"What the hell is going on!?"
"I don't fucking know..." Harun replied, before she left and he succumbed to a sneezing fit. Not that Rashid had anything to add to that since he last used his vocal chords. Besides which, it was pretty much over.
But if Harun was having his first case of hay fever in a while, then Rashid was about to have his first case of heat stroke. The weather wasn't just annoyingly cheery, it was also annoyingly warm. The sun being at an angle where neither the teens nor the truck cast shadows on each other wasn't helping one bit, which could only mean the best place to find shade in the very close proximity was either in the truck or under it.
Breaking into the truck wasn't that dumb an idea. The terrorists had probably siphoned the gas (not that they would have been able to drive it off the island anyway) and worst that could happen was that it would be rigged to blow up if someone got in, giving the three an almost instantaneous (and for Rashid, one horrifically apt) demise.
"Fuck, we gotta find some shade," Rashid muttered, peering through the truck's window to see if there was anything of actual value inside other than a ceiling over his head.
Keep On Smiling
Open, shortly after the fifth announcement
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
And, before he knew it, it was once again time for Harun to be stuck with a small group, consisting of only him, Rashid and Sapphire. Not that he was complaining much; not only was Harun hardly a social butterfly whom was well-adapted to deal with large groups, but smaller groups were much less likely to lead to tensions and rapid shifts in group dynamics. Harun knew quite well many a group feel to those internal divisions, and he did not fancy ending up as the star in a motivational video by Danya to show how often trust on the island is displaced.
It was just...he was worried. The more caring side of him was worried, not only for Stacy and Sarah, and he was hoping for their swift return, but also for that other group. Despite his apparent track record as a coldhearted, remorseless killer, Nick Reid was NOT a twisted psychopath, and the two girls he had seemingly been with were definitely not deserving of the shit the island was putting them through. Once again, he turned his neck to stare absentmindedly for a few seconds in the direction Stacy and Sarah had fled to. No dice. Aside from a rather fat bird landing comically on a tree branch, not a single sign of movement. He had a bad feeling about the two girls being out there on their own.
Well, Stacy had a rather maverick personality and was hardly the sort of girl he would hang out with under normal circumstances, and Sarah had struck him as a bit of a worrywart, for lack of a better term, but they were still decent people at heart, and they were, for lack of a better term, part of his "team". From what he could gather, Harun had, at least in his eyes, been unofficially implemented as the group's leader, and if any harm was to befall Stacy or Sarah during their little expedition, he would feel like shit.
Okay, to be honest, they were hardly much safer travelling with a socially clumsy Turk, a stereotype-embracing Arab and Sapphire (Harun did not yet know Sapphire well enough to be able to determine whether it was kosher to make a derogatory yet loving three-word description of her, and even then, beady necklace girl would be the best he could come up with), but hey, if they were there, at least Harun could be certain they were safe and fairly sure they hadn't crossed the line and became twisted psychopaths. Knowing was better than not knowing, right? Known knowns and known unknowns and all that Donald Rumsfeld shit.
Goddamnit, this shit was depressing.
His friends, acquaintances, enemies, rivals and complete strangers were dropping like flies, and those who weren't already dead were probably going to die soon.
And after you die? Then what? Eternal bliss?
As an agnostic, and a proud one at that, it was Harun's firm belief that the only way to know what would happen after you die would be to find out for yourself. And, no offence to the living-impaired, but Harun was in no hurry to do that. He quite enjoyed the various different aspects of living, and had grown quite fond of the sensations of breathing, thinking, living and moving, and he was in no hurry to leave them. Hell, Harun would be the first to tell you that the world he lived in was far from perfect (the very existence of people like Danya was sufficient proof it wasn't), but it could be a lot worse.
