it causing him despair.
"What next, Bryan? Our stories come to a close, and then what?"
Claudeson opened his eyes, and finally, tears had reappeared, his bloodshot eyes glistening in the dim interior light.
"My parents always instructed me in the ways of the church. That God would have a place for those who were worthy once we pass from this life to the next," his voice cracked. "In the end, our souls would be granted eternal salvation next to Christ."
Wiping his cheek, he set his left hand back down and looked at the tin of crackers.
"What kind of God would allow," he gestured at the room, his expression pained, "all of this to happen under His watch?"
Cheek trembling, more tears leaked from his eyes.
"How could he— how could there be—"
Stammering for a moment, Claudeson found himself unable to complete the thought, and instead, began to weep. The insinuation was clear; held out in clear view for Bryan to behold.
Claude was... he was about as bad as he looked. Every word out of his mouth made that clearer and clearer. It twisted him up on the inside. This wasn't Claude, this shouldn't be Claude.
He was just crushed, completely and totally crushed under the weight of here, the situation. It was sobering, sombre and, well, at the same time...
At the same time it hardened Bryan's resolve deep inside. Seeing someone he knew pushed to this kind of breaking point, lower than ever before, and it made it obvious that this was what he needed to be here for. Just like he said, a shoulder, a confidant, whichever.
"That doesn't mean we don't get to choose, Claude," Bryan said gently. "If this is the end of the line, we still get to pick, y'know?"
Maybe Claude didn't know. Bryan wasn't even sure where the conviction came from, but he sincerely believed it. This was awful in every way but all the way till the end, they had that choice, to do right, to be right, to go out trying.
Bryan wasn't a super religious guy, but he prayed every so often. Hey big guy, if y'all could keep an eye out on my brother, I'd appreciate it. Hey lord, been a minute but just wanted to let you know I've been thinking about you. Hey, if there is a plan, then please help Eric and Char and Otis through it all. Thanks.
He hadn't thought about that question since being here, which was maybe odd but, well, invoking him didn't feel right. He had to show a little faith that things would be okay back home. He had hope, which was all he could give while a million miles from his family.
"He's been with you so far, right? All we can do is just trust that the man upstairs is still looking out for us, here or in the next life," Bryan put a hand on Claude's shoulder. "We're not finished just yet, buddy."
He was just crushed, completely and totally crushed under the weight of here, the situation. It was sobering, sombre and, well, at the same time...
At the same time it hardened Bryan's resolve deep inside. Seeing someone he knew pushed to this kind of breaking point, lower than ever before, and it made it obvious that this was what he needed to be here for. Just like he said, a shoulder, a confidant, whichever.
"That doesn't mean we don't get to choose, Claude," Bryan said gently. "If this is the end of the line, we still get to pick, y'know?"
Maybe Claude didn't know. Bryan wasn't even sure where the conviction came from, but he sincerely believed it. This was awful in every way but all the way till the end, they had that choice, to do right, to be right, to go out trying.
Bryan wasn't a super religious guy, but he prayed every so often. Hey big guy, if y'all could keep an eye out on my brother, I'd appreciate it. Hey lord, been a minute but just wanted to let you know I've been thinking about you. Hey, if there is a plan, then please help Eric and Char and Otis through it all. Thanks.
He hadn't thought about that question since being here, which was maybe odd but, well, invoking him didn't feel right. He had to show a little faith that things would be okay back home. He had hope, which was all he could give while a million miles from his family.
"He's been with you so far, right? All we can do is just trust that the man upstairs is still looking out for us, here or in the next life," Bryan put a hand on Claude's shoulder. "We're not finished just yet, buddy."
"Has he?" The words came from Claudeson with an almost pitiful weakness. "Has he truly been by my side all along?"
