First blood to her. She'd always wondered what it felt like in context. She'd lived a life too busy with reality to deal with video games.
She breathed hard, a moment in time where he was a bleeding thing in the distance and she was triumphant. Her swinging arm already burned along the length of the tricep. She hated the look on his face. As if he hadn't earned this.
Then, she felt his knuckles kiss her face intimately. Sloppily. There was a spot right under her eye that stung, all of a sudden. As suddenly she wasn't too upset about the heat, when it faded into the background.
"No-"
He was on her. That wasn't right. She felt his little piggy fingers try to grab for the blade and she doubled up her grip, a fist so tight her knuckles could've bust. Someone was screaming and thrashing. That was her, she realized only later on. She kicked, tried to claw at his face with meticulously clean fingernails.
Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse
Private - Day 9, Evening — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVrJoA2O7E4
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
((A bit of GM with approval from Cicada))
Kelly was making this difficult as she thrashed beneath him and kept a tight grip on her weapon. More frustrating was the hand she tried to scratch at his face, which successfully dug into his skin and drew blood. He cursed and snarled in pain, then turned his head to face the offending appendage, opened his mouth and bit down on it. Hard. That got Kelly to stop that, causing her to retract the hand. There was a lingering coppery taste of blood in his mouth, but also a peculiar other taste. Like he had bit into something burnt. It was odd, but he couldn't linger on it for long lest Kelly recover. He had to press the advantage.
He focused back onto the machete in her hand and redoubled his efforts to pry it free. He clawed and pounded at her wrist and her digits, and eventually her grasp opened enough for Lucas to dig his own finger in and pull the weapon from her grip.
For a brief moment, Lucas grinned devilishly. The weight of the bladed weapon practically sang to him as he hefted it into the air above him. Something rewarding about the way the moonlight glistened off the blade. He looked down at Kelly as anger and bloodlust flushed through him like a torrent.
Victory.
"You see this, you fucking slut?!" He barked, spittle flying from his mouth. "You see this machete?! I'm going to teach you to speak English with this fucking machete!"
Then he brought the blade down.
Kelly was making this difficult as she thrashed beneath him and kept a tight grip on her weapon. More frustrating was the hand she tried to scratch at his face, which successfully dug into his skin and drew blood. He cursed and snarled in pain, then turned his head to face the offending appendage, opened his mouth and bit down on it. Hard. That got Kelly to stop that, causing her to retract the hand. There was a lingering coppery taste of blood in his mouth, but also a peculiar other taste. Like he had bit into something burnt. It was odd, but he couldn't linger on it for long lest Kelly recover. He had to press the advantage.
He focused back onto the machete in her hand and redoubled his efforts to pry it free. He clawed and pounded at her wrist and her digits, and eventually her grasp opened enough for Lucas to dig his own finger in and pull the weapon from her grip.
For a brief moment, Lucas grinned devilishly. The weight of the bladed weapon practically sang to him as he hefted it into the air above him. Something rewarding about the way the moonlight glistened off the blade. He looked down at Kelly as anger and bloodlust flushed through him like a torrent.
Victory.
"You see this, you fucking slut?!" He barked, spittle flying from his mouth. "You see this machete?! I'm going to teach you to speak English with this fucking machete!"
Then he brought the blade down.
((GM approved))
Little piggy got his reward. She lost hers. What was rightfully hers. He had the machete now. She was still screaming. Kicking, as if her legs were actually hitting anything besides the night air and the earth, still uncomfortably warm under her shoulders and back from the ghost of the sun.
Still so painfully banal, even when he was claiming victories he had no right to.
"Shut the fuck-!"
She'd had to think fast. And she'd had to think through the pain, and she'd had to think at all and not lie there like a dehydrated fish watching the gutting blade. She was no roach. She couldn't survive the guillotine. She'd forced herself to focus. She'd demanded it of herself, her own will to live. Nobody refused her demands. The blade of the machete would have chopped into her neck and left it evenly portioned on both sides. She did something. Anything, to save herself. It couldn't end like this. She was better than this.
Lucas' clenched fist collided with her forehead, as a painful echo sounded in her own skull and rung out into the void around them. An agonized cry, wet with adrenaline. Momentum carried the machete forward a bit more, her hairline was peeled ever so slightly. Rusty red starting to trickle onto her forehead from above. Her fingers found something soft on his face. She started to dig and pull, he started to yell, she didn't care about the noises he made- he was like the rest of them, he was useless, he
Was gone. For a moment in time, as his body was gone and she could stand.
