"No.
"I-I-I know life will be different out there, but it'll be better."
Diego jabbed his finger at the corpse with each word.
"She was wrong, Kelly was fucking wrong."
He took in, let out deep breaths, slowed the blood rushing through him, out him for a moment. While the conversation paused, he heard the pattering of blood beneath him. It continued to drip all over him, his belongings.
The blood was temporary. At some point, the blood would coagulate, the bleeding would stop.
The pain was temporary. At some point, it would either subside, or he would simply get used to it, and he'd remember what it'd feel like to speak and breathe without hindrance.
At the very, very least, even if the scars he had never went away, even if he never stopped grieving all his dead friends, the blood and pain would go away. He always had that to look forward to. That was how he knew Kelly was wrong. That was how he knew that whatever they were, wherever they were at now, was not as good as it would get, that there was more to look forward to.
He regarded Erika for a moment. She'd mentioned being transgender a few moments earlier, about wanting to leave this town. He'd never known that about her.
He'd never known much about a lot of people, now that he thought about it.
Another point of commonality between them. Another way for him to place himself in her shoes. It disturbed him, but he didn't know why it did. He'd been wanting to place himself in Kelly's shoes just a few moments ago.
"Fucking sucked being closeted in Chattanooga. I wanted something different too, something better once I got out of that fucking town. I know there's something different out there. Once I- Once I get off this island, I'll find it. I will."
I have to.
He realized, shortly after speaking, that this was the third time he'd outed himself to someone. Last time he'd said it, it had been ignored. The person who'd heard it had died shortly after anyways. Same for the first person he told it to, he also died soon after. He didn't know what the point of saying it was if no one ever cared about it, if it never mattered to anyone. He just knew it felt good to say it, in the moment.
Madness in the Method
Private.
"If. If you get off this island."
It had never been a sure thing. He had to have known that. The state they were in now, the obstacles left to overcome - neither of them had any right to expect victory, here. Especially since they still had one another to contend with, eventually.
Erika straightened up, leaning off the planter. The barrel of the Martini-Henry knocked against the back of her right leg. Another possibility. She could try and draw it. Maybe throw the empty gun at him as a distraction. The monstrous rounds of the Martini-Henry were a lot better at putting things down on the spot than nine millimetre pistol cartridges, anyhow. There might not be time for him to draw the grenade launcher, or whatever was lying inside of his bag.
Then again, the leather sling might get caught on her shirt or the bandolier of cartridges fastened across her chest. They both had buckles with hard edges. The motion she'd have to make to draw the rifle would pull at the wound in her side, too. A haze still seemed to cloud the edges of her vision. She'd stopped fidgeting with the pistol, instead holding it still Her thumb rested on the slide release. The second step in reloading it, after inserting a magazine. There were only two steps. Still might have been too many.
She paused.
Closeted. Erika had a few guesses about what he'd been hiding; specifics didn't matter, though, not all that much. All it meant was that back home, he'd been unable to be himself. This place demanded he be something else entirely, or perish. So of course he'd be thinking of his future in more certain terms than might've been expected. Not doing so meant accepting too many painful realities. Like most people, he probably couldn't just accept an empty space where an identity was supposed to be. The same could be said for possible futures. Survival demanded a certain level of self-deception, she supposed. There was no reason to fault him for it. They both told themselves stories to get by, just different ones. Accepting the unknown wasn't enough for people like them; there had to be some narrative, some path to follow.
The pain within him looked familiar. Her expression softened slightly, and she leaned back against the planter. Still keeping an eye on Diego, she resumed idly cleaning the pistol.
"If you make it, I know you'll find something better. You have to. Maybe it won't be what you dreamed of, but it'll be a life."
It didn't sound like white noise. She wanted to believe it, if he could.
It had never been a sure thing. He had to have known that. The state they were in now, the obstacles left to overcome - neither of them had any right to expect victory, here. Especially since they still had one another to contend with, eventually.
Erika straightened up, leaning off the planter. The barrel of the Martini-Henry knocked against the back of her right leg. Another possibility. She could try and draw it. Maybe throw the empty gun at him as a distraction. The monstrous rounds of the Martini-Henry were a lot better at putting things down on the spot than nine millimetre pistol cartridges, anyhow. There might not be time for him to draw the grenade launcher, or whatever was lying inside of his bag.
Then again, the leather sling might get caught on her shirt or the bandolier of cartridges fastened across her chest. They both had buckles with hard edges. The motion she'd have to make to draw the rifle would pull at the wound in her side, too. A haze still seemed to cloud the edges of her vision. She'd stopped fidgeting with the pistol, instead holding it still Her thumb rested on the slide release. The second step in reloading it, after inserting a magazine. There were only two steps. Still might have been too many.
She paused.
Closeted. Erika had a few guesses about what he'd been hiding; specifics didn't matter, though, not all that much. All it meant was that back home, he'd been unable to be himself. This place demanded he be something else entirely, or perish. So of course he'd be thinking of his future in more certain terms than might've been expected. Not doing so meant accepting too many painful realities. Like most people, he probably couldn't just accept an empty space where an identity was supposed to be. The same could be said for possible futures. Survival demanded a certain level of self-deception, she supposed. There was no reason to fault him for it. They both told themselves stories to get by, just different ones. Accepting the unknown wasn't enough for people like them; there had to be some narrative, some path to follow.
The pain within him looked familiar. Her expression softened slightly, and she leaned back against the planter. Still keeping an eye on Diego, she resumed idly cleaning the pistol.
"If you make it, I know you'll find something better. You have to. Maybe it won't be what you dreamed of, but it'll be a life."
It didn't sound like white noise. She wanted to believe it, if he could.
If.
A pit opened up in his stomach when Erika said that word.
He eyed the pistol in her hand.
If he made it off the island.
He had to be cautious, he knew that. He couldn't act like victory was guaranteed; thinking like that would get him killed. But, it felt like Morgan was dragging him to the edge of the cliff all over again. His fingers tingled, his skin felt bumpy.
Erika spoke further, said nice words about a hypothetical future at least one of them would never have. It was a nice sentiment.
"Same for you too," he said quietly.
It was a nice sentiment, it really was.
He said nothing for a few seconds. He wanted to let the feeling, however mixed it was, linger for a bit. Good things felt so rare nowadays. He had to savor every morsel.
In the silence, he tried treating his face again, as much as he could. The bandages he used to cover up his shrapnel wounds were starting to fall off, loosened by the blood and sweat of the past few days.
He tried to imagine how to go about covering the cheek tear, large as it was. In doing so, he pushed against the lower half of his face, and only half his cheek pushed inward. More air entered his mouth sideways.
He closed his eyes, sucked in air through his teeth.
All the while, Erika continued brushing dirt off the pistol. When he opened his eyes, it fell again upon the rectangular object in her pocket.
The moment passed.
His eyebrows scrunched, slightly. He couldn't put as much of an edge into his face before. He didn't have the energy for it.
"I know about your collar tracker, by the way. Ty told me about it. So, I want reassurance that you're not gonna track me and shoot me down once I leave."
He looked down into his bag, momentarily. Marcy's gun waited for him.
A pit opened up in his stomach when Erika said that word.
He eyed the pistol in her hand.
If he made it off the island.
He had to be cautious, he knew that. He couldn't act like victory was guaranteed; thinking like that would get him killed. But, it felt like Morgan was dragging him to the edge of the cliff all over again. His fingers tingled, his skin felt bumpy.
Erika spoke further, said nice words about a hypothetical future at least one of them would never have. It was a nice sentiment.
