SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

((Joey continued from Under This Killing Moon))

Every thought that was running through the boy's head seemed muddled. The only clear thought was the boy wondering how many miles he had walked over his time on the island. He had traversed the island more than once. He hadn't seen the entire place, but he was familiar with certain parts of it. One spot in particular was where he had attempted (and failed) to spy on the girls.

He took a moment to sit in the spot, enjoying the cool afternoon air.

He ran his fingers down the sides of one of his hook swords. He brought the hook towards his body and flicked at the tapered point with his thumb. The sharpness of the blade only made Joey realize how much pain it would inflict on someone. How much pain he would have to dish out soon. Whether it was an attack or defend scenario, Joey was going to fight someone.

Joey laid back in the long grass and stared up at the sky. He didn't know how much time was passing, but laying in the grass, staring at the treeline was soothing, and with what was sure to come, he needed all the soothing he could get.

((And now, it's clobbering time))

Joey felt himself doze off.  It was dangerous to allow himself to do such a thing, but he had been fighting sleep for his entire stay on the island. The mental strain had been taxing, and the last thing Joey wanted, was for that to manifest itself in a physical way.

...

He wasn't sure how long he was out. The noise that snapped him out of his sleep seemed like an echoing gunshot from not super far away. It was time.  No amount of sitting on his ass was going to help him from here. He was damn confident that everyone still alive had a gun. He was bringing a knife to a gunfight, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have a chance. Surely there were kids that had faced the same scenario as him and come out of it alive?

Joey's face dropped into a determined stare. There were no desperate words to a nearby camera, there were no last minute curses shot out to someone who had wronged him, there were no big Dodd-esque profanity bombs at the terrorists. The only noise made was the rustling up of his gear and weapons, followed by another echo of gunfire. That was the direction Joey pointed himself, and that was the direction he walked.

((Continued elsewhere))