He'd backed off. She didn't know what he was doing. She had her bag, she had safety.
She had, even, the opportunity to run away.
But she couldn't find her dignity, so she was once more running at him. Not knowing the need, just the want. Something so primal. It was called revenge by some, and catharsis by others. In more strictly babyish terms, it was called 'I'm right.
You're wrong'.
Little piggy got his reward. She lost hers. What was rightfully hers. He had the machete now. She was still screaming. Kicking, as if her legs were actually hitting anything besides the night air and the earth, still uncomfortably warm under her shoulders and back from the ghost of the sun.
Still so painfully banal, even when he was claiming victories he had no right to.
"Shut the fuck-!"
She'd had to think fast. And she'd had to think through the pain, and she'd had to think at all and not lie there like a dehydrated fish watching the gutting blade. She was no roach. She couldn't survive the guillotine. She'd forced herself to focus. She'd demanded it of herself, her own will to live. Nobody refused her demands. The blade of the machete would have chopped into her neck and left it evenly portioned on both sides. She did something. Anything, to save herself. It couldn't end like this. She was better than this.
Lucas' clenched fist collided with her forehead, as a painful echo sounded in her own skull and rung out into the void around them. An agonized cry, wet with adrenaline. Momentum carried the machete forward a bit more, her hairline was peeled ever so slightly. Rusty red starting to trickle onto her forehead from above. Her fingers found something soft on his face. She started to dig and pull, he started to yell, she didn't care about the noises he made- he was like the rest of them, he was useless, he
Was gone. For a moment in time, as his body was gone and she could stand.
He'd backed off. She didn't know what he was doing. She had her bag, she had safety.
She had, even, the opportunity to run away.
But she couldn't find her dignity, so she was once more running at him. Not knowing the need, just the want. Something so primal. It was called revenge by some, and catharsis by others. In more strictly babyish terms, it was called 'I'm right.
You're wrong'.
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
Close, so close.
He was so close to finishing this psycho bitch off. The blade was right there, cutting through her skin. But then the cunt went and jammed her finger into his eye. It hurt so goddamn much he had to pull away to properly recover from it. He stood up, hand over his eye as he hissed in agony. She would pay for this. Once he got his shit together, he'd turn right around and jam this machete right up her-
Suddenly a body — Kelly's body — collected with him at full speed, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
"Fucking bitch!" He yelled, pain searing through his body after colliding with the cold earth.
Now Kelly was on him, trying to pry the machete from his grip. But he wasn't about to let it go so easily. He thrashed and punched and kicked at Kelly, determined to keep the weapon in his possession. If Kelly wanted a fight, he was goddamn going to give it to her. And he was going to make sure he was going to be the one walking away by the end of it.
He was so close to finishing this psycho bitch off. The blade was right there, cutting through her skin. But then the cunt went and jammed her finger into his eye. It hurt so goddamn much he had to pull away to properly recover from it. He stood up, hand over his eye as he hissed in agony. She would pay for this. Once he got his shit together, he'd turn right around and jam this machete right up her-
Suddenly a body — Kelly's body — collected with him at full speed, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
"Fucking bitch!" He yelled, pain searing through his body after colliding with the cold earth.
Now Kelly was on him, trying to pry the machete from his grip. But he wasn't about to let it go so easily. He thrashed and punched and kicked at Kelly, determined to keep the weapon in his possession. If Kelly wanted a fight, he was goddamn going to give it to her. And he was going to make sure he was going to be the one walking away by the end of it.
Why was he bigger? Why was he stronger? This wasn't how- she was supposed to, she was SUPPOSED to
Be unable to lay a finger on him. She tried, heaven knew it, all the other afterlives did. She was clawing. Reaching, she had fingernails, she had teeth, everything dirty and gross that was supposed to be part of her. Every swipe missed. He clocked her in the jaw. His knee met her stomach. She was going. Never stopping. She was going to win, she was going to
Miss. She'd tried for the eye again. She didn't know where the machete was, until it clipped her in the rib. A puny little sting, the tip maybe barely grazing the hollow between her bones. Just wide enough that it belonged. She was screaming still. More pain, the same kind of pain that had ripped open her cheek and peeled her hand and it was still on her like an itch, it never went away, it wasn't supposed to be part of her but it was, somehow, someway inescapable.