Feeling the hand upon his shoulder, he flinched under the weight of expectation. He knew what kind of a reputation and a persona that he'd created for himself throughout his time on this planet. God and spirituality was always the most important thing in mind; every action done with a purpose and every thought with the Lord in mind. He had always tried to not let his faith override his personality — being the kind of 'Jesus freak' or 'bible-thumper' was never how he wanted to be known. Claudeson had always just assumed that people knew him as someone whose faith mattered, yet was always there to help. Whatever he'd do, be it man the door at a party or volunteer with the homeless in Chattanooga, God was by his side.
In any other time, he would have relented, agreed with Bryan.
But this was not any other time.
"I've tried to pray; I've tried to be a good person, Bryan. I really have," his face crumpled, his breathy exhale almost overshadowing the words. "Yet for whatever reason, try as I might? God has turned his back on me."
That hurt. Saying it out loud, admitting it to someone else, it was agonizing. Bryan was essentially acting as his Father Confessor, allowing him to bare his soul, to understand why and how he was in so much pain. It should have given him solace. It should have been exactly what Claudeson needed to snap himself out of this.
"He sends me no sign, he gives me no answer to any of my prayers. Worst of all?"
As his left fist slammed against the table, the small tin of crackers jumped slightly, the frustration boiling over and manifesting itself in both sound and action. A small puff of dust hung in the air, insisting upon being witness to his crisis.
"I feel nothing. I have tried so very hard to do good, to act in the name of the Father, and yet — he turns a blind eye."
Allowing his fist back and gently pounding his forehead, his eyes closed as a few more tears silently fell from his face. Opening them again, he looked at Bryan with true despair.
"Does he turn a blind eye, or — Bryan, was I wrong? Have I been misled? Is my faith — was it all a lie?"
Feeling the hand upon his shoulder, he flinched under the weight of expectation. He knew what kind of a reputation and a persona that he'd created for himself throughout his time on this planet. God and spirituality was always the most important thing in mind; every action done with a purpose and every thought with the Lord in mind. He had always tried to not let his faith override his personality — being the kind of 'Jesus freak' or 'bible-thumper' was never how he wanted to be known. Claudeson had always just assumed that people knew him as someone whose faith mattered, yet was always there to help. Whatever he'd do, be it man the door at a party or volunteer with the homeless in Chattanooga, God was by his side.
In any other time, he would have relented, agreed with Bryan.
But this was not any other time.
"I've tried to pray; I've tried to be a good person, Bryan. I really have," his face crumpled, his breathy exhale almost overshadowing the words. "Yet for whatever reason, try as I might? God has turned his back on me."
That hurt. Saying it out loud, admitting it to someone else, it was agonizing. Bryan was essentially acting as his Father Confessor, allowing him to bare his soul, to understand why and how he was in so much pain. It should have given him solace. It should have been exactly what Claudeson needed to snap himself out of this.
"He sends me no sign, he gives me no answer to any of my prayers. Worst of all?"
As his left fist slammed against the table, the small tin of crackers jumped slightly, the frustration boiling over and manifesting itself in both sound and action. A small puff of dust hung in the air, insisting upon being witness to his crisis.
"I feel nothing. I have tried so very hard to do good, to act in the name of the Father, and yet — he turns a blind eye."
Allowing his fist back and gently pounding his forehead, his eyes closed as a few more tears silently fell from his face. Opening them again, he looked at Bryan with true despair.
"Does he turn a blind eye, or — Bryan, was I wrong? Have I been misled? Is my faith — was it all a lie?"
Bryan dropped his hand. The reaction had looked like an uncomfortable one and he didn't want to mess with him more than everything else already was.
Then he let him talk. Allowing the other person to talk was underrated; giving them that space to express how they were feeling but with the comfort of having someone there and listening. Often it helped. He wasn't sure it was helping here.
Claude's face, his expression, it burned him up inside to see him looking that kind of sad, that kind of defeated.
