Zach watched the back and forth between the cabin residents. Sick burns were tossed back and forth. Zach smirked a bit over the Etsy comment. It was like being back in high school. Zach enjoyed those spats his classmates had in the halls and in the lunchroom. Those situations showed that Zach wasn’t the only one with issues with his classmates. Hard to believe he’d become nostalgic over witnessing trivial arguments.
Suddenly, a loud bang rang out in front of him. He flinched and jumped back. He checked his person, feeling for any bullet wounds. Thankfully, he was unharmed.
Stupid shit, did you forget where you were?
Just then, he heard the familiar girl’s voice.
“Aim straight, toad fucker.
Holy shit, she was still alive!
And then, he noticed in the corner of his eye, another girl came forward. Wasn’t she one of the Hayashibara sisters? The green haired girl approached the cabin where the gunshot came from and went inside. Curious, Zach followed and peeked in.
Low Times
Morning, day 6. (open maybe I guess?????????????????)
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- 
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
He had been aiming straight.
Suddenly, everything Catherine was doing sort of clicked for him mentally. Throwback to the YACHT yacht; Catherine was the YACHT Michael, Michael was the YACHT Nia.
Catherine was trying to commit suicide but she was too afraid to do it herself. A way out. Michael was a way out. Suicide by Michael.
His brain focused in on her, and all of a sudden, it felt like they were the only two people in the universe. He didn't hear Teresa egging him on. He didn't hear or even notice Yuka. He didn't feel the unblinking eyes of the cameras watching him. All he heard was his own heartbeat.
The frown on his face softened into a bitter smile.
Catherine was in pain. She wanted his help.
It would be cruel not to help.
"If... if that's what you need."
He inhaled softly, raised the gun a little, and fired once through the window.
He had been aiming straight.
Suddenly, everything Catherine was doing sort of clicked for him mentally. Throwback to the YACHT yacht; Catherine was the YACHT Michael, Michael was the YACHT Nia.
Catherine was trying to commit suicide but she was too afraid to do it herself. A way out. Michael was a way out. Suicide by Michael.
His brain focused in on her, and all of a sudden, it felt like they were the only two people in the universe. He didn't hear Teresa egging him on. He didn't hear or even notice Yuka. He didn't feel the unblinking eyes of the cameras watching him. All he heard was his own heartbeat.
The frown on his face softened into a bitter smile.
Catherine was in pain. She wanted his help.
It would be cruel not to help.
"If... if that's what you need."
He inhaled softly, raised the gun a little, and fired once through the window.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
She had spent an entire day drying only to become wet again.
It was tragic, really. She really needed new clothes. Maybe where she was going, she didn't new clothes.
The bullet went through somewhere in her chest. Catherine looked down. It was wet and sticky and red. It was scarlet red. The geyser poked its head through the thin fabric of her shirt. The circle became oval. It started to drip, slowly. It wasn't panic that was raising inside of her body. It was dread. What was exactly going on? How many veins and capillaries and arteries had just busted?
It was very hot for a second then very, very cold.
Her right hand raised to her chest.
Catherine hadn't noticed the world spinning around there was about a couple of secondsseconds before she
hit the ground Catherine didnt move her hands to help herself because she
forgot about the fall it was a small thud quiet simple there was another 1 2 3 4 5 seconds before she
realized she was on the ground incapable of moving and thinking no she was t h i n k i n g i t w a s b e c o m in g c o m p l i
aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm pliːz aɪm ˈsɒri aɪm səʊ ˈsɒri aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm
c a t e d and painful and suddenly she was back
her throat squeezed back to life, jerking blood outside of her throat,
then suddenly life was back inside of her body, she wasnt dead. not yet.
The veil of darkness came back once again, was Catherine screaming? She wasn't sure but her eyes smelled the blood on her neck and in her mouth and she tasted the sound of her teeth against her tongue. Her hand over her chest, she was digging inside, searching. How many had she died? One? Two? Three times? Why wasn't she dead yet? It was curious, if Catherine had her fingers somewhere else than her rib cage, she might have been searching for the answer inside of her mind. Instead, she was looking at herself. Like a bird perched on a tree, she looked at the corpse twirling and squeezing and screaming.
Finally, she exhaled. Her body contracted, pushed out the blood and the air. The decompression of her lungs made her weeze back into reality once more. She tried to pass out, she really did. Every seconds she faded away, the pain brought her back.
The pain was exquisite.
It was tragic, really. She really needed new clothes. Maybe where she was going, she didn't new clothes.
The bullet went through somewhere in her chest. Catherine looked down. It was wet and sticky and red. It was scarlet red. The geyser poked its head through the thin fabric of her shirt. The circle became oval. It started to drip, slowly. It wasn't panic that was raising inside of her body. It was dread. What was exactly going on? How many veins and capillaries and arteries had just busted?
It was very hot for a second then very, very cold.
Her right hand raised to her chest.
Catherine hadn't noticed the world spinning around there was about a couple of secondsseconds before she
hit the ground Catherine didnt move her hands to help herself because she
forgot about the fall it was a small thud quiet simple there was another 1 2 3 4 5 seconds before she
realized she was on the ground incapable of moving and thinking no she was t h i n k i n g i t w a s b e c o m in g c o m p l i
aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm pliːz aɪm ˈsɒri aɪm səʊ ˈsɒri aɪ wɒnt maɪ mɒm
c a t e d and painful and suddenly she was back
her throat squeezed back to life, jerking blood outside of her throat,
then suddenly life was back inside of her body, she wasnt dead. not yet.
The veil of darkness came back once again, was Catherine screaming? She wasn't sure but her eyes smelled the blood on her neck and in her mouth and she tasted the sound of her teeth against her tongue. Her hand over her chest, she was digging inside, searching. How many had she died? One? Two? Three times? Why wasn't she dead yet? It was curious, if Catherine had her fingers somewhere else than her rib cage, she might have been searching for the answer inside of her mind. Instead, she was looking at herself. Like a bird perched on a tree, she looked at the corpse twirling and squeezing and screaming.
Finally, she exhaled. Her body contracted, pushed out the blood and the air. The decompression of her lungs made her weeze back into reality once more. She tried to pass out, she really did. Every seconds she faded away, the pain brought her back.
The pain was exquisite.
One last good tug with the knife, and the new hem line was nearly done. So like, whew, good job, team; ain't gonna fall down and bust an ass or two like this. Or like, almost. Just needed to tear the last bit apart by hand.
ROBED GIRL #3 set the knife down and grasped both sides of the cloth division and gave it a good yank, like she was training all her life for this moment.
Soon as the too-long section was segregated, there was a new arrival in the bedroom.
Yuka. Awe yeah, now it was a fucking party! The Horny Police (A.K.A. Thot Patrol) was back in business and back at it again at Krispy Kreme.
"Hey, girl, hey~" she replied, picking up the knife before standing fully back up and taking in the fact that like, God damn was Yuka looking like a hotmess, which was maybe a little understandable considering the whole 'omg my sisters are dead' thing which like, ROBED GIRL (MINI) didn't relate to but she still got it.