She had hit the ground once more, toppling some direction- sideways, backwards, she didn't know. The world was a blur. All she could see was her own hands. She needed help. She needed time. This wasn't fair. She held up both her hands as if that'd stop him. She was screaming 'stop', as if that'd stop him. She deserved his mercy. She'd been trying to be merciful to him. This wasn't her fault. She'd been doing what he'd needed her to do.
Be unable to lay a finger on him. She tried, heaven knew it, all the other afterlives did. She was clawing. Reaching, she had fingernails, she had teeth, everything dirty and gross that was supposed to be part of her. Every swipe missed. He clocked her in the jaw. His knee met her stomach. She was going. Never stopping. She was going to win, she was going to
Miss. She'd tried for the eye again. She didn't know where the machete was, until it clipped her in the rib. A puny little sting, the tip maybe barely grazing the hollow between her bones. Just wide enough that it belonged. She was screaming still. More pain, the same kind of pain that had ripped open her cheek and peeled her hand and it was still on her like an itch, it never went away, it wasn't supposed to be part of her but it was, somehow, someway inescapable.
She had hit the ground once more, toppling some direction- sideways, backwards, she didn't know. The world was a blur. All she could see was her own hands. She needed help. She needed time. This wasn't fair. She held up both her hands as if that'd stop him. She was screaming 'stop', as if that'd stop him. She deserved his mercy. She'd been trying to be merciful to him. This wasn't her fault. She'd been doing what he'd needed her to do.
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
They had tumbled around for a bit, traded blows. Clawing, biting, punching, kicking. But in the end, by virtual of being bigger and stronger than she was, Lucas had once more gained the upper hand. He was on top of her, straddling her waist and glaring down at her hatefully with his one good eye. She raised her arms defensively, screaming at him to stop. But he would not.
He raised the machete into the air again, and brought it down.
It caught her in the arm, slicing into it but not going all the way through as he had hoped. His only reward being her pained screaming as the blade cut into her. But that wasn't good enough.
"Shut the fuck up!" He screamed as he pulled his hand up, the blade getting caught in the bone and the muscle of her arm for a moment before coming free. "Just fucking die!"
He brought it down again.
"You fucking whore!"
And again.
"JUST DIE!"
And again.
He raised the machete into the air again, and brought it down.
It caught her in the arm, slicing into it but not going all the way through as he had hoped. His only reward being her pained screaming as the blade cut into her. But that wasn't good enough.
"Shut the fuck up!" He screamed as he pulled his hand up, the blade getting caught in the bone and the muscle of her arm for a moment before coming free. "Just fucking die!"
He brought it down again.
"You fucking whore!"
And again.
"JUST DIE!"
And again.
and again, again again againagainagain
hurt, hurt, it hurt, she wanted it to stop, she was screaming for it to stop but people weren't stopping, people weren't listening and they were still WATCHING her with their cameras and their judgments and their laughing, at her mistakes, she HADN'T made mistakes they were WRONG and she just needed a moment just a little time was that too much to ask and she couldn't ask even if she wanted to! Her lungs, her precious fragile lungs that could be cut open so easily! They were HEAVING. With the EFFORT she had to put in to stay conscious through this pain, this agonizing pain and these horrid sounds of her flesh falling apart, this unfair pain, it wasn't right
She wasn't sorry, she never needed to be sorry, she, she, again, he was hitting at her hand again, the bone was cracking open and blood was spurting, again, he hit again, why wasn't he stopping, she'd never apologize, she'd never take it back, she would just scream, and someday, someone somewhere would actually LISTEN to her, and UNDERSTAND
...
All these fucking trials and courts. She wanted them to know she was above them. Even as she was getting ground into the earth like an insect under someone's boot.
That wasn't where she belonged.
Her chest seared almost as bad as her blood drenched stump.
With a roar, with some spirit watching over her as she deserved, she decided to win. She won. Her hand was attached by a flap of skin and she no longer needed it, she tossed the useless thing aside by snapping her arm against the ground while Lucas was at the apex of his frenzied swing. She threw her forehead at the blade as it came down. Her skull cracked his knuckles, one after the other.