"I can't tell you what you should believe Claude. I reckon that's something between you and the big man, but..." Bryan hesitated. "Bad stuff happens, Claude. Bad stuff's been happening for as long as you've believed, but you didn't stop, right? You kept on. You kept the faith. When there were natural disasters across the world or someone died sick way too young, or a shooter went off the deep end and committed killings. You didn't stop then, so why now? Cause it's you?" He swallowed as more words lined up. This was maybe cruel, maybe too much, but when a person was like this, sometimes they needed a bit of a shock, a bit of a reality check. Bryan had been given them in the past when he realised how good he had it, being part of all the majorities. "Don't you think that's the tiniest bit selfish? I know you're strong enough not to give up."
He didn't, but he did believe it.
Then he let him talk. Allowing the other person to talk was underrated; giving them that space to express how they were feeling but with the comfort of having someone there and listening. Often it helped. He wasn't sure it was helping here.
Claude's face, his expression, it burned him up inside to see him looking that kind of sad, that kind of defeated.
"I can't tell you what you should believe Claude. I reckon that's something between you and the big man, but..." Bryan hesitated. "Bad stuff happens, Claude. Bad stuff's been happening for as long as you've believed, but you didn't stop, right? You kept on. You kept the faith. When there were natural disasters across the world or someone died sick way too young, or a shooter went off the deep end and committed killings. You didn't stop then, so why now? Cause it's you?" He swallowed as more words lined up. This was maybe cruel, maybe too much, but when a person was like this, sometimes they needed a bit of a shock, a bit of a reality check. Bryan had been given them in the past when he realised how good he had it, being part of all the majorities. "Don't you think that's the tiniest bit selfish? I know you're strong enough not to give up."
He didn't, but he did believe it.
Bryan was right, it was selfish. All along, it had been such a selfish thing to think — that faith was based solely upon him, and not on everything else going on in the world. Horrible things happened all the time, and Claudeson had always attributed that to the ongoing battle between good and evil that existed throughout the fates, God and his holy followers combatting the forces of the devil. It was so conceited; self-centred to think that they as people could figure out and understand the ways of the universe. People did horrible things to one another, and why? Was it because they were motivated by evil thoughts and seduced by the devil; perhaps that was just a convenient excuse. A justification to make people sleep better at night, believing that evil happened because of something.
But if God was all-seeing and all knowing, if he were truly able to see into your soul and understand the purity of your heart and the content of your character, why couldn't he stop people from doing the horrible things that they did before they happened? Wouldn't God have known? A horrible feeling slipped across the back of Claudeson's neck. He would. He would absolutely know, and even if Satan himself had the same powers, God should have always had the upper hand.
Yet, here they sat. Explosive collars around their necks, doomed to die at one another's hands.
This was basically purgatory; they had all already been killed the second the terrorists came upon their bus. None of them were going home ever again, none of them would feel anything ever again. The more the thought sat in his mind, the more it seemed to make sense. They were here to suffer.
"I was selfish," he gasped out, his expression still pained. "I was so sure."
The George Hunter High class of 2018 did not deserve to suffer. They were human beings put into an impossible situation, and they all deserved to be saved. Each and every one of them — perhaps with a few notable exceptions — deserved the mercy to have this horror story end. It was so desperately unfair that they were here. Bryan did not deserve to suffer like this. He was a good person, someone who was selfless to a fault. Those people endured hardship in their own service, but they accepted it — sometimes eagerly. The runner was a far better person than he had ever been. Claudeson understood, now. He understood exactly where he had gone wrong. His selfishness had blinded him. Please, no. "Bryan, I — I am so sorry," left hand coming up to his eyes, Claudeson once more began to sob. His body was filled with sorrow, the darkness almost consuming him. All that he felt was sadness, the realization of everything filling his body with the inexorable urge to lay down and never get up again. He just wanted to sleep; just wanted to rest.
He needed this nightmare to be over.
Claudeson was so very tired.Don't.
But if God was all-seeing and all knowing, if he were truly able to see into your soul and understand the purity of your heart and the content of your character, why couldn't he stop people from doing the horrible things that they did before they happened? Wouldn't God have known? A horrible feeling slipped across the back of Claudeson's neck. He would. He would absolutely know, and even if Satan himself had the same powers, God should have always had the upper hand.