But anyway more importantly, not the time for catchup! Cathy still wouldn't shut the fuck up like ugggghhhh get that bitch a mute button. Which Mikey did, the eagle eye shooting her square in the chest. Didn't look like the heart area, but also tbh she kinda bombed anatomy pretty spectacularly so like what did she know.
And then Cathy fell to the ground, assumingly. Out of sight, obvs, but like where else could the bitch go?
"Nice shot." ROBED GIRL (MINI) patted Mikey on the back.
Now they should probably, like, make sure Cathy wasn't trying to bamboozle them.
So ROBED GIRL (MINI) yeeted herself through- ...she flashed a quick salute at the other newcomer at the entrance which like, hey, whaddup, I'll deal with ya later- the window, and then kobed through the second one into the house the window girl was chilling inside.
Nah, Cathy was still there on the floor and bleeding and stuff. Oof. Kinda a big mood. But she looked like she was still breathing, so!
ROBED GIRL (W/KNIFE) squat down by her with a contemptuous smirk painted on, knife resting comfortably in the palm of her hand. "Damn, bitch, you're still not dead? C'mon, tick tock tick tock, what gives?"
ROBED GIRL #3 set the knife down and grasped both sides of the cloth division and gave it a good yank, like she was training all her life for this moment.
Soon as the too-long section was segregated, there was a new arrival in the bedroom.
Yuka. Awe yeah, now it was a fucking party! The Horny Police (A.K.A. Thot Patrol) was back in business and back at it again at Krispy Kreme.
"Hey, girl, hey~" she replied, picking up the knife before standing fully back up and taking in the fact that like, God damn was Yuka looking like a hotmess, which was maybe a little understandable considering the whole 'omg my sisters are dead' thing which like, ROBED GIRL (MINI) didn't relate to but she still got it.
But anyway more importantly, not the time for catchup! Cathy still wouldn't shut the fuck up like ugggghhhh get that bitch a mute button. Which Mikey did, the eagle eye shooting her square in the chest. Didn't look like the heart area, but also tbh she kinda bombed anatomy pretty spectacularly so like what did she know.
And then Cathy fell to the ground, assumingly. Out of sight, obvs, but like where else could the bitch go?
"Nice shot." ROBED GIRL (MINI) patted Mikey on the back.
Now they should probably, like, make sure Cathy wasn't trying to bamboozle them.
So ROBED GIRL (MINI) yeeted herself through- ...she flashed a quick salute at the other newcomer at the entrance which like, hey, whaddup, I'll deal with ya later- the window, and then kobed through the second one into the house the window girl was chilling inside.
Nah, Cathy was still there on the floor and bleeding and stuff. Oof. Kinda a big mood. But she looked like she was still breathing, so!
ROBED GIRL (W/KNIFE) squat down by her with a contemptuous smirk painted on, knife resting comfortably in the palm of her hand. "Damn, bitch, you're still not dead? C'mon, tick tock tick tock, what gives?"
The boy hadn't gotten everything out of his system, it turned out.
A gunshot, Yuka flinched, covered her ears, it sounded too familiar. She looked up, a blossom of red on a nameless girl's chest, collapse, it looked too familher happiness her everythingiar.
Blood rushed in the back of her neck, a layer of static started to creep in, but then Teresa patted the boy, the perpetrator, on the back, looked happy about all this.
Teresa looked happy.
She wanted that.
She looked at the boy, she wanted to say his name was Mickey, and hated him, she decided. He'd pulled the trigger, he was just like Erika. But Teresa, she wanted what she had. So, she tried leaping over the window, and found herself winded, reduced in energy. There were spots in her vision. In the back of her mind was a gnawing in her stomach that had been present for days, but she didn't pay it mind.
Instead of jumping over the second window, she walked towards the door of the second house, and she positioned herself so that Teresa was visible, but the bloodstained girl wasn't. There was screaming, and odd-sounding breaths, but Yuki hadn't screamed, so it was okay. And so she watched.
A gunshot, Yuka flinched, covered her ears, it sounded too familiar. She looked up, a blossom of red on a nameless girl's chest, collapse, it looked too familher happiness her everythingiar.
Blood rushed in the back of her neck, a layer of static started to creep in, but then Teresa patted the boy, the perpetrator, on the back, looked happy about all this.
Teresa looked happy.
She wanted that.
She looked at the boy, she wanted to say his name was Mickey, and hated him, she decided. He'd pulled the trigger, he was just like Erika. But Teresa, she wanted what she had. So, she tried leaping over the window, and found herself winded, reduced in energy. There were spots in her vision. In the back of her mind was a gnawing in her stomach that had been present for days, but she didn't pay it mind.
Instead of jumping over the second window, she walked towards the door of the second house, and she positioned herself so that Teresa was visible, but the bloodstained girl wasn't. There was screaming, and odd-sounding breaths, but Yuki hadn't screamed, so it was okay. And so she watched.
Michael Froese was the gunman. Teresa was with him. They were named in the announcements a while back, weren’t they? Yuka and Teresa greeted each other like a couple of valley girls. Zach thought about joining them, maybe make it a party. But then, Michael shot at his target again.
Zach’s ears rang from the loud pop of the gun. Teresa congratulated Michael and patted his back. He must have hit that girl for real this time. Any normal person’s reaction would be shock and disgust upon witnessing a shooting being carried out in fron of them. Zach, however, felt not much of anything. After everything he’d seen up to this point, Zach had grown an acceptance for these actions.
He survived the shootout at the lighthouse, which led to him killing Bree. Then, he was around when Desiree was shot dead at the infirmary. And, most recently, he had carried out his second killing on Brandon. After all the death, all the gunfire, all the actions he’d taken, had he grown numb to it all?
He then notice Teresa jump out the window. Yuka exited the house too, without even noticing Zach. They must have gone to the second house to see if Michael’s handiwork was successful. Zach followed, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. He stopped in front of the next house, with Yuka standing at the door.
“Yo,” Zach said as he positioned himself closer to her, “Um. Don’t mind me.”
He stood at the doorway. He could see Teresa, squatting over that girl, who was still clinging to life.
Zach’s ears rang from the loud pop of the gun. Teresa congratulated Michael and patted his back. He must have hit that girl for real this time. Any normal person’s reaction would be shock and disgust upon witnessing a shooting being carried out in fron of them. Zach, however, felt not much of anything. After everything he’d seen up to this point, Zach had grown an acceptance for these actions.
He survived the shootout at the lighthouse, which led to him killing Bree. Then, he was around when Desiree was shot dead at the infirmary. And, most recently, he had carried out his second killing on Brandon. After all the death, all the gunfire, all the actions he’d taken, had he grown numb to it all?
He then notice Teresa jump out the window. Yuka exited the house too, without even noticing Zach. They must have gone to the second house to see if Michael’s handiwork was successful. Zach followed, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. He stopped in front of the next house, with Yuka standing at the door.
“Yo,” Zach said as he positioned himself closer to her, “Um. Don’t mind me.”