Now he was the one screaming. Though she hadn't stopped. It still counted as victory.
As he toppled back onto his ass, as she erupted from the ground in a bestial skitter, two feet, one hand, whatever was left of the other decimated arm where the bone stuck out of the flesh in uneven, jagged splinters machete-marked. Still screaming. Always screaming. She screamed because nobody ever listened anyways. She ran, tumbled, crawled, leapt, whatever motion got her to where she belonged, where this scene ended, where everyone would finally acknowledge, once and for all
who was right, who was innocent, who was beautiful, who was fair
Who was holding Lucas' gun in her one remaining hand, already loaded even though she didn't know it and she was just missing the trigger with her trembling finger that she smashed into the gun wherever, over and over, fully prepared to once more be cheated of what she deserved because nothing was ever fair
The uncontrollable kick of the gun as a shell erupted into Lucas threw the butt right at her chest, and brought her down with him, for just a moment.
hurt, hurt, it hurt, she wanted it to stop, she was screaming for it to stop but people weren't stopping, people weren't listening and they were still WATCHING her with their cameras and their judgments and their laughing, at her mistakes, she HADN'T made mistakes they were WRONG and she just needed a moment just a little time was that too much to ask and she couldn't ask even if she wanted to! Her lungs, her precious fragile lungs that could be cut open so easily! They were HEAVING. With the EFFORT she had to put in to stay conscious through this pain, this agonizing pain and these horrid sounds of her flesh falling apart, this unfair pain, it wasn't right
She wasn't sorry, she never needed to be sorry, she, she, again, he was hitting at her hand again, the bone was cracking open and blood was spurting, again, he hit again, why wasn't he stopping, she'd never apologize, she'd never take it back, she would just scream, and someday, someone somewhere would actually LISTEN to her, and UNDERSTAND
...
All these fucking trials and courts. She wanted them to know she was above them. Even as she was getting ground into the earth like an insect under someone's boot.
That wasn't where she belonged.
Her chest seared almost as bad as her blood drenched stump.
With a roar, with some spirit watching over her as she deserved, she decided to win. She won. Her hand was attached by a flap of skin and she no longer needed it, she tossed the useless thing aside by snapping her arm against the ground while Lucas was at the apex of his frenzied swing. She threw her forehead at the blade as it came down. Her skull cracked his knuckles, one after the other.
Now he was the one screaming. Though she hadn't stopped. It still counted as victory.
As he toppled back onto his ass, as she erupted from the ground in a bestial skitter, two feet, one hand, whatever was left of the other decimated arm where the bone stuck out of the flesh in uneven, jagged splinters machete-marked. Still screaming. Always screaming. She screamed because nobody ever listened anyways. She ran, tumbled, crawled, leapt, whatever motion got her to where she belonged, where this scene ended, where everyone would finally acknowledge, once and for all
who was right, who was innocent, who was beautiful, who was fair
Who was holding Lucas' gun in her one remaining hand, already loaded even though she didn't know it and she was just missing the trigger with her trembling finger that she smashed into the gun wherever, over and over, fully prepared to once more be cheated of what she deserved because nothing was ever fair
The uncontrollable kick of the gun as a shell erupted into Lucas threw the butt right at her chest, and brought her down with him, for just a moment.
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TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 489
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
With each swing he hacked away at Kelly's arm, her screams of symphony of pain. But any sadistic pleasure he might have gained from her agony was eclipsed by his burning desire to take her life. And when he finally cut through the last remnants of her arm he couldn't help by smile manically. Once more he raised the blade up and brought it down...
..Only for Kelly to unexpectantly throw her head towards his falling hand. His eyes widened in surprise as her head collided with his knuckle, feeling the bones buckle on the blow. Something broke. He screamed in pain, his grip on the machete loosened, allowing the weapon to be free from his grip.
Kelly took this momentary to knock him off of her. Lucas thrashed and cursed and scream in blind fury as he tumbled around, both in pain and in attempt to reorient himself. Kelly was getting away! He wouldn't let her! She had to pay for what she did! He would see her dead before this night was through, then nail her corpse to a tree for all the world to see! He finally managed to right himself, frantically scanning the ground for the dropped machete. It didn't take him long to spot it and quickly scooped it back up. He ignored the pain in his hand and looked to where Kelly had crawled off to. Wasn't hard as she wouldn't stop screaming. He stood up and gave chase.