Life was interesting, fun and varied, and Harun was not happy to have to deal with the imminent end of it. He was not comfortable with dying just like. He knew it was an arrogant thought, but dying this young...that shouldn't be happening to him. He lived in Minnesota. Minnesota was safe, homely, fair. A wee bit boring at times, but rather that than, say, Zimbabwe or Palestine or Sri Lanka. The more he pondered about it, the more he realised how good his life was. There was always some new book or magazine to read, a steady internet connection, a frequent supply of new games to play, a massive variety of role-playing forums and forum-based political simulators for him to exploit (a quick thought reminded him that he would probably be inactive on those within days). And, as much of a cliche as it was, you never appreciate things like hot water and a warm bed until they are taken away from you.
He didn't know why a brief pause was why his mind had decided to go down this depressing track, but, here he was, Harun Kemal, self-declared social pariah, sitting by an antiquated, disused truck, trying in vain to keep mucus from running from his nose with only the worn, ragged sleeve of his hoodie, struggling to keep the tears welling up inside his eye sockets inside his eyes and not running down his cheeks.
It was a battle he was rapidly losing, and it was quickly becoming clear to all but him.
Harun did not like to admit it, but he was the sort to cry at this sort of situation. Not that anyone could blame him for it, but after years of crying at slight things, like not finding a classroom or being called a silly name, he thought he had toughened up. And he honestly had. He no longer cried at trivial things, no longer moaned and whined at the slightest hint of pain. However, he had overestimated the extent at which he had toughened up. He had assumed that he would be able to get through situations, like this, in which crying was acceptable. He had thought he could emulate some of the others, who, despite facing tougher burdens, had gotten through it without hysterical break-downs.
He was soon to be proven wrong.
Harun Kemal was not ready to die yet. Not ready at all. He had not lived his life in any meaningful sense of the word. Aside from a few charitable donations and slipping a few leaflets under doors, he had made no lasting impact on the world. He had not achieved half his dreams; hell, there were countless books and games he would never get around to finishing.
He had never voted. He had never gotten drunk, gotten full Gamerscore on any game aside from BioShock, lost his virginity, or learnt a difficult song on the guitar. He would never again play a Valve marathon with his friends by his side, he would never again attend a meeting of the activist club. He would never again see Turkey or Germany or England, and he would never see any of those places he had always wanted to visit, such as Japan and Scandinavia.
And, for some strange reason, Rashid's random question about finding shade was the catalyst. At that point, Harun abandoned all sense of restraint, and just let the tears flow.
It was just...he was worried. The more caring side of him was worried, not only for Stacy and Sarah, and he was hoping for their swift return, but also for that other group. Despite his apparent track record as a coldhearted, remorseless killer, Nick Reid was NOT a twisted psychopath, and the two girls he had seemingly been with were definitely not deserving of the shit the island was putting them through. Once again, he turned his neck to stare absentmindedly for a few seconds in the direction Stacy and Sarah had fled to. No dice. Aside from a rather fat bird landing comically on a tree branch, not a single sign of movement. He had a bad feeling about the two girls being out there on their own.
Well, Stacy had a rather maverick personality and was hardly the sort of girl he would hang out with under normal circumstances, and Sarah had struck him as a bit of a worrywart, for lack of a better term, but they were still decent people at heart, and they were, for lack of a better term, part of his "team". From what he could gather, Harun had, at least in his eyes, been unofficially implemented as the group's leader, and if any harm was to befall Stacy or Sarah during their little expedition, he would feel like shit.
Okay, to be honest, they were hardly much safer travelling with a socially clumsy Turk, a stereotype-embracing Arab and Sapphire (Harun did not yet know Sapphire well enough to be able to determine whether it was kosher to make a derogatory yet loving three-word description of her, and even then, beady necklace girl would be the best he could come up with), but hey, if they were there, at least Harun could be certain they were safe and fairly sure they hadn't crossed the line and became twisted psychopaths. Knowing was better than not knowing, right? Known knowns and known unknowns and all that Donald Rumsfeld shit.
Goddamnit, this shit was depressing.
His friends, acquaintances, enemies, rivals and complete strangers were dropping like flies, and those who weren't already dead were probably going to die soon.
And after you die? Then what? Eternal bliss?