"Same for you too," he said quietly.
It was a nice sentiment, it really was.
He said nothing for a few seconds. He wanted to let the feeling, however mixed it was, linger for a bit. Good things felt so rare nowadays. He had to savor every morsel.
In the silence, he tried treating his face again, as much as he could. The bandages he used to cover up his shrapnel wounds were starting to fall off, loosened by the blood and sweat of the past few days.
He tried to imagine how to go about covering the cheek tear, large as it was. In doing so, he pushed against the lower half of his face, and only half his cheek pushed inward. More air entered his mouth sideways.
He closed his eyes, sucked in air through his teeth.
All the while, Erika continued brushing dirt off the pistol. When he opened his eyes, it fell again upon the rectangular object in her pocket.
The moment passed.
His eyebrows scrunched, slightly. He couldn't put as much of an edge into his face before. He didn't have the energy for it.
"I know about your collar tracker, by the way. Ty told me about it. So, I want reassurance that you're not gonna track me and shoot me down once I leave."
He looked down into his bag, momentarily. Marcy's gun waited for him.
There wasn’t really a good answer. Neither of them had come this far to have a sudden change of heart at the last moment. Diego was another well armed opponent; one who was still, for the moment, tending to his wounds. It made sense to kill him. She knew he saw things the same way. She also knew he seemed just as tired and worn down as she was, and just as unsure of his ability to follow through and not get killed, himself.
The collar tracker came up. Where the grenade launcher skewed the odds in Diego’s favour, the collar radar did so for Erika. Surely he’d seen her looking at it before, but he knew about it even before they met. Ty had told him.
How?
The only point where that could’ve happened was between the time she shot Lucas, and the time Ty ended up dead at that same spot just south of the Lake. As far as she could tell, the two of them had been in some sort of an alliance. Lucas had told her what Ty had said, that he’d been encouraged to try to kill her. What resulted felt like payback, on Ty’s part. It still hurt, even now. It was one of the two most pressing reasons she was still in this situation.
Erika needed to know where Diego fit into that story. When she’d found Ty’s body, she could only infer what his last moments had been like. It took all she had to leave him, to stop trying to imagine what he’d gone through. What, one way or another, she’d put him through.
She stopped fiddling with the empty handgun.
"He did? Tell you about it, I mean."
The collar tracker came up. Where the grenade launcher skewed the odds in Diego’s favour, the collar radar did so for Erika. Surely he’d seen her looking at it before, but he knew about it even before they met. Ty had told him.
How?
The only point where that could’ve happened was between the time she shot Lucas, and the time Ty ended up dead at that same spot just south of the Lake. As far as she could tell, the two of them had been in some sort of an alliance. Lucas had told her what Ty had said, that he’d been encouraged to try to kill her. What resulted felt like payback, on Ty’s part. It still hurt, even now. It was one of the two most pressing reasons she was still in this situation.
Erika needed to know where Diego fit into that story. When she’d found Ty’s body, she could only infer what his last moments had been like. It took all she had to leave him, to stop trying to imagine what he’d gone through. What, one way or another, she’d put him through.
She stopped fiddling with the empty handgun.
"He did? Tell you about it, I mean."
Diego shouldn't have said anything.
Ty hadn't had any last words for Erika. He'd said all he'd needed to say to her, allegedly. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.
He'd never know if Drew or Theo or Declyn had anything they wanted to say to him. He'd never know what they'd think about him now. And, maybe it was better that way. It was easier to push hypotheticals aside, away from his mind. He was good at pushing away bad thoughts.
He shouldn't have said anything, but he had. So, he'd continue.
"Yeah. I ran into him a few times. Last was right as he was dying."
He looked down at the ground. His eyes welled up. His voice went gentle.
"He was nice to me."
Ty hadn't had any last words for Erika. He'd said all he'd needed to say to her, allegedly. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.
He'd never know if Drew or Theo or Declyn had anything they wanted to say to him. He'd never know what they'd think about him now. And, maybe it was better that way. It was easier to push hypotheticals aside, away from his mind. He was good at pushing away bad thoughts.
He shouldn't have said anything, but he had. So, he'd continue.
"Yeah. I ran into him a few times. Last was right as he was dying."
He looked down at the ground. His eyes welled up. His voice went gentle.
"He was nice to me."
"You were there? So he wasn't alone?"
Her heart sank. Tears ran through the hastily improvised warpaint around Erika's eyes, ridding it of whatever menace it ever had. It wasn't very good armor to begin with, not for things like this. Every night she'd slept against a tree or in some horrible decrepit building, she pictured Ty doing the same. She imagined him dying, alone.
"Did you stay with him?"
Diego nodded.
"...thanks. He shouldn't have been alone."
Erika hung on those words. Her mistake led him there in the first place. Ty didn't deserve it any more than the rest of them did. Like everyone else, he'd reacted to this place. In the worst way possible, but not because he'd really meant to. Against her own actions, that did count for something. She thought by now, she probably deserved the situation she'd created. No one would stay with her, they had no reason to. She'd just be another body to walk past in this garden, food for the worms. An obstacle. A lock on the door out of here. Dehumanization worked both ways, it felt like.
Whenever she thought of dying, she pictured it as profoundly lonely. It was something that was yours, and yours alone. No one came with you, no one could really stay as long as you needed them to. That Diego stayed with Ty seemed like it deserved some consideration, at least. It seemed like the kind of thing he was meant for, a role that suited him far better than the one he currently occupied.
For a moment, she looked away from him, seemingly afraid to make eye contact. Shame seemed as evident on her face as the gaunt, hollow look that came from two weeks of malnutrition and combat. After a few moments, she reached up to wipe away the tears. Subconsciously she used the hand that was still holding the pistol, and nearly smacked herself in the face with it. Sighing, she wiped her eyes off with her forearm and looked back up at him. Her voice was shaky, still struggling to level off. Emotional barriers didn't hold up too well after weeks of heavy erosion.
"The problem is - anything I have to say you've gotta trust. And you don't have any reason to trust me."
Her heart sank. Tears ran through the hastily improvised warpaint around Erika's eyes, ridding it of whatever menace it ever had. It wasn't very good armor to begin with, not for things like this. Every night she'd slept against a tree or in some horrible decrepit building, she pictured Ty doing the same. She imagined him dying, alone.
"Did you stay with him?"
Diego nodded.
"...thanks. He shouldn't have been alone."
Erika hung on those words. Her mistake led him there in the first place. Ty didn't deserve it any more than the rest of them did. Like everyone else, he'd reacted to this place. In the worst way possible, but not because he'd really meant to. Against her own actions, that did count for something. She thought by now, she probably deserved the situation she'd created. No one would stay with her, they had no reason to. She'd just be another body to walk past in this garden, food for the worms. An obstacle. A lock on the door out of here. Dehumanization worked both ways, it felt like.
Whenever she thought of dying, she pictured it as profoundly lonely. It was something that was yours, and yours alone. No one came with you, no one could really stay as long as you needed them to. That Diego stayed with Ty seemed like it deserved some consideration, at least. It seemed like the kind of thing he was meant for, a role that suited him far better than the one he currently occupied.
For a moment, she looked away from him, seemingly afraid to make eye contact. Shame seemed as evident on her face as the gaunt, hollow look that came from two weeks of malnutrition and combat. After a few moments, she reached up to wipe away the tears. Subconsciously she used the hand that was still holding the pistol, and nearly smacked herself in the face with it. Sighing, she wiped her eyes off with her forearm and looked back up at him. Her voice was shaky, still struggling to level off. Emotional barriers didn't hold up too well after weeks of heavy erosion.