Yet, here they sat. Explosive collars around their necks, doomed to die at one another's hands.
This was basically purgatory; they had all already been killed the second the terrorists came upon their bus. None of them were going home ever again, none of them would feel anything ever again. The more the thought sat in his mind, the more it seemed to make sense. They were here to suffer.
"I was selfish," he gasped out, his expression still pained. "I was so sure."
The George Hunter High class of 2018 did not deserve to suffer. They were human beings put into an impossible situation, and they all deserved to be saved. Each and every one of them — perhaps with a few notable exceptions — deserved the mercy to have this horror story end. It was so desperately unfair that they were here. Bryan did not deserve to suffer like this. He was a good person, someone who was selfless to a fault. Those people endured hardship in their own service, but they accepted it — sometimes eagerly. The runner was a far better person than he had ever been. Claudeson understood, now. He understood exactly where he had gone wrong. His selfishness had blinded him. Please, no. "Bryan, I — I am so sorry," left hand coming up to his eyes, Claudeson once more began to sob. His body was filled with sorrow, the darkness almost consuming him. All that he felt was sadness, the realization of everything filling his body with the inexorable urge to lay down and never get up again. He just wanted to sleep; just wanted to rest.
He needed this nightmare to be over.
Claudeson was so very tired.Don't.
Bryan didn't think his heart could break any harder for the guy, but there it went, breaking more. Guilt immediately crashed down on his shoulders for what he'd said. Cruel to be kind? That'd maybe been the intention, but Claude was suffering hard enough without Bryan lumping more down on his head. Darn it, just...darn it.
"Hey," he said softly. "You ain't got a thing to apologise for."
He hesitated for a second, remembering their previous contact, but Claude almost seemed to lean towards him a little, inviting another touch. Bryan lowered slightly and pulled Claudeson up into a hug, which was returned with one arm gripping tightly at his back.
"It's gonna be okay."
"Hey," he said softly. "You ain't got a thing to apologise for."
He hesitated for a second, remembering their previous contact, but Claude almost seemed to lean towards him a little, inviting another touch. Bryan lowered slightly and pulled Claudeson up into a hug, which was returned with one arm gripping tightly at his back.
"It's gonna be okay."
this isn't youClaudeson felt Bryan pulling him up and towards him, and he let it happen, burying his face into the shorter boy's sturdy shoulder. He felt so unbelievably ashamed of himself. Through all of it — every church sermon, every volunteer event, every extended hand, there had always been something else there. No action was ever done for a purely selfless reason, no word ever spoken without an ulterior motive behind it. That's right. Ulterior motives. There it was, plain as day for him to see.
He was such a failure; a fraud of — of course — biblical proportion. His chicanery was in view of every single person in the world to look at and laugh. The cameras would see to that. They would see to show the church that Claudeson Bademosi was a bad person, and that his belief was sadly misguided. He only cared about himself; his reputation was all a lie. His tears only got stronger as he mentally crucified himself. His left hand clutched at the boy's shoulder and he could smell the damp, three-day old cotton t-shirt that Bryan wore. His body felt as though it were on fire and yet still he could barely feel anything but shame. Any and all positivity or hope in the room were emanating from Bryan Merryweather.
Bryan deserved salvation. He deserved escape from this hellish limbo they were all stuck in. He was an example of what Claudeson should have been. When his mother had taught him the tenets of the bible and explained to him the difference between right and wrong, between service and impediment. Bryan didn't seem overly immersed in the church, and yet he had managed to understand and figure it all out. you can still go backHe was a truly righteous individual. Standing before him, trying to help when all he had to gain was a distraught classmate and the satisfaction that he'd done something good. Claudeson would have looked for the angle. He would have done it for the reputation. Everything had a point, everything had a price. He was a terrible person; he was a liar. He believed in lies.