He stood at the doorway. He could see Teresa, squatting over that girl, who was still clinging to life.
He watched Catherine fall. He didn't know where his shot hit her. He just saw her fall. He didn't hear her hit the ground but he felt her hit the ground. He didn't know where his shot hit her. She hadn't fallen after the warning shot but she'd fallen after this shot and that meant she wasn't going to stand up again.
It was okay. Michael was okay. Catherine was okay. She was dead which meant she wasn't here and anywhere was better than here. It was okay. It was okay -
- Catherine started screaming.
Catherine was screaming. An animal sound. Guttural lizard brain sound. She was in the worst pain she'd ever been in. It was the worst thing Michael'd ever heard.
Camila hadn't screamed. Camila had been okay with dying.
Beryl hadn't screamed. It wasn't like Beryl to scream, anyway. He wasn't sure if she'd been okay with dying.
Jeremiah had screamed with his hands.
Catherine was screaming. Catherine wasn't okay with dying but she was dying anyway because Michael had projected himself onto her. She was in pure agony because he couldn't get the fuck over himself.
He couldn't get over himself because it was a coping mechanism to distract him from... something? A lot of things.
He was having second thoughts about shooting Catherine now but it was too late for those now because he'd already shot her and-
- jesus fucking christ he'd just murdered her on a whim and
and she was screaming
and she wasn't okay with any of this
he was a murderbot but not in the way they'd said he was
she'd told him to shoot straight and he'd interpreted it literally like he was a computer program and
and he'd done as he thought she'd told him to do
no hesitation
he hadn't hesitated before murdering someone and
fuck fuck fuck FUCK it was happening again it
it was his brain was
it was doing the thing and not just the thing but the thing it had done when
when nick had been burying Her at sea
and she was screaming
and screaming
and She hadn't screamed but She wasn't the screaming type and
he didn't know
he didn't know if She'd ever been okay
he didn't know and
and it was burning him alive because
because all he'd ever wanted was for Her to be okay
and he didn't know
he wouldn't ever know and
and
She was beautiful
and
She was the person he wanted to be
and he loved Her.
he loved Her
he loved Her
she was screaming and
and he loved her
and he loved everyone
and everyone was dying but they didn't want to die but they knew they were going to die
but they were still trying
like jeremiah trying to breathe through a collapsed throat
they were still trying and watching them try hurt and
and it hurt it hurt so fucking bad and
and he didn't know what to do except hurt people
the only thing he still knew how to do was hurt people because he loved them
Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, "Dear Jim: I loved your card." Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, "Jim loved your card so much he ate it."
michael loved everyone so much he ate them
something had eaten Her eyes
something had eaten Her face
rotting
back to the earth
no saints just breakfast and dinner
rotting was the same thing as being eaten
camila was rotting
catherine would be rotting soon
she was still screaming
she wasn't rotting yet
she was still trying
camila hadn't tried
she'd been okay with it
giving up was freedom in this place
giving in was freedom in this place
prey, up
predator, in
michael'd given in
he'd tried to give up but the world wouldn't let him give up so
so he gave in
so he joined the side that would win
and he'd finally done it he'd just killed someone in cold blood
he'd given in
gone feral
become a wild thing
coughed his heart out
he barely missed it at all
he'd let Her die
but
but he knew
he knew he'd have killed Her if they'd ever actually met
because he loved Her so much he'd have killed Her because
because anywhere was better than here
or he'd force Her away like he did morgan but
but he knew he'd have killed Her
because She was prey and he was
he was a predator and
and that wasn't really what he was but
but someone else someone like quinn killing Her would be
it would be horrifying
quinn would do something and then She would
She would pass out and quinn would
would do to Her what she did to stepney except she'd do it while She was alive and
and then She would wake up and
and
and
He would have taken Beryl to the beach, then he would have given her a hug, then he would have looked into her eyes one last time, and he would have held his tears in because he wouldn't want her to worry. Then, he would have said
he said he loved her, and then he said something about how pretty the sunset was. He looked blankly at her back, and raised the gun while crying silently. He pulled the trigger. There were two explosions, one from the barrel of the pistol, the other from Beryl's head, then there was a 'whumph,' then there was nothing. Beryl's head was splattered across the ground like Kyle's had been. He looked into her eyes, and they stared back, and then he stared at her optic nerves, because her eyes had been knocked loose. He took her out to sea, leaving a crimson line in the sand. He managed to make it back to land. He looked up at a camera, and he sang 'Breezeblocks' by alt-j, because he thought it was a song about how sometimes in order to do best by the ones you loved, you had to hurt them, because sometimes the alternative was worse. He had to take a break midway through the song, because the lyric "Please don’t go, I’ll eat you whole; I love you so, I love you so, I love you so," was too much for him.
He didn't know it was a song about loving someone so much you felt the urge to hurt both them and yourself.
If he had known, he still would have sung it.
but he did know, didn't he?
and he knew deep
deep down, at the bottom of the bottom of it all, it was why he hadn't stopped doing what he did.
Michael Froese was a vegetarian. He was prey.
He used to be prey.
but then his mind caved in upon its own weight
compressed into a single point like a black hole and then
and then he found his rebound
he found his way to adapt
Teresa. A predator. She was made for this place. She was happy here. He didn't feel any urge to hurt her.
Teresa was his rebound.
Teresa thought he was a predator.
Michael was always just whoever he thought people expected him to be.
Teresa was a place to hide from love.
She'd called him Mikey.
He'd go by Mikey from now on.
There was a hand on his back. He could feel a hand on his back. Teresa's voice. Teresa's hand. She complimented his aim. Mikey was good at murder. Who'd have guessed? He felt -
- he didn't. He didn't feel, at least not in the present moment.
He just existed, sort of.
Teresa was in front of him now, and her robe was shorter, and then she was outside, and then she was in the house next door with Catherine, who was still screaming.
Teresa said something. Catherine was still alive. Teresa jumped out of the window again. Wait, no, that wasn't right. Someone else jumped out of the window. A Yukoid.
He blinked.
Wait what
He blinked.
Where'd she come from?
Oh shit she was the last living Yukoid.
For whatever reason, he decided not to shoot her in the back.
SHIT TERESA WAS GONNA KILL CATHERINE. Mikey needed his name to be the name on the announcements for this. Catherine was still screaming. Mikey needed the island to know he was a double-murderer.
He needed the world to treat him like the person he thought he was.
He was alone now, he was pretty sure — well, he was alone with Camila and the cameras. "You'll all say I've crossed the line, but the sad fact is I've lost my mind," he quietly said to them and only them. He'd stolen that from a song. Then, his body shot out of the window like a squid jetting out into the deep blue sea. He hit the ground running and hopped through the other window, like some sort of animal that locomoted by hopping (perhaps an amphibian of some variety...).
He landed on his feet again, and took a step without really looking around. The sole of his shoe felt sticky as he lifted it, and that made him look down. There was a puddle, it was hard to make out what exactly it was a puddle of through his sunglasses because colours looked the same when everything was dark, but he had a preeeetty good guess of what it was based on context. There was a darker shape connected to the puddle, and as Mikey's eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it was Catherine. His eyes scanned over her real quick, and he caught what looked like a gunshot wound in one of her legs. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.