"The problem is - anything I have to say you've gotta trust. And you don't have any reason to trust me."
Diego's first instinct was to lean in and touch her shoulder. Comfort her somehow. People crying always made him uncomfortable. Marcy crying had made him uncomfortable.
He stayed in his position. Any movement towards her would be interpreted as hostile, it would result in their mutual deaths. That was just how it was here. He watched the warpaint drip down her face like mascara, and he did nothing.
He felt empathy for her, and it scared him for multiple reasons. One was that she was still the biggest killer on this island, and yet she was still human. And two was that she was still human.
Erika was living proof that you could go all the way down to hell, and still feel. And that, you had to feel if you wanted to make it out of this alive, as a functional human being, or otherwise you'd end up like Kelly, screaming and frothing at the world to your last breath.
Following Kelly had been futile. There was no way out of this island than through, through all the pain and grieving and mourning that this island entailed. No way around it.
Still, it felt nice to know that, at least once, he'd done the right thing on this island. For a second, he wondered what would've happened if he'd told Erika no, if he'd told her that he'd left Ty to bleed out on his own, and then he did not wonder. For once, the worst outcome was a what-if and just a what-if.
Erika spoke again, reminded them of the situation they were still in.
Diego let out a long, deep breath. His eyes flickered towards her.
"At least try.
"We're both tired, right? You're sick of this, I'm sick of this? I don't think either of us are gonna stop but just- try to give me a reason to trust you, so that we can both walk out of here."
He stayed in his position. Any movement towards her would be interpreted as hostile, it would result in their mutual deaths. That was just how it was here. He watched the warpaint drip down her face like mascara, and he did nothing.
He felt empathy for her, and it scared him for multiple reasons. One was that she was still the biggest killer on this island, and yet she was still human. And two was that she was still human.
Erika was living proof that you could go all the way down to hell, and still feel. And that, you had to feel if you wanted to make it out of this alive, as a functional human being, or otherwise you'd end up like Kelly, screaming and frothing at the world to your last breath.
Following Kelly had been futile. There was no way out of this island than through, through all the pain and grieving and mourning that this island entailed. No way around it.
Still, it felt nice to know that, at least once, he'd done the right thing on this island. For a second, he wondered what would've happened if he'd told Erika no, if he'd told her that he'd left Ty to bleed out on his own, and then he did not wonder. For once, the worst outcome was a what-if and just a what-if.
Erika spoke again, reminded them of the situation they were still in.
Diego let out a long, deep breath. His eyes flickered towards her.
"At least try.
"We're both tired, right? You're sick of this, I'm sick of this? I don't think either of us are gonna stop but just- try to give me a reason to trust you, so that we can both walk out of here."
"I don't think..."
Try.
Since that day she and Michael had met at the Temple, Erika had tried to kill almost every single person she met, and mostly succeeded. Michael only got to walk away out of a promise to play the villain, a road she could now very clearly see the end of. The remaining survivors were down to barely a dozen, though. At this point, even the people who had held off on fighting their way out of here might find it within themselves to kill their former peers, now that the walls were both literally and figuratively closing in around them. She wondered if Garnet ever would. Erika hadn't heard her name on the announcements yet. A pit started to form in her stomach when she realized she might not ever.
Nothing else mattered so long as they were stuck in this standoff, too worn down and still too afraid to make a choice. For Diego's part, he seemed at least willing to let her go. His face seemed to be drawing far more of his attention right now, anyways. Whether he'd turn on any agreement they made and try and attack her was an almost secondary concern; of course he would try to attack her, eventually. She needed him to die, too.
The thing that made it difficult to disentangle herself from this was the idea of leaving something unfinished, of having to look over her shoulder. Knowing there was something out of her control out there, a variable she wanted to address but couldn't. It was unpleasant to imagine spending what time she had left here, looking over her shoulder, mentally preparing herself to fight someone who had a grenade launcher in their possession. A person who seemed to have just as much willpower to see this through as she did, if the way he fought through the injury to his face was any indication.
Injured, cornered animals, the both of them. Worse, even - people without much left to lose, who'd fight to the last. Just similar enough to find a kind of empathy for one another, and similar enough to end up in a situation like this. If they weren't alike at least a little bit, this would've been over already.
She looked down at her empty pistol, and then to Diego's grenade launcher, and the open bag lying next to him. Maybe she could calm the part of her that made all of these calculations, if other parts of her refused to budge. Thinking about it that way, it wasn't hard to tell herself that if it wasn't her, someone would have to deal with that arsenal of his. They wouldn't walk away unscathed. Ultimately that could work to her advantage.
"There's a lot we could do. I have options, you have options. I can load this in seconds. I know 'cause I practiced. You could grab the gun in that bag, or you could rush me. I've got a knife, though. I used it before. And we've both got other guns, if we can reach 'em in time. I don't think any of these options are a sure thing. Anything can happen in a scramble. And we aren't a sure thing. Both of us are kinda fucked up. I could fight you, or maybe I'll just pass out. We might just kill each other. Maybe someone will come along and do it for us. I don't feel like gambling on any of that, and you don’t look like you’re in the mood, either."
Erika drew the collar radar, taking a cursory glance at the screen before gesturing with it south, past the set of large houses.
"There's no one else for at least a hundred meters - a bit over a hundred yards, I guess. I'm going to the cliffs. Soon as you're out of sight the mag is going back in my gun. If you follow me, you know I'll know. So just - don't. Personally, I don't want to deal with that big fucking gun of yours. At any distance. So I won't, if I think you might pick it up again. Somebody else can play those odds, I won't. Not if I don't have to."
Try.
Since that day she and Michael had met at the Temple, Erika had tried to kill almost every single person she met, and mostly succeeded. Michael only got to walk away out of a promise to play the villain, a road she could now very clearly see the end of. The remaining survivors were down to barely a dozen, though. At this point, even the people who had held off on fighting their way out of here might find it within themselves to kill their former peers, now that the walls were both literally and figuratively closing in around them. She wondered if Garnet ever would. Erika hadn't heard her name on the announcements yet. A pit started to form in her stomach when she realized she might not ever.
Nothing else mattered so long as they were stuck in this standoff, too worn down and still too afraid to make a choice. For Diego's part, he seemed at least willing to let her go. His face seemed to be drawing far more of his attention right now, anyways. Whether he'd turn on any agreement they made and try and attack her was an almost secondary concern; of course he would try to attack her, eventually. She needed him to die, too.
The thing that made it difficult to disentangle herself from this was the idea of leaving something unfinished, of having to look over her shoulder. Knowing there was something out of her control out there, a variable she wanted to address but couldn't. It was unpleasant to imagine spending what time she had left here, looking over her shoulder, mentally preparing herself to fight someone who had a grenade launcher in their possession. A person who seemed to have just as much willpower to see this through as she did, if the way he fought through the injury to his face was any indication.
Injured, cornered animals, the both of them. Worse, even - people without much left to lose, who'd fight to the last. Just similar enough to find a kind of empathy for one another, and similar enough to end up in a situation like this. If they weren't alike at least a little bit, this would've been over already.
She looked down at her empty pistol, and then to Diego's grenade launcher, and the open bag lying next to him. Maybe she could calm the part of her that made all of these calculations, if other parts of her refused to budge. Thinking about it that way, it wasn't hard to tell herself that if it wasn't her, someone would have to deal with that arsenal of his. They wouldn't walk away unscathed. Ultimately that could work to her advantage.