He quickly closed the short distance between them, letting loose a primal scream of rage as he hoisted the machete into the air once more, preparing to strike her down.
He got close, she turned around with shotgun in hand. There was a bright flash of metal and heat, a deafening roar. Something had impacted him in the chest, knocking back and off his head. It wasn't until he collided with the hard dirt did he even feel the agonizing pain from the wound the shotgun blast had created.
...
He laid there, staring up at the night sky, the light of countless stars in his vision. Pain radiated through his torso where the shotgun round had struck him, shredding flesh, organ, and bone in its wake. He tried to breathe but only succeeded in coughing up blood. It was in that moment that he realized he was about to die.
Terror... Terror unlike anything he had ever felt before. It consumed his mind, kicking his flight response into high gear even though he couldn't really move anymore. His thoughts became disorienting, maddening chaos chatter. unfocused, thoughts of everything, from his family, to his friends, to Kelly, to all the things never said and done, rushed into his brain as if trying to fill his last moments. All meaningless in the end.
In the end, what did he really accomplish? All his life he waited to something extraordinary, to make something of himself. So many high hopes, so many dreams. All of it shattered onto the cold ground of an island in the middle of nowhere. No comforts left for him as blood spilled out of him, slowly draining the heat out of him. His vision blurred, darkness settling in as one by one the stars faded into nothingness.
It's getting dark now.
The show was over.
The audience departs from the theater.
He was alone.
He was afraid.
His dying thoughts drifted, trying to find some small comforting thought to hold him as he passed. A memory. A single memory of him and a girl in the prop room at school. Something precious... which made the pain of its loss all the more real.
"The horror..." He whispered.
Fade to black.
"The... horror..."
Credits.
..Only for Kelly to unexpectantly throw her head towards his falling hand. His eyes widened in surprise as her head collided with his knuckle, feeling the bones buckle on the blow. Something broke. He screamed in pain, his grip on the machete loosened, allowing the weapon to be free from his grip.
Kelly took this momentary to knock him off of her. Lucas thrashed and cursed and scream in blind fury as he tumbled around, both in pain and in attempt to reorient himself. Kelly was getting away! He wouldn't let her! She had to pay for what she did! He would see her dead before this night was through, then nail her corpse to a tree for all the world to see! He finally managed to right himself, frantically scanning the ground for the dropped machete. It didn't take him long to spot it and quickly scooped it back up. He ignored the pain in his hand and looked to where Kelly had crawled off to. Wasn't hard as she wouldn't stop screaming. He stood up and gave chase.
He quickly closed the short distance between them, letting loose a primal scream of rage as he hoisted the machete into the air once more, preparing to strike her down.
He got close, she turned around with shotgun in hand. There was a bright flash of metal and heat, a deafening roar. Something had impacted him in the chest, knocking back and off his head. It wasn't until he collided with the hard dirt did he even feel the agonizing pain from the wound the shotgun blast had created.
...
He laid there, staring up at the night sky, the light of countless stars in his vision. Pain radiated through his torso where the shotgun round had struck him, shredding flesh, organ, and bone in its wake. He tried to breathe but only succeeded in coughing up blood. It was in that moment that he realized he was about to die.
Terror... Terror unlike anything he had ever felt before. It consumed his mind, kicking his flight response into high gear even though he couldn't really move anymore. His thoughts became disorienting, maddening chaos chatter. unfocused, thoughts of everything, from his family, to his friends, to Kelly, to all the things never said and done, rushed into his brain as if trying to fill his last moments. All meaningless in the end.
In the end, what did he really accomplish? All his life he waited to something extraordinary, to make something of himself. So many high hopes, so many dreams. All of it shattered onto the cold ground of an island in the middle of nowhere. No comforts left for him as blood spilled out of him, slowly draining the heat out of him. His vision blurred, darkness settling in as one by one the stars faded into nothingness.
It's getting dark now.
The show was over.
The audience departs from the theater.
He was alone.
He was afraid.
His dying thoughts drifted, trying to find some small comforting thought to hold him as he passed. A memory. A single memory of him and a girl in the prop room at school. Something precious... which made the pain of its loss all the more real.