He'd hit her with the warning shot. He actually hadn't shot straight when he'd fired at her the first time.
"Sorry," he muttered reflexively, before realizing there were other people around. Teresa was there, squatting next to Catherine. She had her knife. "Mmm, don't. You'll get your robe all bloody," he stated to her. He looked back at Catherine. Idly, he observed the blood flooding from her chest; from her mouth. She was probably gonna die pretty soon, which meant she'd probably be okay pretty soon. "Needs to be my name on the announcements for this. Tactical purposes. I'll explain later."
Jonathan was still alive. Mikey'd kinda sorta saved his life maybe. It didn't make him feel good. He felt kind of guilty about it, maybe. He wasn't sure.
He glanced around the room, and caught two people at the doorway. The Yukoid, and -
He squinted.
- Zachary Beck. Napoleon complex. Bree Jones. Bree'd been Michael's marine biology buddy. Bree'd been how he'd gotten his gossip. He barely remembered her voice. Brandon Murphy. Michael didn't know him. Zach was a double-murderer. One of the people Michael'd thought could have been Sammy (but actually Quinn pulling a Ted Bundy)'s attacker.
Simpler times. Less than twelve hours ago. A lot felt like it had changed.
Zach was to people whose names started with 'Br' what Mikey was to people whose names started with 'Ca', or what Nick was to throats. Zach hadn't shot the Yukoid, so he was safe, probably.
"'Sup, y'all bystander effect ass motherfuckers," he said to them, nodding his head towards Catherine's prone form. "She told me to shoot straight. I obliged."
He was only crying on the inside, so by modern standards, he was okay.
He glanced back down at Catherine; looked her in the eyes. He briefly took a hand off of his gun and slipped his sunglasses off. He knew how terrifying it must have been for Catherine to stare at her own dying face in the reflection of her killer's sunglasses. He'd done something similar himself. He was still pointing the gun at her, he realized. She was dying still probably, he remembered. "Catherine, if you want me to pop you in the head, just like... let me, uh, know, yeah?" he said. He didn't know if she could hear him.
Like always, it was a love story.
It was okay. Michael was okay. Catherine was okay. She was dead which meant she wasn't here and anywhere was better than here. It was okay. It was okay -
- Catherine started screaming.
Catherine was screaming. An animal sound. Guttural lizard brain sound. She was in the worst pain she'd ever been in. It was the worst thing Michael'd ever heard.
Camila hadn't screamed. Camila had been okay with dying.
Beryl hadn't screamed. It wasn't like Beryl to scream, anyway. He wasn't sure if she'd been okay with dying.
Jeremiah had screamed with his hands.
Catherine was screaming. Catherine wasn't okay with dying but she was dying anyway because Michael had projected himself onto her. She was in pure agony because he couldn't get the fuck over himself.
He couldn't get over himself because it was a coping mechanism to distract him from... something? A lot of things.
He was having second thoughts about shooting Catherine now but it was too late for those now because he'd already shot her and-
- jesus fucking christ he'd just murdered her on a whim and
and she was screaming
and she wasn't okay with any of this
he was a murderbot but not in the way they'd said he was
she'd told him to shoot straight and he'd interpreted it literally like he was a computer program and
and he'd done as he thought she'd told him to do
no hesitation
he hadn't hesitated before murdering someone and
fuck fuck fuck FUCK it was happening again it
it was his brain was
it was doing the thing and not just the thing but the thing it had done when
when nick had been burying Her at sea
and she was screaming
and screaming
and She hadn't screamed but She wasn't the screaming type and
he didn't know
he didn't know if She'd ever been okay
he didn't know and
and it was burning him alive because
because all he'd ever wanted was for Her to be okay
and he didn't know
he wouldn't ever know and
and
She was beautiful
and
She was the person he wanted to be
and he loved Her.
he loved Her
he loved Her
she was screaming and
and he loved her
and he loved everyone
and everyone was dying but they didn't want to die but they knew they were going to die
but they were still trying
like jeremiah trying to breathe through a collapsed throat
they were still trying and watching them try hurt and
and it hurt it hurt so fucking bad and
and he didn't know what to do except hurt people
the only thing he still knew how to do was hurt people because he loved them
Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, "Dear Jim: I loved your card." Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, "Jim loved your card so much he ate it."
michael loved everyone so much he ate them
something had eaten Her eyes
something had eaten Her face
rotting
back to the earth
no saints just breakfast and dinner
rotting was the same thing as being eaten
camila was rotting
catherine would be rotting soon
she was still screaming
she wasn't rotting yet
she was still trying
camila hadn't tried
she'd been okay with it
giving up was freedom in this place
giving in was freedom in this place
prey, up
predator, in
michael'd given in
he'd tried to give up but the world wouldn't let him give up so
so he gave in
so he joined the side that would win
and he'd finally done it he'd just killed someone in cold blood
he'd given in
gone feral
become a wild thing
coughed his heart out
he barely missed it at all
he'd let Her die
but
but he knew
he knew he'd have killed Her if they'd ever actually met
because he loved Her so much he'd have killed Her because
because anywhere was better than here
or he'd force Her away like he did morgan but
but he knew he'd have killed Her
because She was prey and he was
he was a predator and
and that wasn't really what he was but
but someone else someone like quinn killing Her would be
it would be horrifying
quinn would do something and then She would
She would pass out and quinn would
would do to Her what she did to stepney except she'd do it while She was alive and
and then She would wake up and
and
and
He would have taken Beryl to the beach, then he would have given her a hug, then he would have looked into her eyes one last time, and he would have held his tears in because he wouldn't want her to worry. Then, he would have said
he said he loved her, and then he said something about how pretty the sunset was. He looked blankly at her back, and raised the gun while crying silently. He pulled the trigger. There were two explosions, one from the barrel of the pistol, the other from Beryl's head, then there was a 'whumph,' then there was nothing. Beryl's head was splattered across the ground like Kyle's had been. He looked into her eyes, and they stared back, and then he stared at her optic nerves, because her eyes had been knocked loose. He took her out to sea, leaving a crimson line in the sand. He managed to make it back to land. He looked up at a camera, and he sang 'Breezeblocks' by alt-j, because he thought it was a song about how sometimes in order to do best by the ones you loved, you had to hurt them, because sometimes the alternative was worse. He had to take a break midway through the song, because the lyric "Please don’t go, I’ll eat you whole; I love you so, I love you so, I love you so," was too much for him.
He didn't know it was a song about loving someone so much you felt the urge to hurt both them and yourself.
If he had known, he still would have sung it.
but he did know, didn't he?
and he knew deep
deep down, at the bottom of the bottom of it all, it was why he hadn't stopped doing what he did.
Michael Froese was a vegetarian. He was prey.
He used to be prey.
but then his mind caved in upon its own weight
compressed into a single point like a black hole and then
and then he found his rebound
he found his way to adapt
Teresa. A predator. She was made for this place. She was happy here. He didn't feel any urge to hurt her.