He helped perpetuate lies. no they weren'tGod had not abandoned him.
He had never stood with him to begin with, for one simple reason.
Body shuddering with revulsion for the thoughts within his mind, Claudeson raised his head from Bryan's shoulder, sniffled heavily, and used his left hand to wipe his eyes free from remaining tears. The anguish was still very visible upon his features, and his bloodshot eyes were radiating pain every time he blinked. It all added up, it all made sense. It all boiled down to one simple reason.
There was no God. No religion, no belief, no faith. There couldn't be. All that remained was this world, damaged and ruined by the people within it, both good and evil alike. It was what it was, nothing more — nothing less. His path was his own to choose, not having been laid down by anyone else. There was nothing to answer for. All that remained were people like Tyrell, broken and naturally prone to negativity. There were people like Bryan, optimistic and always looking to do the right thing. Then there were the rest — various shades of grey, small parts of a larger whole. Each one insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Claudeson realized that he had to help Bryan — help the good people out there as best he could. Bryan believed that it was going to be okay. He needed to make it okay. nononopleasedon'tpleaseno "I hope so," he stammered, sniffling as he pulled slightly back from Bryan's embrace. Keeping his left hand on Bryan's shoulder, he looked into the boy's eyes, the dark blue orbs staring back at him, absent of malice.
"I think you're— you're right, it's going to be okay" he composed himself slightly as he nodded, trying to convey that the worst was over. His shoulders sagged, and he mustered a smile at the best person he knew.
"Hey Bryan?"
He was such a failure; a fraud of — of course — biblical proportion. His chicanery was in view of every single person in the world to look at and laugh. The cameras would see to that. They would see to show the church that Claudeson Bademosi was a bad person, and that his belief was sadly misguided. He only cared about himself; his reputation was all a lie. His tears only got stronger as he mentally crucified himself. His left hand clutched at the boy's shoulder and he could smell the damp, three-day old cotton t-shirt that Bryan wore. His body felt as though it were on fire and yet still he could barely feel anything but shame. Any and all positivity or hope in the room were emanating from Bryan Merryweather.
Bryan deserved salvation. He deserved escape from this hellish limbo they were all stuck in. He was an example of what Claudeson should have been. When his mother had taught him the tenets of the bible and explained to him the difference between right and wrong, between service and impediment. Bryan didn't seem overly immersed in the church, and yet he had managed to understand and figure it all out. you can still go backHe was a truly righteous individual. Standing before him, trying to help when all he had to gain was a distraught classmate and the satisfaction that he'd done something good. Claudeson would have looked for the angle. He would have done it for the reputation. Everything had a point, everything had a price. He was a terrible person; he was a liar. He believed in lies.
He helped perpetuate lies. no they weren'tGod had not abandoned him.
He had never stood with him to begin with, for one simple reason.
Body shuddering with revulsion for the thoughts within his mind, Claudeson raised his head from Bryan's shoulder, sniffled heavily, and used his left hand to wipe his eyes free from remaining tears. The anguish was still very visible upon his features, and his bloodshot eyes were radiating pain every time he blinked. It all added up, it all made sense. It all boiled down to one simple reason.
There was no God. No religion, no belief, no faith. There couldn't be. All that remained was this world, damaged and ruined by the people within it, both good and evil alike. It was what it was, nothing more — nothing less. His path was his own to choose, not having been laid down by anyone else. There was nothing to answer for. All that remained were people like Tyrell, broken and naturally prone to negativity. There were people like Bryan, optimistic and always looking to do the right thing. Then there were the rest — various shades of grey, small parts of a larger whole. Each one insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Claudeson realized that he had to help Bryan — help the good people out there as best he could. Bryan believed that it was going to be okay. He needed to make it okay. nononopleasedon'tpleaseno "I hope so," he stammered, sniffling as he pulled slightly back from Bryan's embrace. Keeping his left hand on Bryan's shoulder, he looked into the boy's eyes, the dark blue orbs staring back at him, absent of malice.