"There's a lot we could do. I have options, you have options. I can load this in seconds. I know 'cause I practiced. You could grab the gun in that bag, or you could rush me. I've got a knife, though. I used it before. And we've both got other guns, if we can reach 'em in time. I don't think any of these options are a sure thing. Anything can happen in a scramble. And we aren't a sure thing. Both of us are kinda fucked up. I could fight you, or maybe I'll just pass out. We might just kill each other. Maybe someone will come along and do it for us. I don't feel like gambling on any of that, and you don’t look like you’re in the mood, either."
Erika drew the collar radar, taking a cursory glance at the screen before gesturing with it south, past the set of large houses.
"There's no one else for at least a hundred meters - a bit over a hundred yards, I guess. I'm going to the cliffs. Soon as you're out of sight the mag is going back in my gun. If you follow me, you know I'll know. So just - don't. Personally, I don't want to deal with that big fucking gun of yours. At any distance. So I won't, if I think you might pick it up again. Somebody else can play those odds, I won't. Not if I don't have to."
It really would've been a good decision to just kill Erika now. The collar tracker was dangerous. She said it herself, she had eyes on everyone for a hundred meters. If it ever came down to just the two of them, she'd be able to set herself into position before he even knew where she was.
He was just so tired, though.
And, she was right. They had about even odds if they were to enter a fight right now. A coin flip deciding whether or not he got to have more than a few seconds' time on this world.
She could be someone else's problem. That'd be easier, physically, mentally. She could even take out a few others along the way, make his job that much easier.
How many were they now? Two days ago they were just thirty. Now, they must've been, what, a dozen? That much closer to one.
Yeah, someone else could deal with Erika, and all he'd have to think about was another name on the announcements. Just another name to feel sad about, another death to hear second-hand. That was easier.
He nodded at her.
"Okay. I'm satisfied with that."
Another moment passed.
He knew the answer to his next question, but they weren't seeing each other again, probably, hopefully. He'd never have another chance to ask.
"But what if we're the last two?"
He was just so tired, though.
And, she was right. They had about even odds if they were to enter a fight right now. A coin flip deciding whether or not he got to have more than a few seconds' time on this world.
She could be someone else's problem. That'd be easier, physically, mentally. She could even take out a few others along the way, make his job that much easier.
How many were they now? Two days ago they were just thirty. Now, they must've been, what, a dozen? That much closer to one.
Yeah, someone else could deal with Erika, and all he'd have to think about was another name on the announcements. Just another name to feel sad about, another death to hear second-hand. That was easier.
He nodded at her.
"Okay. I'm satisfied with that."
Another moment passed.
He knew the answer to his next question, but they weren't seeing each other again, probably, hopefully. He'd never have another chance to ask.
"But what if we're the last two?"
Then all I'll have to deal with is whatever's left of you. Hope I'm not as worse for wear.
This conversation felt so fucking absurd. Erika laughed, and threw up her hands.
"Then we're the last two, and we’ll try and kill each other! I dunno, dude. At least we'll know what's coming. We know it’ll be a fight, and I’m not sure it should be easy for us. And frankly - at least you're not like her."
Erika motioned towards Kelly's body, which was lying in a puddle of blood that somehow managed to be visible even against the leaves and dirt. There were already insects crawling on her. This Garden was going to do just fine, if the AT left all the bodies here. If she made it, she knew she'd ask what they were going to with all of them. If the AT burned the corpses, she hoped they'd scatter the ashes over this place, instead of just in the ocean.
She rolled her shoulders, feeling a satisfying crack from the left and the familiar spike of pain from the right. On top of everything else she’d hurt on that side, the Martini-Henry had repeatedly bruised her shoulder. It was almost funny to notice the bruises, on top of all the other injuries. Almost.
In reminding Diego of the uncertainty of it all, she’d forced herself to think in ifs and maybes as well. Kelly had at least one good point - the world wouldn’t be the same if they returned to it, because anyone who won wasn’t going to be the same. Would she be able to keep a Garden, or would the act of doing so bring her back to this place? Would she ever want to hold a gun again? Everything was going to look different.
That question that had terrorized her, it would look different, too. Mortality. She had no reason to expect it would be easier to cope with, but she hoped she might understand it better. People who had brushes with death seemed to have novel perspectives on it. Even if they didn’t seem very happy about them. It could be better, or worse. She knew it'd be different, and different didn't have to be bad. Anything would be better than the way she’d seen the world the last two weeks. Even if she escaped, she'd need a way out of the existential hole her mind seemed to insist on digging.
If, Erika.
She nodded, as if to acknowledge the words in her own mind. Noting Diego was staring at the silent conversation she was engaged in, she opted to speak the words aloud.
"Everything ends. Everything. Can't forget that. I used to wish, more than anything, I didn't have to end. For some reason I imagined if I thought about it hard enough I'd find a way out. Keep going forever. It's like - that's what I was doing, all this time. Fighting something you can't really fight. Seeing all this kinda changed things. I'm still not okay with dying but like, I guess I feel less attached to everything now. Got less reason to want to live. If I thought there was an afterlife I'd say come with me to the cliffs, and we can yeet ourselves off of it 'cause like, fuck this shit! I wish I could think that way, but I gotta see this through. I just - if I have to go, I hope I can like...”
With her free hand, she made a wavy airplane-like motion, letting it come to rest on an invisible runway.
"...stick the landing. You understand? End on a good note, I guess. S'all I can really hope for.”
One last time, she glanced over at Kelly.
“We'll see, I guess."
This conversation felt so fucking absurd. Erika laughed, and threw up her hands.
"Then we're the last two, and we’ll try and kill each other! I dunno, dude. At least we'll know what's coming. We know it’ll be a fight, and I’m not sure it should be easy for us. And frankly - at least you're not like her."
Erika motioned towards Kelly's body, which was lying in a puddle of blood that somehow managed to be visible even against the leaves and dirt. There were already insects crawling on her. This Garden was going to do just fine, if the AT left all the bodies here. If she made it, she knew she'd ask what they were going to with all of them. If the AT burned the corpses, she hoped they'd scatter the ashes over this place, instead of just in the ocean.
She rolled her shoulders, feeling a satisfying crack from the left and the familiar spike of pain from the right. On top of everything else she’d hurt on that side, the Martini-Henry had repeatedly bruised her shoulder. It was almost funny to notice the bruises, on top of all the other injuries. Almost.
In reminding Diego of the uncertainty of it all, she’d forced herself to think in ifs and maybes as well. Kelly had at least one good point - the world wouldn’t be the same if they returned to it, because anyone who won wasn’t going to be the same. Would she be able to keep a Garden, or would the act of doing so bring her back to this place? Would she ever want to hold a gun again? Everything was going to look different.
That question that had terrorized her, it would look different, too. Mortality. She had no reason to expect it would be easier to cope with, but she hoped she might understand it better. People who had brushes with death seemed to have novel perspectives on it. Even if they didn’t seem very happy about them. It could be better, or worse. She knew it'd be different, and different didn't have to be bad. Anything would be better than the way she’d seen the world the last two weeks. Even if she escaped, she'd need a way out of the existential hole her mind seemed to insist on digging.
If, Erika.
She nodded, as if to acknowledge the words in her own mind. Noting Diego was staring at the silent conversation she was engaged in, she opted to speak the words aloud.