As an agnostic, and a proud one at that, it was Harun's firm belief that the only way to know what would happen after you die would be to find out for yourself. And, no offence to the living-impaired, but Harun was in no hurry to do that. He quite enjoyed the various different aspects of living, and had grown quite fond of the sensations of breathing, thinking, living and moving, and he was in no hurry to leave them. Hell, Harun would be the first to tell you that the world he lived in was far from perfect (the very existence of people like Danya was sufficient proof it wasn't), but it could be a lot worse.
Life was interesting, fun and varied, and Harun was not happy to have to deal with the imminent end of it. He was not comfortable with dying just like. He knew it was an arrogant thought, but dying this young...that shouldn't be happening to him. He lived in Minnesota. Minnesota was safe, homely, fair. A wee bit boring at times, but rather that than, say, Zimbabwe or Palestine or Sri Lanka. The more he pondered about it, the more he realised how good his life was. There was always some new book or magazine to read, a steady internet connection, a frequent supply of new games to play, a massive variety of role-playing forums and forum-based political simulators for him to exploit (a quick thought reminded him that he would probably be inactive on those within days). And, as much of a cliche as it was, you never appreciate things like hot water and a warm bed until they are taken away from you.
He didn't know why a brief pause was why his mind had decided to go down this depressing track, but, here he was, Harun Kemal, self-declared social pariah, sitting by an antiquated, disused truck, trying in vain to keep mucus from running from his nose with only the worn, ragged sleeve of his hoodie, struggling to keep the tears welling up inside his eye sockets inside his eyes and not running down his cheeks.
It was a battle he was rapidly losing, and it was quickly becoming clear to all but him.
Harun did not like to admit it, but he was the sort to cry at this sort of situation. Not that anyone could blame him for it, but after years of crying at slight things, like not finding a classroom or being called a silly name, he thought he had toughened up. And he honestly had. He no longer cried at trivial things, no longer moaned and whined at the slightest hint of pain. However, he had overestimated the extent at which he had toughened up. He had assumed that he would be able to get through situations, like this, in which crying was acceptable. He had thought he could emulate some of the others, who, despite facing tougher burdens, had gotten through it without hysterical break-downs.
He was soon to be proven wrong.
Harun Kemal was not ready to die yet. Not ready at all. He had not lived his life in any meaningful sense of the word. Aside from a few charitable donations and slipping a few leaflets under doors, he had made no lasting impact on the world. He had not achieved half his dreams; hell, there were countless books and games he would never get around to finishing.
He had never voted. He had never gotten drunk, gotten full Gamerscore on any game aside from BioShock, lost his virginity, or learnt a difficult song on the guitar. He would never again play a Valve marathon with his friends by his side, he would never again attend a meeting of the activist club. He would never again see Turkey or Germany or England, and he would never see any of those places he had always wanted to visit, such as Japan and Scandinavia.
And, for some strange reason, Rashid's random question about finding shade was the catalyst. At that point, Harun abandoned all sense of restraint, and just let the tears flow.
Sapphire McLeod continued in The Youngest Was The Most Loved.
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((Where's Tobe and Tyth?))
Rashid Hassan was never known for not being offensive. It was just that, to his recollection, he often either willingly said something offensive to see the reaction, or inadvertently said/did something offensive and quickly learned his lesson for it. He could even recall the latter happening only a few days ago, though it wasn't something he either liked or wanted to do.
To his knowledge, he could not recall the last time he said something he had to bring himself to apologize for. And from the way Harun had suddenly broken into tears, he realized that this was one of those times. Sure, both of them were probably proper fucked six ways to Sunday, but even on the island (the first and only time for all but a few) there was always a first time for something. Rashid would probably never make his pilgrimage to Mecca, never go to visit the country of his heritage, never join a real activist movement or even go to a college someplace warmer than Minnesota.
"Harun...dude..." Rashid said. It was hard to even feign concern in one's voice when he barely had the occasion to use it, what with the constant battle to accept his own imminent demise. "...look, uh..."
