Re: there are bullets in your paintings, if you want them
Posted: Thu Oct 17, 2019 12:21 am
“I see.” Three whole days, so easily summarized in a few sentences. Roxanne noticed the meaningful gap in Forrest’s story - three whole people, no longer with her. She was naturally curious, but she didn’t prod - the girl had the right to try and spin her own narrative, and it wasn’t like Roxanne really knew or cared about any of the people she’d mentioned.
“You’ve been busier than me. I’ve just done a lot of walking, and finding people, and then leaving them. Sometimes they left me first. I think I’ve finally found someone I can stay with, though.” Lines in the sand. What purpose did they serve? Did it just feel nice to firmly pledge her allegiance to someone? Perhaps.
Now that she’d said it out loud, it really didn’t sound like Roxanne had done much at all, did it? That bothered her more than she should have - like she was wasting her life somehow by not having gotten involved in any climactic, fatal confrontations yet. She was living for herself, not the cameras - but it felt like time was slipping away from her, regardless.
There were so, so many things that she’d wanted to do but had been too afraid to, back in the real world, but now that fear had been forcibly banished from her heart, she found herself at a complete loss for what she wanted. She’d already gone on a sightseeing tour of the island’s few landmarks, already seen the world from the top of the temple. What other tangible pursuits were even left for her? Disappearing into the woods and pretending she was just on a camping trip? No. Everything left that was worth experiencing would come from the company of other people.
Hope, despair, whatever; anything was better than the boredom of being left alone. There was still some residual exhilaration from the ecstasy she had felt upon first awakening, but the realities of the situation were wearing her down.
She and Forrest continued to talk, accompanied by the sounds of the storm outside, by Marcy’s quiet breathing as she slept. It was a fine enough way to pass the time, but they didn’t really connect in any meaningful way. Maybe their personalities just didn’t mesh well, even outside of the constraints of their old lives.
When Roxanne fell asleep, she did so huddled in a corner, clutching her gun.
Another day. No one had killed Roxanne in her sleep. She hadn’t exactly been expecting that to happen, but still. It was nice to wake up when so many would never wake again.
She vaguely heard Marcy stirring, was vaguely aware of Forrest still being there, but before she could murmur a tired ‘good morning’ she was consumed by the announcements.
They’d taken the cheapest shot imaginable, reduced Alexander to his blindness even in death. God, he would’ve hated that. She could picture him, now - he’d have tried not to let his fury show, but there’d be a certain tightness in the corners of his mouth, his voice more terse than usual.
Her mental image of him was all that was left, now, because he was rotting somewhere, face still and cold, eyes wide open but hidden by his sunglasses. She should be feeling this more strongly. She should’ve been breaking down again. Beryl had broken her, and Beryl had been her dear friend, but she had loved Alexander, so why was she feeling this tragedy so less intensely? Was she already numb? Or had she just not truly processed it yet? Would she live the rest of her life half-expecting to hear ‘Ah, Roxanne, reports of my death were greatly exaggerated’ from behind?
A small part of her had always resented the fact that he had been the one she’d fallen for - even with all her rebelliousness in joining the band, in lying about taking on extra shifts so she’d have time to rehearse, she’d still picked a boy her parents would have unambiguously approved of. Rich, well-spoken, ambitious. Stoic, practically ascetic compared to her image of most of the students. Even as Roxanne, she couldn’t escape how much her upbringing had shaped her. She just had to have enough faith in herself to know that she had chosen him herself, isolated from society’s expectations of her.
Not that it mattered, not that it had ever amounted to anything. She hadn’t even gathered up the courage to ask him to prom. She had no reason to believe she had been at all special to him, apart from being part of the band, which was admittedly still a big deal, but -
Alexander was dead and she was still being an idiot about her feelings for him.
The thought jarred Roxanne back out of her head, at least enough to notice that Marcy wasn’t looking too good.
“...It’s just us now, huh?”
“You’ve been busier than me. I’ve just done a lot of walking, and finding people, and then leaving them. Sometimes they left me first. I think I’ve finally found someone I can stay with, though.” Lines in the sand. What purpose did they serve? Did it just feel nice to firmly pledge her allegiance to someone? Perhaps.
Now that she’d said it out loud, it really didn’t sound like Roxanne had done much at all, did it? That bothered her more than she should have - like she was wasting her life somehow by not having gotten involved in any climactic, fatal confrontations yet. She was living for herself, not the cameras - but it felt like time was slipping away from her, regardless.
There were so, so many things that she’d wanted to do but had been too afraid to, back in the real world, but now that fear had been forcibly banished from her heart, she found herself at a complete loss for what she wanted. She’d already gone on a sightseeing tour of the island’s few landmarks, already seen the world from the top of the temple. What other tangible pursuits were even left for her? Disappearing into the woods and pretending she was just on a camping trip? No. Everything left that was worth experiencing would come from the company of other people.
Hope, despair, whatever; anything was better than the boredom of being left alone. There was still some residual exhilaration from the ecstasy she had felt upon first awakening, but the realities of the situation were wearing her down.
She and Forrest continued to talk, accompanied by the sounds of the storm outside, by Marcy’s quiet breathing as she slept. It was a fine enough way to pass the time, but they didn’t really connect in any meaningful way. Maybe their personalities just didn’t mesh well, even outside of the constraints of their old lives.
When Roxanne fell asleep, she did so huddled in a corner, clutching her gun.
Another day. No one had killed Roxanne in her sleep. She hadn’t exactly been expecting that to happen, but still. It was nice to wake up when so many would never wake again.
She vaguely heard Marcy stirring, was vaguely aware of Forrest still being there, but before she could murmur a tired ‘good morning’ she was consumed by the announcements.
They’d taken the cheapest shot imaginable, reduced Alexander to his blindness even in death. God, he would’ve hated that. She could picture him, now - he’d have tried not to let his fury show, but there’d be a certain tightness in the corners of his mouth, his voice more terse than usual.
Her mental image of him was all that was left, now, because he was rotting somewhere, face still and cold, eyes wide open but hidden by his sunglasses. She should be feeling this more strongly. She should’ve been breaking down again. Beryl had broken her, and Beryl had been her dear friend, but she had loved Alexander, so why was she feeling this tragedy so less intensely? Was she already numb? Or had she just not truly processed it yet? Would she live the rest of her life half-expecting to hear ‘Ah, Roxanne, reports of my death were greatly exaggerated’ from behind?
A small part of her had always resented the fact that he had been the one she’d fallen for - even with all her rebelliousness in joining the band, in lying about taking on extra shifts so she’d have time to rehearse, she’d still picked a boy her parents would have unambiguously approved of. Rich, well-spoken, ambitious. Stoic, practically ascetic compared to her image of most of the students. Even as Roxanne, she couldn’t escape how much her upbringing had shaped her. She just had to have enough faith in herself to know that she had chosen him herself, isolated from society’s expectations of her.
Not that it mattered, not that it had ever amounted to anything. She hadn’t even gathered up the courage to ask him to prom. She had no reason to believe she had been at all special to him, apart from being part of the band, which was admittedly still a big deal, but -
Alexander was dead and she was still being an idiot about her feelings for him.
The thought jarred Roxanne back out of her head, at least enough to notice that Marcy wasn’t looking too good.
“...It’s just us now, huh?”