"Everything ends. Everything. Can't forget that. I used to wish, more than anything, I didn't have to end. For some reason I imagined if I thought about it hard enough I'd find a way out. Keep going forever. It's like - that's what I was doing, all this time. Fighting something you can't really fight. Seeing all this kinda changed things. I'm still not okay with dying but like, I guess I feel less attached to everything now. Got less reason to want to live. If I thought there was an afterlife I'd say come with me to the cliffs, and we can yeet ourselves off of it 'cause like, fuck this shit! I wish I could think that way, but I gotta see this through. I just - if I have to go, I hope I can like...”
With her free hand, she made a wavy airplane-like motion, letting it come to rest on an invisible runway.
"...stick the landing. You understand? End on a good note, I guess. S'all I can really hope for.”
One last time, she glanced over at Kelly.
“We'll see, I guess."
He smiled with the right side of his face, for a moment. Being better than Kelly was a low bar to clear, a bar in hell, but it was something.
"Thanks."
A few more seconds of silence elapsed between them.
Diego took the opportunity to remove the old bandages on his face, reddened and browned and yellowed as they were. The entire left side of his face was cut up, broken, or bruised in one way or another. It was incredibly hard to distinguish between one wound or another. Pain was pain. Burning pain, searing pain, stinging pain, dull pain, throbbing pain, pain all the same. It would torture him in every waking moment, keep his mind from drifting off, deprive him of sleep, remain with him for hours and days and weeks, tether him to this hellhole. But it was temporary. These moments immediately after the wound lasted eternities, but they would pass. All that really mattered right now was that he was losing lots of blood, and every second he left his wounds exposed risked infection.
His hands shook as he tore the old bandages off, as the scabs went with it, took some of his skin with it. Saltwater leaked from tear ducts, stung the gashes in his face. His eyes glued themselves to Erika, the way one would sink their hands into a loved one while getting a flu shot.
She carried a pain with her too. Hers seemed to be one that clung itself to you, weighed on you, smothered you. Manageable in the current moment, and the next, and the next, but it wore away at you, bit by bit. She rolled her shoulders, moved in slow motion. He looked once again at the bandage wrapped around her leg. He could still walk unimpeded, he was lucky in that sense, at least.
She carried it in her words too. Spoke of finding a nice ending to settle with, if things didn't pan out for her.
If he were to burn as bright as she did, then maybe he too would be looking for a way out, any way out.
Just as well. If she tired out, then that would be one less problem for him. He wouldn't even have to carry any of the blame for it, this time.
The only ending he could reach had to be off this island. The only hope of redemption he had was off this island. There was no other choice.
He didn't have to be like Kelly or Lorenzo. Being like them was a path to nowhere. But maybe he could take notes from Erika, if not emulate her. Do what you had to do, power through all the bad that came with it.
Just one more day of all this, and then he could think of good landings.
All these thoughts went unsaid. He didn't want to ruin the moment for Erika. Nice sentiments, and all.
He nodded at her.
"We'll see, yeah."
The last of the gauze unfurled itself. He ripped it into pieces, placed layer after layer of it on top of the left side of his face, covered it entirely. He saved a square of fabric for the wound on the right side of his face. He taped it all down, it stuck, surprisingly. His face was more gauze than skin, at this point.
Afterwards, he packed away the remnants of his first aid kid, hefted up his bag, grenade launcher. Ty's gun, Lorenzo's gun remained on the ground at his feet.
He gestured towards it.
"Ty left this for me right as he died. No ammo, so I don't have any use for it anymore. Take it if you want it."
He adjusted the sling of the launcher.
"I'll be going now."
'See you when I see you' were the next words that came to mind. He didn't want to see her, though. He hoped they'd never meet again.
He dusted off the front and back of his jeans. More blood tracked itself onto the denim. He looked down, clicked his tongue.
He hoped someone else would take care of her.
"Bye."
He walked away from her, from the cliffs. But, every now and then, he'd spare her a glance. Just making sure she wasn't following. Getting the last look he'd ever get. And the last. And the last.
She disappeared behind a grove of trees eventually.
((Diego Larrosa continues in park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me))
"Thanks."
A few more seconds of silence elapsed between them.
Diego took the opportunity to remove the old bandages on his face, reddened and browned and yellowed as they were. The entire left side of his face was cut up, broken, or bruised in one way or another. It was incredibly hard to distinguish between one wound or another. Pain was pain. Burning pain, searing pain, stinging pain, dull pain, throbbing pain, pain all the same. It would torture him in every waking moment, keep his mind from drifting off, deprive him of sleep, remain with him for hours and days and weeks, tether him to this hellhole. But it was temporary. These moments immediately after the wound lasted eternities, but they would pass. All that really mattered right now was that he was losing lots of blood, and every second he left his wounds exposed risked infection.
His hands shook as he tore the old bandages off, as the scabs went with it, took some of his skin with it. Saltwater leaked from tear ducts, stung the gashes in his face. His eyes glued themselves to Erika, the way one would sink their hands into a loved one while getting a flu shot.
She carried a pain with her too. Hers seemed to be one that clung itself to you, weighed on you, smothered you. Manageable in the current moment, and the next, and the next, but it wore away at you, bit by bit. She rolled her shoulders, moved in slow motion. He looked once again at the bandage wrapped around her leg. He could still walk unimpeded, he was lucky in that sense, at least.
She carried it in her words too. Spoke of finding a nice ending to settle with, if things didn't pan out for her.
If he were to burn as bright as she did, then maybe he too would be looking for a way out, any way out.
Just as well. If she tired out, then that would be one less problem for him. He wouldn't even have to carry any of the blame for it, this time.
The only ending he could reach had to be off this island. The only hope of redemption he had was off this island. There was no other choice.
He didn't have to be like Kelly or Lorenzo. Being like them was a path to nowhere. But maybe he could take notes from Erika, if not emulate her. Do what you had to do, power through all the bad that came with it.
Just one more day of all this, and then he could think of good landings.
All these thoughts went unsaid. He didn't want to ruin the moment for Erika. Nice sentiments, and all.
He nodded at her.
"We'll see, yeah."
The last of the gauze unfurled itself. He ripped it into pieces, placed layer after layer of it on top of the left side of his face, covered it entirely. He saved a square of fabric for the wound on the right side of his face. He taped it all down, it stuck, surprisingly. His face was more gauze than skin, at this point.
Afterwards, he packed away the remnants of his first aid kid, hefted up his bag, grenade launcher. Ty's gun, Lorenzo's gun remained on the ground at his feet.
He gestured towards it.
"Ty left this for me right as he died. No ammo, so I don't have any use for it anymore. Take it if you want it."
He adjusted the sling of the launcher.
"I'll be going now."
'See you when I see you' were the next words that came to mind. He didn't want to see her, though. He hoped they'd never meet again.
He dusted off the front and back of his jeans. More blood tracked itself onto the denim. He looked down, clicked his tongue.
He hoped someone else would take care of her.
"Bye."
He walked away from her, from the cliffs. But, every now and then, he'd spare her a glance. Just making sure she wasn't following. Getting the last look he'd ever get. And the last. And the last.
She disappeared behind a grove of trees eventually.
((Diego Larrosa continues in park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me))
Erika watched as Diego bandaged his face. She stood motionless, waiting for him to pick up his things and start to leave. She didn't want to turn her back on him, even as he was applying the gauze to his face. There were a few moments when his hands were occupied that she considered going back on her word.
A little voice in her head ceaselessly demanded she deal with the threat he posed, and every other threat, every problem, right then. Even if she'd said otherwise. A little ember, she'd once thought of it as. It constantly pleaded for oxygen, for the chance to become something more. It wanted to rage and burn until there was a clear path away from here, one walked over an empty expanse of ash and dust.