As shitty luck would have it, he couldn't even think of the words to say. Instead he stepped off the truck and sat beside Harun. Eventually - and he didn't realize how short or long it actually took him - he scooted toward the only one left out here on the road beside him.
And then, rather than go for the obvious gunblade, he put his arm over Harun's shoulder. At that moment it seemed that all of that emotion just conducted into him, that list of things he too realized he would never be able to do suddenly expanding out into the horizon beyond all the trees cut down in their prime. And of all the people he had to share that misery with, he was stuck with someone who was getting ever so slightly annoyed with him with each passing second.
To top it all off, Rashid still couldn't tell Harun he was sorry.
"God...we must be so pathetic..."
Rashid Hassan was never known for not being offensive. It was just that, to his recollection, he often either willingly said something offensive to see the reaction, or inadvertently said/did something offensive and quickly learned his lesson for it. He could even recall the latter happening only a few days ago, though it wasn't something he either liked or wanted to do.
To his knowledge, he could not recall the last time he said something he had to bring himself to apologize for. And from the way Harun had suddenly broken into tears, he realized that this was one of those times. Sure, both of them were probably proper fucked six ways to Sunday, but even on the island (the first and only time for all but a few) there was always a first time for something. Rashid would probably never make his pilgrimage to Mecca, never go to visit the country of his heritage, never join a real activist movement or even go to a college someplace warmer than Minnesota.
"Harun...dude..." Rashid said. It was hard to even feign concern in one's voice when he barely had the occasion to use it, what with the constant battle to accept his own imminent demise. "...look, uh..."
As shitty luck would have it, he couldn't even think of the words to say. Instead he stepped off the truck and sat beside Harun. Eventually - and he didn't realize how short or long it actually took him - he scooted toward the only one left out here on the road beside him.
And then, rather than go for the obvious gunblade, he put his arm over Harun's shoulder. At that moment it seemed that all of that emotion just conducted into him, that list of things he too realized he would never be able to do suddenly expanding out into the horizon beyond all the trees cut down in their prime. And of all the people he had to share that misery with, he was stuck with someone who was getting ever so slightly annoyed with him with each passing second.
To top it all off, Rashid still couldn't tell Harun he was sorry.
"God...we must be so pathetic..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
((They left the thread.))
Harun sat there, crying, for several more minutes. Well, it was probably minutes. Harun really wasn't the best at tracking time, especially when he was distracted by bigger things; for example, crying pathetically into the sleeve of his hoodie. Harun knew fully well time had an annoying habit of moving along at a snail's pace when he was doing things he did not enjoy (say, a Spanish lesson or visiting his cousins who lived in Milwaukee), and thinking himself into an all-time emotional low was not something he enjoyed.
So, even though the time he spent bundled into a ball crying his eyes out and emptying his mucus all over his nice hoodie felt like hours, it was probably more like minutes. Harun knew time seemed longer than it really was in situations like this. He wasn't gonna let the rules of time and shit fool him. Oh no, he was savvy to its tricks.
But, long story short, Harun sat there, completely engrossed in his quiet sobbing and his melancholy thoughts, for a fairly lengthy period of time.
And, needless to say, he was quite surprised when Rashid Hassan of all people adopted a comforting tone to his voice and placed an arm around Harun's shoulder, and tried valiantly to comfort the mentally-shaken Turk. It wasn't really Rashid's words himself that helped improve Harun's mood slightly (slightly being the key word here. Harun didn't suddenly become a beacon of hope and optimism and pragmatism and confidence and mental stability and all that jazz), but the fact that someone cared enough to comfort him started some obscure chain reaction of thoughts deep within his brain.
Relatively quickly, he came to the unspoken conclusion that crying, while understandable, wasn't getting him anywhere, and he should try and get back on his feet.
And so, he wiped the last few remaining tears from his eyes, grabbed his bag, and stared down the road. The direction. Irrelevant. His mind was too all-over-the-place to care.
"Let's get going."
And with that, he set off.