Teresa was his rebound.
Teresa thought he was a predator.
Michael was always just whoever he thought people expected him to be.
Teresa was a place to hide from love.
She'd called him Mikey.
He'd go by Mikey from now on.
There was a hand on his back. He could feel a hand on his back. Teresa's voice. Teresa's hand. She complimented his aim. Mikey was good at murder. Who'd have guessed? He felt -
- he didn't. He didn't feel, at least not in the present moment.
He just existed, sort of.
Teresa was in front of him now, and her robe was shorter, and then she was outside, and then she was in the house next door with Catherine, who was still screaming.
Teresa said something. Catherine was still alive. Teresa jumped out of the window again. Wait, no, that wasn't right. Someone else jumped out of the window. A Yukoid.
He blinked.
Wait what
He blinked.
Where'd she come from?
Oh shit she was the last living Yukoid.
For whatever reason, he decided not to shoot her in the back.
SHIT TERESA WAS GONNA KILL CATHERINE. Mikey needed his name to be the name on the announcements for this. Catherine was still screaming. Mikey needed the island to know he was a double-murderer.
He needed the world to treat him like the person he thought he was.
He was alone now, he was pretty sure — well, he was alone with Camila and the cameras. "You'll all say I've crossed the line, but the sad fact is I've lost my mind," he quietly said to them and only them. He'd stolen that from a song. Then, his body shot out of the window like a squid jetting out into the deep blue sea. He hit the ground running and hopped through the other window, like some sort of animal that locomoted by hopping (perhaps an amphibian of some variety...).
He landed on his feet again, and took a step without really looking around. The sole of his shoe felt sticky as he lifted it, and that made him look down. There was a puddle, it was hard to make out what exactly it was a puddle of through his sunglasses because colours looked the same when everything was dark, but he had a preeeetty good guess of what it was based on context. There was a darker shape connected to the puddle, and as Mikey's eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it was Catherine. His eyes scanned over her real quick, and he caught what looked like a gunshot wound in one of her legs. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.
He'd hit her with the warning shot. He actually hadn't shot straight when he'd fired at her the first time.
"Sorry," he muttered reflexively, before realizing there were other people around. Teresa was there, squatting next to Catherine. She had her knife. "Mmm, don't. You'll get your robe all bloody," he stated to her. He looked back at Catherine. Idly, he observed the blood flooding from her chest; from her mouth. She was probably gonna die pretty soon, which meant she'd probably be okay pretty soon. "Needs to be my name on the announcements for this. Tactical purposes. I'll explain later."
Jonathan was still alive. Mikey'd kinda sorta saved his life maybe. It didn't make him feel good. He felt kind of guilty about it, maybe. He wasn't sure.
He glanced around the room, and caught two people at the doorway. The Yukoid, and -
He squinted.
- Zachary Beck. Napoleon complex. Bree Jones. Bree'd been Michael's marine biology buddy. Bree'd been how he'd gotten his gossip. He barely remembered her voice. Brandon Murphy. Michael didn't know him. Zach was a double-murderer. One of the people Michael'd thought could have been Sammy (but actually Quinn pulling a Ted Bundy)'s attacker.
Simpler times. Less than twelve hours ago. A lot felt like it had changed.
Zach was to people whose names started with 'Br' what Mikey was to people whose names started with 'Ca', or what Nick was to throats. Zach hadn't shot the Yukoid, so he was safe, probably.
"'Sup, y'all bystander effect ass motherfuckers," he said to them, nodding his head towards Catherine's prone form. "She told me to shoot straight. I obliged."
He was only crying on the inside, so by modern standards, he was okay.
He glanced back down at Catherine; looked her in the eyes. He briefly took a hand off of his gun and slipped his sunglasses off. He knew how terrifying it must have been for Catherine to stare at her own dying face in the reflection of her killer's sunglasses. He'd done something similar himself. He was still pointing the gun at her, he realized. She was dying still probably, he remembered. "Catherine, if you want me to pop you in the head, just like... let me, uh, know, yeah?" he said. He didn't know if she could hear him.
Like always, it was a love story.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
“Th-thanks.” Why did blood taste like copper? It felt strange. Did blood ever taste like that? Or was it because she had an extra dose of was inside of her body? “But no th-thanks.”
Catherine needed to wake up. Usually, she went for coffee with a lot of milk and a lot of sugar. She often used the nespresso machine her mom bought for Christmas. It was always nice when someone’s Christmas present became yours by proxy.
But with a gunshot wound to the chest, Catherine had never felt more awake. And by default, more alive. She already thanked Michael twice, but she repeated herself. Teresa was not there anymore in her mind. The only person in her universe was her and then Michael.
“Get me my bag,” she dragged her bloody finger across her chest toward the closet, “I need my-“
Another splutter of blood came through her mouth. The taste was sickening. She tilted her head to the side, letting it flow out of her mouth like a waterfall. No, more like jello. It was stickier and sweeter than water.
She coughed softly. She thanked Michael again.
Catherine needed to wake up. Usually, she went for coffee with a lot of milk and a lot of sugar. She often used the nespresso machine her mom bought for Christmas. It was always nice when someone’s Christmas present became yours by proxy.
But with a gunshot wound to the chest, Catherine had never felt more awake. And by default, more alive. She already thanked Michael twice, but she repeated herself. Teresa was not there anymore in her mind. The only person in her universe was her and then Michael.
“Get me my bag,” she dragged her bloody finger across her chest toward the closet, “I need my-“
Another splutter of blood came through her mouth. The taste was sickening. She tilted her head to the side, letting it flow out of her mouth like a waterfall. No, more like jello. It was stickier and sweeter than water.
She coughed softly. She thanked Michael again.
CROUCHED GIRL (W/KNIFE) rolled her eyes away from Mikey and frowned. Maybe he wasn't as fun as he seemed. Though it did say a lot that, like, he really thought she was just gonna stab the bitch all willy nilly.
It really did.
Anyhoo! The bag. Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Dying wish for the dying bitch. Mikey and Cathy had a gaywad thing going on so ROBED GIRL rose from her spot to go root around in the closet for Sylvester.
It was chilling against the back. She snatched the carrying strap and kobed it at Mikey. Might've put too much mustard and made it a yeet, though. Didn't super care.
It really did.
Anyhoo! The bag. Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Dying wish for the dying bitch. Mikey and Cathy had a gaywad thing going on so ROBED GIRL rose from her spot to go root around in the closet for Sylvester.
It was chilling against the back. She snatched the carrying strap and kobed it at Mikey. Might've put too much mustard and made it a yeet, though. Didn't super care.
Mickey called it the bystander effect, Yuka called it staying out of trouble, back then.
Back in 8th grade, Yuka had had a bad break-up, and she'd been left to deal with the self-loathing and misery that came with the aftermath of her relationship. She didn't even remember too well the name of the guy she'd broken up with, or how he'd been like, just how he'd made her feel. And in that moment, she'd consciously decided that she never ever deserved to feel like that again. Her happiness, above everything else. And her happiness took various forms. Most of the time, it was, was, her siblings, her parents, family, sometimes it was datefriends, and sometimes, it was just inner peace.