"The horror..." He whispered.
Fade to black.
"The... horror..."
Credits.
B025: Lucas Abernathy — Deceased
It loomed above, in the shadows. An organic silhouette that blocked out the stars, eating them to death.
Hot breath on its mask. Too close.
Kelly raised the stump that remained of her one hand to rest above her heart and against fat-stripped bone. That seemed to slow the bleeding some, and the insistent throb of her beating heart seemed to as much lessen. Til she too was quiet, as the rest of the horror scene... Much as that scene didn't bother her.
She had some sharp words on her tongue. Wet mass. Whetting organ.
She didn't say them aloud. At the end of the day, she could tell herself she bore no true ill will against him. She'd only been trying to help. The instrument of his salvation from despair and destitution was limp and heavy in her other hand. Her good hand, the one that had been burnt and blistered by a shotgun shell a day ago. She had a gun now. In a way, he'd helped her as much as she'd helped him.
There was a lot she wanted to say, rather. She couldn't get over most of it. A gloat her desired requiem, the one she wanted to sing like a valkyrie. But she'd respect the gravity of the scene. Her lips moved a bit, behind her mask. Errant thoughts. Victory brought some sensation back to her dry serrated bits of mouth.
His corpse she left behind. His bag was more interesting, the best bits of it picked out into her bag.
She was minus a hand. She'd lost an entire fucking hand. That point could have been iterated a thousand times and she wouldn't still have been able to believe it. When she glanced down she swore she'd see it again, but no, it'd be gone. Another injustice, a permanent mark inflicted onto her by those who thought their judgement cheap as gossip. Her very own hung jury. She holding the noose. She could hold her head up high. Stand strong against the pain- indeed, she swore in a way that she'd never felt better, even when she had to move by swimming, her head under all the nausea.
Slowly it seemed clearer and clearer to her, the way things were meant to be. She had better friends out there still. A shame things had ended like this between them. But she'd always assumed... That it'd come to something like this. And really, not like she'd ever trusted her age cohort to understand things the way she did. The proof of her righteousness was still cooling, drowning in a puddle of his own liquefied lung chunks.
The machete still in his now slowly decaying hands. He could keep Tonya.
((Kelly Nguyen continued in Methanol and Nails))
Hot breath on its mask. Too close.
Kelly raised the stump that remained of her one hand to rest above her heart and against fat-stripped bone. That seemed to slow the bleeding some, and the insistent throb of her beating heart seemed to as much lessen. Til she too was quiet, as the rest of the horror scene... Much as that scene didn't bother her.
She had some sharp words on her tongue. Wet mass. Whetting organ.
She didn't say them aloud. At the end of the day, she could tell herself she bore no true ill will against him. She'd only been trying to help. The instrument of his salvation from despair and destitution was limp and heavy in her other hand. Her good hand, the one that had been burnt and blistered by a shotgun shell a day ago. She had a gun now. In a way, he'd helped her as much as she'd helped him.
There was a lot she wanted to say, rather. She couldn't get over most of it. A gloat her desired requiem, the one she wanted to sing like a valkyrie. But she'd respect the gravity of the scene. Her lips moved a bit, behind her mask. Errant thoughts. Victory brought some sensation back to her dry serrated bits of mouth.
His corpse she left behind. His bag was more interesting, the best bits of it picked out into her bag.
She was minus a hand. She'd lost an entire fucking hand. That point could have been iterated a thousand times and she wouldn't still have been able to believe it. When she glanced down she swore she'd see it again, but no, it'd be gone. Another injustice, a permanent mark inflicted onto her by those who thought their judgement cheap as gossip. Her very own hung jury. She holding the noose. She could hold her head up high. Stand strong against the pain- indeed, she swore in a way that she'd never felt better, even when she had to move by swimming, her head under all the nausea.
Slowly it seemed clearer and clearer to her, the way things were meant to be. She had better friends out there still. A shame things had ended like this between them. But she'd always assumed... That it'd come to something like this. And really, not like she'd ever trusted her age cohort to understand things the way she did. The proof of her righteousness was still cooling, drowning in a puddle of his own liquefied lung chunks.
The machete still in his now slowly decaying hands. He could keep Tonya.
((Kelly Nguyen continued in Methanol and Nails))
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