This time, she ignored it. Forced herself to. The opportunity came and went before she could convince herself she really had the wherewithal to actually kill him.
He was back up again. Holding to his word, and then some. Diego left a gun that Ty had given him, though more than likely because it was nothing more than dead weight. While she had some ammunition for it, she'd never had cause to use a Micro Uzi before. No one at the range had one, and she'd never been particularly interested in even the semi-automatic versions available for civilians. Compared to the Browning Hi-Power, similar enough to the pistol she'd used at home, it was just another unknown variable. There were still too many of those left at this point to experiment.
Junk, she labelled it in her mind. Wreckage she had to leave behind. Or more accurately, tried to leave behind. Some part of her knew she'd never be free of what they both had done.
In response to Diego's farewell, she simply nodded and backed away.
She watched the known variable make his way out of the Gardens, stealing a look behind him every so often to check for her presence. After one or two glances back on her part, she only took the occasional glance at the collar radar to make sure he was moving in the right direction; making sure that he hadn't stopped, to turn back or take aim. After a few minutes of painful, steady limping away from the Gardens, she checked the radar to see that his signature was just moving out of range. By then, he was completely out of sight. She pocketed the device, and immediately moved to reload her pistol.
By her estimate she had a fresh magazine in the gun and a round chambered within three seconds. It was a stupid test, one she knew she didn't have to take. She did it anyways. The desire to know, even if it didn't help, felt too strong to overcome. Maybe she could've been fast enough to shoot him.
The weight was familiar enough. She'd worked to make it feel like an extension of her arm. Years of muscle memory made it easy to reach out and touch something with it, to train the gun easily on where she needed it to hit. Who she needed to hit, after the last two weeks of training. It should've been enough to feel confident in herself.
That was it, though, it wasn't just about willpower. There was a waver in her step, in more than just how she favored one leg over the other. It seemed like so much more than two weeks since this had all started. She tasted sickness on her tongue, from the air around her and from the breath she exhaled. In a way she felt like she'd admitted to Diego something she had barely been able to admit on her own. She felt distant from the things she told herself she had to live for. Life in her could only be measured in heartbeats and hollow breaths. Everything else seemed faded. While her limbs felt heavy, her insides felt almost weightless. Not in a pleasant way. More like ash, like the tear-streaked ad hoc warpaint she'd smeared on her face.
Dust to dust, isn't that the idea?
Every step still felt like fighting something impossible, and inevitable. Yet if she really thought about it, she knew that feeling the whole time. It was something she'd considered once she started actively trying to fight her way out; that she hadn't changed, not completely. The part of her that did the unthinkable had really been there from the beginning, in one form or another. It was the part that reminded her the sun was going to rise, during nights when she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling and think of ways it could all end. Fighting that felt like living, even if it was a fight that never seemed to end. Even if she felt like she was losing, every night she found herself wondering what it would be like to never wake up.
The stench of corpses had started to abate as she moved upwind from the Gardens. Erika paused for a moment as she passed near to one of the larger houses, taking a deep breath of the thick, humid air. The smell of dew-laden tropical leaves was familiar by now, and reassuring. For a moment, she could ignore the pain, the weakness, the hollow feeling in her chest she didn't have anything to compare to. Biting insects, and tropical birds; kissing in the rain, and choking in the heat. All of it, good and bad. It tasted like life. A smile spread across Erika's face. She wiped tears from her eyes.
"Alright. You're still here. Whatever you are. You know what to do. Same thing you always had to remember to do."
Live.
A little voice in her head ceaselessly demanded she deal with the threat he posed, and every other threat, every problem, right then. Even if she'd said otherwise. A little ember, she'd once thought of it as. It constantly pleaded for oxygen, for the chance to become something more. It wanted to rage and burn until there was a clear path away from here, one walked over an empty expanse of ash and dust.
This time, she ignored it. Forced herself to. The opportunity came and went before she could convince herself she really had the wherewithal to actually kill him.
He was back up again. Holding to his word, and then some. Diego left a gun that Ty had given him, though more than likely because it was nothing more than dead weight. While she had some ammunition for it, she'd never had cause to use a Micro Uzi before. No one at the range had one, and she'd never been particularly interested in even the semi-automatic versions available for civilians. Compared to the Browning Hi-Power, similar enough to the pistol she'd used at home, it was just another unknown variable. There were still too many of those left at this point to experiment.
Junk, she labelled it in her mind. Wreckage she had to leave behind. Or more accurately, tried to leave behind. Some part of her knew she'd never be free of what they both had done.
In response to Diego's farewell, she simply nodded and backed away.
She watched the known variable make his way out of the Gardens, stealing a look behind him every so often to check for her presence. After one or two glances back on her part, she only took the occasional glance at the collar radar to make sure he was moving in the right direction; making sure that he hadn't stopped, to turn back or take aim. After a few minutes of painful, steady limping away from the Gardens, she checked the radar to see that his signature was just moving out of range. By then, he was completely out of sight. She pocketed the device, and immediately moved to reload her pistol.
By her estimate she had a fresh magazine in the gun and a round chambered within three seconds. It was a stupid test, one she knew she didn't have to take. She did it anyways. The desire to know, even if it didn't help, felt too strong to overcome. Maybe she could've been fast enough to shoot him.
The weight was familiar enough. She'd worked to make it feel like an extension of her arm. Years of muscle memory made it easy to reach out and touch something with it, to train the gun easily on where she needed it to hit. Who she needed to hit, after the last two weeks of training. It should've been enough to feel confident in herself.
That was it, though, it wasn't just about willpower. There was a waver in her step, in more than just how she favored one leg over the other. It seemed like so much more than two weeks since this had all started. She tasted sickness on her tongue, from the air around her and from the breath she exhaled. In a way she felt like she'd admitted to Diego something she had barely been able to admit on her own. She felt distant from the things she told herself she had to live for. Life in her could only be measured in heartbeats and hollow breaths. Everything else seemed faded. While her limbs felt heavy, her insides felt almost weightless. Not in a pleasant way. More like ash, like the tear-streaked ad hoc warpaint she'd smeared on her face.
Dust to dust, isn't that the idea?
Every step still felt like fighting something impossible, and inevitable. Yet if she really thought about it, she knew that feeling the whole time. It was something she'd considered once she started actively trying to fight her way out; that she hadn't changed, not completely. The part of her that did the unthinkable had really been there from the beginning, in one form or another. It was the part that reminded her the sun was going to rise, during nights when she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling and think of ways it could all end. Fighting that felt like living, even if it was a fight that never seemed to end. Even if she felt like she was losing, every night she found herself wondering what it would be like to never wake up.
The stench of corpses had started to abate as she moved upwind from the Gardens. Erika paused for a moment as she passed near to one of the larger houses, taking a deep breath of the thick, humid air. The smell of dew-laden tropical leaves was familiar by now, and reassuring. For a moment, she could ignore the pain, the weakness, the hollow feeling in her chest she didn't have anything to compare to. Biting insects, and tropical birds; kissing in the rain, and choking in the heat. All of it, good and bad. It tasted like life. A smile spread across Erika's face. She wiped tears from her eyes.
"Alright. You're still here. Whatever you are. You know what to do. Same thing you always had to remember to do."
Live.
((erika stieglitz continued in Horseshoes and Hand Grenades))
im still here oh god please im still here dont leave me im still
The screaming didn’t stop, but the clearing was dead quiet.
The corpses did not understand. They were the detritus, the remnants, the vestigial bits that sloughed off the skin when evolution had its way.