She had seen her fair share of fights, confrontations, in the hallways of school, on the walls of her Facebook, Twitter accounts. She had seen them, and she had scrolled past them, walked past them, until they were out of sight. And sometimes, there would be a dozen others walking past and scrolling past, letting injustice play out. Maybe she informed Yuko if she felt brave, to break the effect. Bystander effect, Yuko had called it. When you think 'There's a bunch of people around, someone else can take care of it,' and the crowd thinks it in unison, and no one takes care of it.
The phrase would keep her awake a few minutes later than usual, sometimes. The thought that she could have put a stop to it, but she didn't. The thought that she always, always chose to be a part of the crowd. The crowd was many, the crowd was safe. Outside the crowd lay strife, inside the crowd lay inner peace, happiness. Inner peace above everything else, happiness above everything else.
Never mind the minutes spent tossing around in bed, restless. At least she'd avoided the stress of being involved, right? And, better to be a bystander than an instigator, right? Better to be neutral than to be the antagonist.
Yuka was a spectator, Mickey was the antagonist. Mickey was Erika, and that was another reason to hate him.
And what a spectacle it was, God. A girl was dying, and the other boy, Zach, she remembered, was just sliding right by her, saying 'Don't mind me,' and watching, too. And, Yuka obliged, but, they were watching passively as if it was a school play, and Mickey justified the act by saying she asked for it, as if he had the right, and she hated him for it. She hated him, and it felt different from the grief and wailing and gnashing of teeth of the past week, and she needed different right now, so he was good for her, in a way, and the thought made her want to throw up, even if there was nothing left inside her, and she hated him even more for it. She wanted to tear him apart, literally, physically, because he was bad, because he was Erika, he was Katrina.
The only thing that kept her from charging him, bashing his brains in with the butt of her weapon, was that Teresa liked him. 'Good shot,' she'd said, as if he'd thrown a basketball, as if he hadn't taken someone's life. 'Tick tock tick tock,' she'd said, as if the unseen girl on the floor was taking too long tying her shoelaces. All of this seemed so mundane to her, and that made her the most insane and the most sane at the same time. And she needed that, she needed her.
Mickey was Erika, Mickey was Katrina. Mickey was Yuki's killer, Mickey was Yuko's killer. Mickey was defined in terms of Yuki and Yuko, just as everyone and everything was. There had been a time when her life hadn't been divided into Before and After, when she hadn't placed such importance in a pair of football earrings and a fountain pen, when there had been something on her mind other than finding her sisters, grieving her sisters, avenging her sisters, but Before felt as distant as BC did, at this point. She had been near recovery, for a moment, when she'd been with Yuki, and she had remembered that Tristan existed and died on this island, Beryl existed and died on this island, Roxie and Sakurako were still out there on this island, Zen, thank God, was safe back home, and she remembered there were other people in her life other than her sisters, and then Erika, the dividing point, and there was no recovery to speak of. Just before and after.
Teresa was Teresa. Teresa was timeless. Teresa was Teresa at Swiftball, drunk and slurring her words and stumbling around the party, making herself and Yuka look dumb. Teresa was Teresa, stumbling home with her at 3 AM, the smell of whiskey sour lingering on her breath. And that's who she needed, right now.
Yuka was tempted to get the bag herself, prove herself more than a bystander, if only to spite Mickey, but Teresa beat her to the punch. So, she stayed on the sidelines. "Be my guest," she mumbled to Zach, and it was only after she spoke the words that she remembered Zach had also been on the announcements. Oh well.
Back in 8th grade, Yuka had had a bad break-up, and she'd been left to deal with the self-loathing and misery that came with the aftermath of her relationship. She didn't even remember too well the name of the guy she'd broken up with, or how he'd been like, just how he'd made her feel. And in that moment, she'd consciously decided that she never ever deserved to feel like that again. Her happiness, above everything else. And her happiness took various forms. Most of the time, it was, was, her siblings, her parents, family, sometimes it was datefriends, and sometimes, it was just inner peace.
She had seen her fair share of fights, confrontations, in the hallways of school, on the walls of her Facebook, Twitter accounts. She had seen them, and she had scrolled past them, walked past them, until they were out of sight. And sometimes, there would be a dozen others walking past and scrolling past, letting injustice play out. Maybe she informed Yuko if she felt brave, to break the effect. Bystander effect, Yuko had called it. When you think 'There's a bunch of people around, someone else can take care of it,' and the crowd thinks it in unison, and no one takes care of it.
The phrase would keep her awake a few minutes later than usual, sometimes. The thought that she could have put a stop to it, but she didn't. The thought that she always, always chose to be a part of the crowd. The crowd was many, the crowd was safe. Outside the crowd lay strife, inside the crowd lay inner peace, happiness. Inner peace above everything else, happiness above everything else.
Never mind the minutes spent tossing around in bed, restless. At least she'd avoided the stress of being involved, right? And, better to be a bystander than an instigator, right? Better to be neutral than to be the antagonist.
Yuka was a spectator, Mickey was the antagonist. Mickey was Erika, and that was another reason to hate him.
And what a spectacle it was, God. A girl was dying, and the other boy, Zach, she remembered, was just sliding right by her, saying 'Don't mind me,' and watching, too. And, Yuka obliged, but, they were watching passively as if it was a school play, and Mickey justified the act by saying she asked for it, as if he had the right, and she hated him for it. She hated him, and it felt different from the grief and wailing and gnashing of teeth of the past week, and she needed different right now, so he was good for her, in a way, and the thought made her want to throw up, even if there was nothing left inside her, and she hated him even more for it. She wanted to tear him apart, literally, physically, because he was bad, because he was Erika, he was Katrina.
The only thing that kept her from charging him, bashing his brains in with the butt of her weapon, was that Teresa liked him. 'Good shot,' she'd said, as if he'd thrown a basketball, as if he hadn't taken someone's life. 'Tick tock tick tock,' she'd said, as if the unseen girl on the floor was taking too long tying her shoelaces. All of this seemed so mundane to her, and that made her the most insane and the most sane at the same time. And she needed that, she needed her.
Mickey was Erika, Mickey was Katrina. Mickey was Yuki's killer, Mickey was Yuko's killer. Mickey was defined in terms of Yuki and Yuko, just as everyone and everything was. There had been a time when her life hadn't been divided into Before and After, when she hadn't placed such importance in a pair of football earrings and a fountain pen, when there had been something on her mind other than finding her sisters, grieving her sisters, avenging her sisters, but Before felt as distant as BC did, at this point. She had been near recovery, for a moment, when she'd been with Yuki, and she had remembered that Tristan existed and died on this island, Beryl existed and died on this island, Roxie and Sakurako were still out there on this island, Zen, thank God, was safe back home, and she remembered there were other people in her life other than her sisters, and then Erika, the dividing point, and there was no recovery to speak of. Just before and after.