"I think you're— you're right, it's going to be okay" he composed himself slightly as he nodded, trying to convey that the worst was over. His shoulders sagged, and he mustered a smile at the best person he knew.
"Hey Bryan?"
"It's all right, let it out," Bryan soothed.
Tears sucked, but they were usually a good thing in the end. Emotional release, you know? Let Claudeson get some of what he was feeling out of him. A lot of things, even some of the worst things in the world, looked better after a good cry. Even if they weren't any better than before, venting helped clear up the head. Part of the process.
Not that he didn't still feel a little guilty for nudging Claude to this point, but if it broke him out of the downward spiral he'd most definitely been trapped into, well--Claude was a smart guy, a good guy. Once his emotions weren't so amped up, he'd dig deep and find that resolve he was searching for.
"Yeah?"
Tears sucked, but they were usually a good thing in the end. Emotional release, you know? Let Claudeson get some of what he was feeling out of him. A lot of things, even some of the worst things in the world, looked better after a good cry. Even if they weren't any better than before, venting helped clear up the head. Part of the process.
Not that he didn't still feel a little guilty for nudging Claude to this point, but if it broke him out of the downward spiral he'd most definitely been trapped into, well--Claude was a smart guy, a good guy. Once his emotions weren't so amped up, he'd dig deep and find that resolve he was searching for.
"Yeah?"
nononononononono"I must express my gratitude," he gave Bryan's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his voice still barely a whisper. "You are truly kind. Least of anyone, you do not deserve any of this."
Claudeson studied Bryan's face for a moment. He looked at all of the boy's features, taking in the visage of someone who was truly good; taking a long look at the person that he'd always wanted to be, but never could. He knew what they had to do next. He understood.
"I appreciate what you have done for me here more than you could ever know. I will try and follow your example. We must rise above despair. I will help you, Bryan. I promise."
His eyelid twitched and his lip quivered. Shutting his eyes, left hand still on Bryan's shoulder, he inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, feeling a sense of calm wash over him as he regulated his breathing.
"You have saved me, Bryan. I must return the favour, and save you."
Claudeson's voice was stronger now, but he met Bryan's gaze with an unusual intensity in his bloodshot eyes. forgive me."Thank you."
Never breaking eye contact, Claudeson raised his right hand and bestowed a furious thunderclap of salvation upon Bryan Merryweather.
Claudeson studied Bryan's face for a moment. He looked at all of the boy's features, taking in the visage of someone who was truly good; taking a long look at the person that he'd always wanted to be, but never could. He knew what they had to do next. He understood.
"I appreciate what you have done for me here more than you could ever know. I will try and follow your example. We must rise above despair. I will help you, Bryan. I promise."
His eyelid twitched and his lip quivered. Shutting his eyes, left hand still on Bryan's shoulder, he inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, feeling a sense of calm wash over him as he regulated his breathing.
"You have saved me, Bryan. I must return the favour, and save you."
Claudeson's voice was stronger now, but he met Bryan's gaze with an unusual intensity in his bloodshot eyes. forgive me."Thank you."
Never breaking eye contact, Claudeson raised his right hand and bestowed a furious thunderclap of salvation upon Bryan Merryweather.
Darn, Bryan didn't know how to handle a compliment like that. An awkward, embarrassed, but genuine smile spread across his face. Claude's feet were finally under him again. Maybe now, together, they could go on and start improving the situation, bit by bit. Make it something worthwhile.
"Just doing what decent folks should do, man. You don't gotta--"
The bullet tore through his left temple, blasting blood, bone, and brain matter out across the room.
He blinked once. His lips moved soundlessly.
Then he fell forward.
"Just doing what decent folks should do, man. You don't gotta--"
The bullet tore through his left temple, blasting blood, bone, and brain matter out across the room.
He blinked once. His lips moved soundlessly.
Then he fell forward.