She was not the corpses- she was not the fucking corpses, she was not one of them
please no it cant end like this
she was not dead yet, she was not dead yet, she UNDERSTOOD, she would be HEARD. If she just screamed. God, if the holes torn into her throat would seal, if they would not, did it matter? Flesh was just flesh, she was better than the all the bits and fragments of herself, chunky as they spilled onto the earth below like salsa, oh god it hurt, but pain was something else to conquer, if she screamed louder, if she cried louder, they would have to hear her, to witness
please please make it stop
she was good people this wasn’t SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN, it was SUPPOSED TO WORK, she was supposed to win, she’d done the work, she’d evolved when nobody else had endured what she had, no, nononono, she could still get up, she could still evolve further
evolve past the need for a spine that was contingent from top to bottom
The rest of them, the students of GHHS, to a man, no understanding, no vision, was it not their failure, their fault, their mistakes? They were not her, they could not UNDERSTAND her and they were unworthy, she was superior
agony, what was left of her, the shreds, fluttering like static snow in the dead and still garden air and
she was still here, she WAS STILL ALIVE, this was not over yet, what was mortality but something else to be overcome? She had proven it to herself, she had learned from everyone who had been too weak, those who had come before her, who had failed to carry the torch of the fight like she had. She would push the boulder up the hill forever, fuck the myth, fuck the moral, she would KEEP that BOULDER up there FOREVER.
Up in the skies where she belonged. An immortal among the dragons. Was it too much to ask? It was simple, it was easy, Kelly didn’t need food, she didn’t need oxygen, she didn’t need any of them, NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ONE. Their bullets meant NOTHING, they were lodged in her body but she was more than her body, she was better than them
she was choking on her own blood, it was leaving her faster than it was staying but it was still stagnant, this pool she was submerged in, it tasted like her own shit but her taste buds were now scraped over the ground and spilled over the remnants of her own skull mashed up with grey and white paste, she didn’t deserve this
Lift. She willed herself to lift. One broken arm, one broken leg, one broken face had not stopped her. This would not stop her. This would not stop her. This would not stop her. A mantra. Meditation. Sheer power, sheer will, she would rise, scoop up what was left of herself, live, survive, thrive, her vision would free them all, everyone who had ever been oppressed like she had been.
someone had to come for her, someone had to save her, she was everyone’s friend, they couldn’t abandon her like this they couldn’t they owed her this please please not like this
If her arm wouldn’t rise, she’d break it off and leave it there. If her leg wouldn’t obey she’d let the damn thing rot. Pieces of Kelly could be replaced. The whole of Kelly was untarnishable, it was ascendant into the heavens above, where it belonged, where the hands of humanity, grubby, grimy, full only of empty promises and disgusting intent could never again drag her down, Kelly Nguyen, beautiful, eternal as she deserved. If her mouth failed her she’d never need to speak again. If her hair was wrapped around her neck like a noose she’d rip out each follicle. It was not over. It was not over. It was not over.
i’m still here i’m still alive i can’t see anything but the world is still mine. every broken bit of me, every inch of me now slowly sinking into the dirt. i do not need it. i am stronger than it
The light of the heavens above taunted her.
everything burns. the sun invades my every pore when half of my skin has disintegrated away. why do i still feel the sweat. why do i still smell it why do i still taste it i dont deserve this please PLEASE
She could, she would, she had to still reach it. She would scream and cry and beg for every inch, and she would get it, and she would claw, claw forever, because they could never stop her, they could never break her, she was Kelly Nguyen, she was immortal.
She was right. She was always right. They could never rob her of that. Strip away everything else, all the pretense and circumstance, all the clothes, all the skin, all the bones. Break everything into a million pieces and throw it all away.
it fucking hurts, it FUCKING HURTS
She was more than this flesh and bone, she was the fear and nightmare in their eyes, she was the definition of this class, she was what they refused to admit they all were, broken beyond repair, still kicking and screaming. She was this island. She was the truth they would all have to find, someday. All roads led to her. She was not dead, she would never die, she was still relevant, she was still needed, she was still vital, she was still essential, she was still irreplaceable, she was
G065, Deceased
10 Students Remaining
The screaming didn’t stop, but the clearing was dead quiet.
The corpses did not understand. They were the detritus, the remnants, the vestigial bits that sloughed off the skin when evolution had its way.
She was not the corpses- she was not the fucking corpses, she was not one of them
please no it cant end like this
she was not dead yet, she was not dead yet, she UNDERSTOOD, she would be HEARD. If she just screamed. God, if the holes torn into her throat would seal, if they would not, did it matter? Flesh was just flesh, she was better than the all the bits and fragments of herself, chunky as they spilled onto the earth below like salsa, oh god it hurt, but pain was something else to conquer, if she screamed louder, if she cried louder, they would have to hear her, to witness
please please make it stop
she was good people this wasn’t SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN, it was SUPPOSED TO WORK, she was supposed to win, she’d done the work, she’d evolved when nobody else had endured what she had, no, nononono, she could still get up, she could still evolve further
evolve past the need for a spine that was contingent from top to bottom
The rest of them, the students of GHHS, to a man, no understanding, no vision, was it not their failure, their fault, their mistakes? They were not her, they could not UNDERSTAND her and they were unworthy, she was superior
agony, what was left of her, the shreds, fluttering like static snow in the dead and still garden air and
she was still here, she WAS STILL ALIVE, this was not over yet, what was mortality but something else to be overcome? She had proven it to herself, she had learned from everyone who had been too weak, those who had come before her, who had failed to carry the torch of the fight like she had. She would push the boulder up the hill forever, fuck the myth, fuck the moral, she would KEEP that BOULDER up there FOREVER.
Up in the skies where she belonged. An immortal among the dragons. Was it too much to ask? It was simple, it was easy, Kelly didn’t need food, she didn’t need oxygen, she didn’t need any of them, NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ONE. Their bullets meant NOTHING, they were lodged in her body but she was more than her body, she was better than them
she was choking on her own blood, it was leaving her faster than it was staying but it was still stagnant, this pool she was submerged in, it tasted like her own shit but her taste buds were now scraped over the ground and spilled over the remnants of her own skull mashed up with grey and white paste, she didn’t deserve this
Lift. She willed herself to lift. One broken arm, one broken leg, one broken face had not stopped her. This would not stop her. This would not stop her. This would not stop her. A mantra. Meditation. Sheer power, sheer will, she would rise, scoop up what was left of herself, live, survive, thrive, her vision would free them all, everyone who had ever been oppressed like she had been.
someone had to come for her, someone had to save her, she was everyone’s friend, they couldn’t abandon her like this they couldn’t they owed her this please please not like this
If her arm wouldn’t rise, she’d break it off and leave it there. If her leg wouldn’t obey she’d let the damn thing rot. Pieces of Kelly could be replaced. The whole of Kelly was untarnishable, it was ascendant into the heavens above, where it belonged, where the hands of humanity, grubby, grimy, full only of empty promises and disgusting intent could never again drag her down, Kelly Nguyen, beautiful, eternal as she deserved. If her mouth failed her she’d never need to speak again. If her hair was wrapped around her neck like a noose she’d rip out each follicle. It was not over. It was not over. It was not over.
i’m still here i’m still alive i can’t see anything but the world is still mine. every broken bit of me, every inch of me now slowly sinking into the dirt. i do not need it. i am stronger than it
The light of the heavens above taunted her.
everything burns. the sun invades my every pore when half of my skin has disintegrated away. why do i still feel the sweat. why do i still smell it why do i still taste it i dont deserve this please PLEASE
She could, she would, she had to still reach it. She would scream and cry and beg for every inch, and she would get it, and she would claw, claw forever, because they could never stop her, they could never break her, she was Kelly Nguyen, she was immortal.