((Harun Kemal continued in Bitti Ruya.))
Harun sat there, crying, for several more minutes. Well, it was probably minutes. Harun really wasn't the best at tracking time, especially when he was distracted by bigger things; for example, crying pathetically into the sleeve of his hoodie. Harun knew fully well time had an annoying habit of moving along at a snail's pace when he was doing things he did not enjoy (say, a Spanish lesson or visiting his cousins who lived in Milwaukee), and thinking himself into an all-time emotional low was not something he enjoyed.
So, even though the time he spent bundled into a ball crying his eyes out and emptying his mucus all over his nice hoodie felt like hours, it was probably more like minutes. Harun knew time seemed longer than it really was in situations like this. He wasn't gonna let the rules of time and shit fool him. Oh no, he was savvy to its tricks.
But, long story short, Harun sat there, completely engrossed in his quiet sobbing and his melancholy thoughts, for a fairly lengthy period of time.
And, needless to say, he was quite surprised when Rashid Hassan of all people adopted a comforting tone to his voice and placed an arm around Harun's shoulder, and tried valiantly to comfort the mentally-shaken Turk. It wasn't really Rashid's words himself that helped improve Harun's mood slightly (slightly being the key word here. Harun didn't suddenly become a beacon of hope and optimism and pragmatism and confidence and mental stability and all that jazz), but the fact that someone cared enough to comfort him started some obscure chain reaction of thoughts deep within his brain.
Relatively quickly, he came to the unspoken conclusion that crying, while understandable, wasn't getting him anywhere, and he should try and get back on his feet.
And so, he wiped the last few remaining tears from his eyes, grabbed his bag, and stared down the road. The direction. Irrelevant. His mind was too all-over-the-place to care.
"Let's get going."
And with that, he set off.
((Harun Kemal continued in Bitti Ruya.))
Harun was practically bawling for those next few minutes. And Rashid sat beside him through all that. Yet amidst that, watching his only real friend on the island slowly dissolve into his own despair caused him to recall what he said immediately before that. Something about being pathetic.
And yet here Rashid was, thinking to himself that he was being the less-pathetic person of the two. Sure, he hadn't killed anyone, and no, his bottle of iodine pills still hadn't come close to even giving someone a bad case of irritable bowels. For that matter, it was Harun that had opened the last can of whoop-ass on him. But he hadn't exactly collapsed like this.
Eventually, Harun managed to run dry of his sorrow, and stand up. Rashid backed off slowly, like a garment being slipped off someone's back. He stood up at the same time, observing his friend dry himself off. Crying didn't get Harun anywhere, but in the time he had to think - only a few minutes among days - Rashid felt he'd actually gotten somewhere. Perhaps somewhere better than he was when he first got to the logging road.
"Let's get going." Harun then said, looking down the road as if wondering what would happen next.
Rashid smiled to himself, adding a "Let's." with a sort of hidden confidence. He knew what he would do next. He just hoped he would live to see it through.
((Rashid Hassan concluded in Bitti Rüya))
And yet here Rashid was, thinking to himself that he was being the less-pathetic person of the two. Sure, he hadn't killed anyone, and no, his bottle of iodine pills still hadn't come close to even giving someone a bad case of irritable bowels. For that matter, it was Harun that had opened the last can of whoop-ass on him. But he hadn't exactly collapsed like this.
Eventually, Harun managed to run dry of his sorrow, and stand up. Rashid backed off slowly, like a garment being slipped off someone's back. He stood up at the same time, observing his friend dry himself off. Crying didn't get Harun anywhere, but in the time he had to think - only a few minutes among days - Rashid felt he'd actually gotten somewhere. Perhaps somewhere better than he was when he first got to the logging road.
"Let's get going." Harun then said, looking down the road as if wondering what would happen next.
Rashid smiled to himself, adding a "Let's." with a sort of hidden confidence. He knew what he would do next. He just hoped he would live to see it through.
((Rashid Hassan concluded in Bitti Rüya))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.