Teresa was Teresa. Teresa was timeless. Teresa was Teresa at Swiftball, drunk and slurring her words and stumbling around the party, making herself and Yuka look dumb. Teresa was Teresa, stumbling home with her at 3 AM, the smell of whiskey sour lingering on her breath. And that's who she needed, right now.
Yuka was tempted to get the bag herself, prove herself more than a bystander, if only to spite Mickey, but Teresa beat her to the punch. So, she stayed on the sidelines. "Be my guest," she mumbled to Zach, and it was only after she spoke the words that she remembered Zach had also been on the announcements. Oh well.
Bystander effect? Maybe in this situation, but Zach was trying to stay out of trouble. As Zach watched the girl being toyed with by Teresa and Michael, he looked to Yuka, then back at Teresa. The bitch was toying with the girl. Is this what sadism was like up close? Zach didn’t play with his victims. The first time was a mistake. The second time, he figured he was doing a couple of guys a favor. Why didn’t they just get it over with? Regardless of what he thought, Zach kept quiet, as to not draw attention.
Michael offered to put the girl out of her misery, while Teresa fetched something for her from the closet. Zach looked back to Yuka and whispered.
“This is pretty fucked up, right?”
He thought back to the first day, at the lighthouse. Yuko was there, so was Katrina, her killer. She had wanted to delay progress of the game by uniting as many of the students as she could. Zach had dismissed the plan as fucking stupid. And now, Yuko was gone. And recently, another Hayashibara triplet was killed. That had to have been devastating to Yuka. He kept whispering to her.
“Sorry about your sisters. You know, I met Yuko on my first day.”
Michael offered to put the girl out of her misery, while Teresa fetched something for her from the closet. Zach looked back to Yuka and whispered.
“This is pretty fucked up, right?”
He thought back to the first day, at the lighthouse. Yuko was there, so was Katrina, her killer. She had wanted to delay progress of the game by uniting as many of the students as she could. Zach had dismissed the plan as fucking stupid. And now, Yuko was gone. And recently, another Hayashibara triplet was killed. That had to have been devastating to Yuka. He kept whispering to her.
“Sorry about your sisters. You know, I met Yuko on my first day.”
Just because it was a love story didn't mean it was a romance story. Mikey didn't do romance stories. To him, 'love' was defined as being emotionally invested in something. To him, 'love' meant to be addicted to something. He had many short-term loves. For example, he'd only been in love with his memory of Beryl Mahelona for like five days.
There were only a few long-term loves that managed to survive this far into his time on the island. He was in love with hating himself. He was in love with his depression. He was in love with the void. He was in love with pretending. He was in love with feeling validated. Most of all, though, he was in love with staring into the sun.
And so he kept staring into Catherine's eyes as she sputtered out blood and thanks. When she breathed, he could hear kind of a crackling sound. She sounded like pneumonia. Tears began to well up in his eyes, so he looked away from her face for a moment, and he felt the sudden urge to clear his throat. He held it in, but it clawed and it clawed and it clawed, so he looked back into her eyes, and he felt his jaw clench and his nostrils flare and his hands were shaking all of a sudden, and then his pupils contracted for a second, and the clawing stopped, and then his pupils dilated again, and the shaking stopped and the clawing didn't come back.
The heat went on. He could taste something like rusty metal in his mouth. Adrenaline, he was pretty sure. He'd tasted it before once during a particularly bad blood sugar low.
His focus shifted to the surface of Catherine's eyes; to the images reflected off of them. He looked his own reflection in the eyes. He was vaguely reminded of Bad Bad Things by AJJ.
"You're welcome," he said nominally to Catherine but really to himself.
He saw a flash of movement from his peripheral vision and instinctually fwooshed out of the way, his boots sliding along a surface of blood. There was a fwumph noise, and he looked towards the source. A bag! Hadn't Catherine asked for a bag? He picked it up with one hand and mentally traced its trajectory to around where Teresa was located. "Wow, that's such a Lori move," he said in a faux-annoyed tone before switching back to his regular voice. "Gucci though, thanks Teresa."
He dragged the bag through the blood and left it next to Catherine. He looked back down at her face. "Y'know, since you can still, like, talk and stuff, I think maybe there's still time for those two thots at the door," he raised his voice momentarily, "to save your life, if that's what you want."
He looked up and over towards the aforementioned thots. They were sure doing something (Mikey couldn't really tell without his glasses). "Y'all gonna get in here or what?"
There were only a few long-term loves that managed to survive this far into his time on the island. He was in love with hating himself. He was in love with his depression. He was in love with the void. He was in love with pretending. He was in love with feeling validated. Most of all, though, he was in love with staring into the sun.
And so he kept staring into Catherine's eyes as she sputtered out blood and thanks. When she breathed, he could hear kind of a crackling sound. She sounded like pneumonia. Tears began to well up in his eyes, so he looked away from her face for a moment, and he felt the sudden urge to clear his throat. He held it in, but it clawed and it clawed and it clawed, so he looked back into her eyes, and he felt his jaw clench and his nostrils flare and his hands were shaking all of a sudden, and then his pupils contracted for a second, and the clawing stopped, and then his pupils dilated again, and the shaking stopped and the clawing didn't come back.
The heat went on. He could taste something like rusty metal in his mouth. Adrenaline, he was pretty sure. He'd tasted it before once during a particularly bad blood sugar low.
His focus shifted to the surface of Catherine's eyes; to the images reflected off of them. He looked his own reflection in the eyes. He was vaguely reminded of Bad Bad Things by AJJ.
"You're welcome," he said nominally to Catherine but really to himself.
He saw a flash of movement from his peripheral vision and instinctually fwooshed out of the way, his boots sliding along a surface of blood. There was a fwumph noise, and he looked towards the source. A bag! Hadn't Catherine asked for a bag? He picked it up with one hand and mentally traced its trajectory to around where Teresa was located. "Wow, that's such a Lori move," he said in a faux-annoyed tone before switching back to his regular voice. "Gucci though, thanks Teresa."
He dragged the bag through the blood and left it next to Catherine. He looked back down at her face. "Y'know, since you can still, like, talk and stuff, I think maybe there's still time for those two thots at the door," he raised his voice momentarily, "to save your life, if that's what you want."
He looked up and over towards the aforementioned thots. They were sure doing something (Mikey couldn't really tell without his glasses). "Y'all gonna get in here or what?"
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Catherine didn't know if she wanted to be saved, but she did know that she wanted to be conscious for a little more. She didn't know why she wanted to be awake so badly, perhaps it had to do something with the nightmares she's had for the last week. The constant fear of closing your eyes and be stuck in a nightmare until the world's final entropy occur was a less-than-ideal goal.
But what did she know other than the blood on her mouth was painting swirvles on her face. What else did she know other than the air in her lungs struggling to leave, and enter, her body as the blood continued to go down and down and down and finally into her lungs. Catherine didn't know a lot, but she did knew this hurt, and she did knew that this was temporary. But the nightmares, the shadowy viserals workings of her mind, weren't.
