The Golden Treehouse
Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2011 6:30 am
((Meredith Hemmings continued from In For a Penny, In For a Pound))
Meredith Hemmings had seen a lot of disturbing things on this island, but it wasn't what Meredith had seen just moments ago that truly disturbed her. The death of Thea wasn't a particularly gory one, but it was a chilling one, to say the least. In one moment, the girl was just standing before her, and the next, she was toppling straight into a danger zone. It must have been frightening, very much so, to stagger into a situation that you clearly couldn't run from. It was cruel, plain cruel. Did Ericka know what she was doing? Certainly she had to. You don't just shove someone down a hole on accident. It had been no accident.
She just wanted to forget about it, but Meredith couldn't forget. She just felt horrible, as if there was something she could have done. Ericka hadn't seemed like a menacing person, so there was no way Meredith could have warned the other girl, but... Ah well. It was fate. The Beast had decided that Thea's time had come, and thus she was gone. It was just how things worked. One day, the Beast would banish Meredith from this island, and she wouldn't complain, nay, she would rejoice. Whether she died or went on living, it didn't matter to her. It was all fate, or something.
Brushing a few strands of dirty hair from her pale face (growing increasingly pale from the lack of sleep and even greater lack of food), Meredith continued to walk onward. She was tired and thirsty, wanting nothing more than a sip of water and a poofy bed to lay down on. Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her left hand, she moved on. Something came into view, and the goth-girl squinted, noticing that there were some worn-looking buildings right ahead, and some objects that looked a bit like... carts.
She trekked forward, realizing that she had come upon a mine of sorts. This island must have been something back in its prime. A mine, a sawmill, tunnels that ran underneath the ground... It was pretty awesome. She would have enjoyed living here, perhaps. Maybe in another life.
The buildings scattered before her were weathered, some barely even standing. Meredith decided that she would lay out in one, rest a bit and think out her next course of action. She walked to the door and pushed it open, peering inside. Everything was coated in thick layers of dust, the only light streaming in from a single window on the far-back wall. There was a single table in the middle with a few chairs scattered around it, but only two chairs were suitable to be sat upon. The others were broken beyond repair, most likely by age. Rust had gotten to many of the items in the room. The walls were plastered with what appeared to be schematics of the mine, although the paper was ripped and dirtied, almost nothing in the drawing was recognizable.
It suited Meredith just fine. She didn't bother to shut the door, preferring some more light to enter the meager room. All the dust would simply make her feel as if she was suffocating, so she left it open just a tad. Meredith dropped her things on the table and sat down in one of the chairs, squeaking as the seat broke down under her weight and collapsed. She hadn't noticed that she had just sat on one of the rusted chairs. Blinking, Meredith slowly stood up and brushed herself off, desperately hoping that no one heard her... squeak. Goths don't squeak. Definitely not.
Meredith Hemmings had seen a lot of disturbing things on this island, but it wasn't what Meredith had seen just moments ago that truly disturbed her. The death of Thea wasn't a particularly gory one, but it was a chilling one, to say the least. In one moment, the girl was just standing before her, and the next, she was toppling straight into a danger zone. It must have been frightening, very much so, to stagger into a situation that you clearly couldn't run from. It was cruel, plain cruel. Did Ericka know what she was doing? Certainly she had to. You don't just shove someone down a hole on accident. It had been no accident.
She just wanted to forget about it, but Meredith couldn't forget. She just felt horrible, as if there was something she could have done. Ericka hadn't seemed like a menacing person, so there was no way Meredith could have warned the other girl, but... Ah well. It was fate. The Beast had decided that Thea's time had come, and thus she was gone. It was just how things worked. One day, the Beast would banish Meredith from this island, and she wouldn't complain, nay, she would rejoice. Whether she died or went on living, it didn't matter to her. It was all fate, or something.
Brushing a few strands of dirty hair from her pale face (growing increasingly pale from the lack of sleep and even greater lack of food), Meredith continued to walk onward. She was tired and thirsty, wanting nothing more than a sip of water and a poofy bed to lay down on. Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her left hand, she moved on. Something came into view, and the goth-girl squinted, noticing that there were some worn-looking buildings right ahead, and some objects that looked a bit like... carts.
She trekked forward, realizing that she had come upon a mine of sorts. This island must have been something back in its prime. A mine, a sawmill, tunnels that ran underneath the ground... It was pretty awesome. She would have enjoyed living here, perhaps. Maybe in another life.
The buildings scattered before her were weathered, some barely even standing. Meredith decided that she would lay out in one, rest a bit and think out her next course of action. She walked to the door and pushed it open, peering inside. Everything was coated in thick layers of dust, the only light streaming in from a single window on the far-back wall. There was a single table in the middle with a few chairs scattered around it, but only two chairs were suitable to be sat upon. The others were broken beyond repair, most likely by age. Rust had gotten to many of the items in the room. The walls were plastered with what appeared to be schematics of the mine, although the paper was ripped and dirtied, almost nothing in the drawing was recognizable.
It suited Meredith just fine. She didn't bother to shut the door, preferring some more light to enter the meager room. All the dust would simply make her feel as if she was suffocating, so she left it open just a tad. Meredith dropped her things on the table and sat down in one of the chairs, squeaking as the seat broke down under her weight and collapsed. She hadn't noticed that she had just sat on one of the rusted chairs. Blinking, Meredith slowly stood up and brushed herself off, desperately hoping that no one heard her... squeak. Goths don't squeak. Definitely not.