Death or life didn't really matter anymore. It was a question of state. What hurt less? There wasn't an answer that made sense to Catherine at the moment. The lack of state she was in, the inbetween, the limbo of her suffering didn't make her rational to the pain she was experiencing.
On the verge to ask for the bullet and on the verge to scream for her, she was standing on a fence waiting to be pushed off. There was a choice she wanted to make, a Yoko Ono's Cut Piece in waiting. The abstract swirvles and shades and grays and colors until they turned to black weren't comforting.
Numbness was one thing to fear from death, but Catherine had embraced it. This felt better than the pain. One time she was thrown in an ice cold lake and her lips had turned blue. It felt like this. But at least the lake had a silt to hold her back up, but here? On this island? The fall was constant. It was infinite.
"Hah." Blood stopped tasting like blood and it started to taste like sweat and bones. "I can't feel my toes, oops."
She sniffed. Was she crying or was it blood? Could you bleed from your eyes after being shot in the chest? Interestingly enough, Catherine was starting to believe it. Her fingers as numb as they were grabbed her bag.
"Yeah. Hum." She wanted to be pushed in a direction. "It would be nice but-" another clot of blood, "don't do something that might bother you, you know."
But what did she know other than the blood on her mouth was painting swirvles on her face. What else did she know other than the air in her lungs struggling to leave, and enter, her body as the blood continued to go down and down and down and finally into her lungs. Catherine didn't know a lot, but she did knew this hurt, and she did knew that this was temporary. But the nightmares, the shadowy viserals workings of her mind, weren't.
Death or life didn't really matter anymore. It was a question of state. What hurt less? There wasn't an answer that made sense to Catherine at the moment. The lack of state she was in, the inbetween, the limbo of her suffering didn't make her rational to the pain she was experiencing.
On the verge to ask for the bullet and on the verge to scream for her, she was standing on a fence waiting to be pushed off. There was a choice she wanted to make, a Yoko Ono's Cut Piece in waiting. The abstract swirvles and shades and grays and colors until they turned to black weren't comforting.
Numbness was one thing to fear from death, but Catherine had embraced it. This felt better than the pain. One time she was thrown in an ice cold lake and her lips had turned blue. It felt like this. But at least the lake had a silt to hold her back up, but here? On this island? The fall was constant. It was infinite.
"Hah." Blood stopped tasting like blood and it started to taste like sweat and bones. "I can't feel my toes, oops."
She sniffed. Was she crying or was it blood? Could you bleed from your eyes after being shot in the chest? Interestingly enough, Catherine was starting to believe it. Her fingers as numb as they were grabbed her bag.
"Yeah. Hum." She wanted to be pushed in a direction. "It would be nice but-" another clot of blood, "don't do something that might bother you, you know."
Ugh, Lori. Like, Mikey probably meant that as a compliment but ugh. Just ugh. It was like hearing an audience give you a round of applause for... uhm. Hmm. Can't think up an analogy right now, so let's just move on.
Damn this bitch could yak. Saying it and spraying it.
"I mean, like-Yuka, Zach-," ROBED GIRL turned to face the vibing duo with her arms crossed, "if y'all wanna actually do sum'n I say just put the bitch out like Old Yeller. Zach, you got a few kills already, right? You do it. Ain't like you got any clout left, anyway."
She shrugged, then tapped the flat side of the knife on her other palm and rubbed it gently while looking at it. "Or Mikey can, or Yuka if ya really want. Think it might be best to just hand it to the guy already higher on the leaderboard. Or just leave it here, that works too. Just sayin'."
Damn this bitch could yak. Saying it and spraying it.
"I mean, like-Yuka, Zach-," ROBED GIRL turned to face the vibing duo with her arms crossed, "if y'all wanna actually do sum'n I say just put the bitch out like Old Yeller. Zach, you got a few kills already, right? You do it. Ain't like you got any clout left, anyway."
She shrugged, then tapped the flat side of the knife on her other palm and rubbed it gently while looking at it. "Or Mikey can, or Yuka if ya really want. Think it might be best to just hand it to the guy already higher on the leaderboard. Or just leave it here, that works too. Just sayin'."
"No shit," Yuka didn't say to Zach, if only because any energy used on those words would be wasted. Memories of him from before filtered into her mind slowly, and the main impression she got was that he had been a little shit, someone who never quite got over the fact that his body refused to grow with him past the age of 12. Pranker, provacateur afflicted with a Napoleon complex, that type of person. She decided that she hated Zach a little too. Not as much as Mickey, but the hatred was there, and she welcomed it.
And then he said his next couple of words. She turned towards him, glared at him, fists shaking.
"Why did the fucking worst kind of people get to meet her?" she asked in a hushed tone.
The urge to lash out at him like she had with Demetri ca"Yuka please! Calm down."me, then passed. She stepped away from him, away from the door, further into Mickey and Teresa's view, and her fists stilled. She felt better. She felt good, for half a second. And then she caught Mickey, also stilled, his fists also shaking, a delayed mirror image, and she felt the need to throw up again, but again, there was nothing to expel. He then spoke to them, called them to action, asked them to undo his sins, clean up his mess for him, and her vision dimmed, for a bit.
She came back to the world as the girl on the floor finished speaking, what she'd said hadn't registered. Teresa spoke sense after. Yuka held onto her fist again.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it-
Fuck it.
She stepped forward, further from the sidelines. She set her eyes on the robed boy.
"You... don't get to do something like that, and then just walk it back. You fucking shot her in the chest, she's dead. Have some consistency. You want me to do something so bad? Then give me the fucking gun and let me put her out of her misery, since you're too much of a pussy to do it."
She let out a long exhale after that. She was dimly aware that Mickey still had a gun in his hand, but she felt better, again, different. Peace settled within her again, easily, she noted with regret. She wished she had been this way before, saved herself the restlessness.
And then he said his next couple of words. She turned towards him, glared at him, fists shaking.
"Why did the fucking worst kind of people get to meet her?" she asked in a hushed tone.
The urge to lash out at him like she had with Demetri ca"Yuka please! Calm down."me, then passed. She stepped away from him, away from the door, further into Mickey and Teresa's view, and her fists stilled. She felt better. She felt good, for half a second. And then she caught Mickey, also stilled, his fists also shaking, a delayed mirror image, and she felt the need to throw up again, but again, there was nothing to expel. He then spoke to them, called them to action, asked them to undo his sins, clean up his mess for him, and her vision dimmed, for a bit.
She came back to the world as the girl on the floor finished speaking, what she'd said hadn't registered. Teresa spoke sense after. Yuka held onto her fist again.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it.
He wasn't worth it-
Fuck it.
She stepped forward, further from the sidelines. She set her eyes on the robed boy.
"You... don't get to do something like that, and then just walk it back. You fucking shot her in the chest, she's dead. Have some consistency. You want me to do something so bad? Then give me the fucking gun and let me put her out of her misery, since you're too much of a pussy to do it."
She let out a long exhale after that. She was dimly aware that Mickey still had a gun in his hand, but she felt better, again, different. Peace settled within her again, easily, she noted with regret. She wished she had been this way before, saved herself the restlessness.