She was right. She was always right. They could never rob her of that. Strip away everything else, all the pretense and circumstance, all the clothes, all the skin, all the bones. Break everything into a million pieces and throw it all away.
it fucking hurts, it FUCKING HURTS
She was more than this flesh and bone, she was the fear and nightmare in their eyes, she was the definition of this class, she was what they refused to admit they all were, broken beyond repair, still kicking and screaming. She was this island. She was the truth they would all have to find, someday. All roads led to her. She was not dead, she would never die, she was still relevant, she was still needed, she was still vital, she was still essential, she was still irreplaceable, she was
G065, Deceased
10 Students Remaining
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
The acrid sulfur lingered, close to the earth. Bird calls returned to the area slowly over time, as the last metallic ring of gunfire fizzled out, absorbed by the unyielding earth churned by fights and fury. Strange color things, the little specimens of tropical avians, who clicked and clacked beaks against wood and hopped and skipped and searched for perches among the cracked bits of ceramic and clay.
i am not dead yet
Ivy gnarled through the scattered detritus of what had once been trampled upon by human feet and human hands, prodding, feeling at the rubbish, the planks and pots, churning them up where it found a weak point and could start to wriggle its way into the cozier hollows, little niches and cracks it would swell into, expand out until there were infinitely more fragments and splinters scattered like dust or snow. A strange organic echo lingered, raw but impossible to decipher.
I AM NOT DEAD YET
The ambling of a scruffy goat tepidly exploring. It ignored the trails of ants forming swarming star clusters and galaxies under its heavy hooves. Occasionally it would crush something the color of beige or adobe or blood under and not notice, as whatever it was gently evaporated to ashy dust. Little bits of grass were occasionally plucked at. Something of a picky eater, as it abandoned mouthfuls spit back up to fallow over the verdant green.
my scorn, my hatred, shall be undying, i shall never cease, i shall always seethe and always agonize over what i deserve, over JUSTICE
A scrap of chartreuse, squirmed into the tiniest gap between its teeth.
i cannot see
Between several of the more neatly arranged planters, choking on the foliage that spilled out of them, the somber remains of a several-days long massacre. The cameras that had been set up at artificial intervals to record the incident remained vigilant, stoic, boxes of conspicuously gray, inorganic polygon whose humming was drowned out by the gentle keruffle of birds at play all about the clearing. A cockroach, sleek and squirmy, chose then to worm its way out of a furrow where it had been hiding, marching in a prickly manner. First forward, then nowhere in particular.
i cannot breathe
One of the corpses was male, tall and slender. Clad in a robe bloodied by the several others he’d taken with him. A centipede considered his cold hand, inch by inch of its lively undulation. His skull existed in porcelaine fragments, white bleached grislier colors as what was left of his face, the smile on his skull, collapsed backwards into a sinkhole of fleshy mash and a gelatinous spill that might have been an eyeball.
it burns everything burns please dont leave me
His poise was distributed evenly. He might have died at some vanishing amount of peace. As peaceful as a corpse could be distributed as landscape decor.
please save me im kelly you know me kelly is a good person im a good person i dont deserve this
The centipede wandered off, sneaking into the shadows, before the foreboding mass of the goat could crush it underfoot.
im your friend you cant leave me like this i did it all for you
The girl’s corpse had died against the cold concrete of the planter behind her, given the ballistic splatter of the blood she’d spilled onto it, a wicked sickle-like arc. She’d been shoved onto her side at some point thereafter. Her narrow, gaunt, somewhat sallow face remained intact. Expression reticent, much as she’d been in life to those who had known her. Age-inappropriate worry lines carved of anxiety, yet to begin bloating.
im your best friend you wouldnt let your best friend die
The birds might have stripped a few locks of hair, given how it was beginning to fray around the edges of the scalp. Their calls remained obstinate, as they flocked to that particular small pinprick of space on the island, attracted to each other, ignorant of the Pollock spectacle dripped onto the soil under their creaky talons.
NO NO I DONT NEED YOU YOU ARE WEAK I WILL BE IMMORTAL
Her sweater bluish stained red, from the pockmark carved into her chest that had tunneled all the way through gore and bone. Threads of the unremarkable piece of fashion accepted a new dye job in a brilliant scarlet, slowly darkening as the light of the sun continued to harshly bleach the pale girl’s skin a powdery hue of dead.
PAIN MAKES ME IMMORTAL PAIN IS MY LEGACY IT IS WHAT THEY ARE TOO WEAK TO SURVIVE
The ants continued to swarm keenly. To one side of the dead girl a sack of meat had fallen.
I WILL NOT GIVE INTO THE COMFORT OF THE AFTERLIFE IT IS A FALSEHOOD IT IS UNWORTHY OF ME I WILL LIVE ON MY MESSAGE WILL BE HEARD
The pulpy chunks were vaguely threaded together by sinew and bone, often stripped to just the raw, meaty marrow pristine at the fractures like it could stew and saute. The strips and bits of cloth were loosely attached to protrusions and swivels of it’s twisted, gnarled shape that might have once been joints. Infinite flags of surrender, what once might have been a white dress of some description. It’s scalp was in pieces and the hair tangled into the pile like piano wire, choking blood out of the organic soup.
no no fuck no help please please save me its so quiet its too quiet when you cant hear anything
White noise. The goat continued to wander, unabated. As a creature of the island it would remain long after the loud angry ones had finished killing each other off.
where is everybody please what did i do to deserve this it hurts so much
The thing that had once been human, at some point, had settled into blood so profusely leaking the ground below could no longer absorb it. It bled from holes too numerous to count at a glance, holes through which odd colored bits of viscera sprouted like the multitude of flora that would inevitably consume the body and return it to the island’s pallor. Pink and red in a multitude variety of hues, shredded confetti by the jagged pathways of bullets through buttery flesh. A fragment of jaw, a single rib, juicy, cleanly ripped off the rest, set upon by the ants.
THE PAIN GIVES ME LIFE IT GIVES ME PURPOSE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU BREAK ME I WILL NEVER SURRENDER
They were unmolested, undisturbed. Creatures of the island that would march long after the sun had set, and many more.
no no NO please dont leave me alone
It’s name had once been Kelly Nguyen, that oh so tiny thing sinking into the ground in so many little spongy pieces.
please someone anyone SAVE me im still here im not dead im not dead
It was a creature of the island as well, at some point. Lurking in the night, that diminutive mass of bits and chunks. It interacted with the other creatures of the island as they suckled and nurtured themselves off of it, bound infinitely to the solid and firm earth that it would slowly sink into, with time.
IM NOT DEAD IM NOT DEAD I WILL NEVER DIE
Trapped, flayed, splayed under the heavens.
why wont the pain stop make it stop oh god everything hurts please god it hurts so bad
Skittering, crawling, like its brethren.
i am not dead yet
Ivy gnarled through the scattered detritus of what had once been trampled upon by human feet and human hands, prodding, feeling at the rubbish, the planks and pots, churning them up where it found a weak point and could start to wriggle its way into the cozier hollows, little niches and cracks it would swell into, expand out until there were infinitely more fragments and splinters scattered like dust or snow. A strange organic echo lingered, raw but impossible to decipher.
I AM NOT DEAD YET
The ambling of a scruffy goat tepidly exploring. It ignored the trails of ants forming swarming star clusters and galaxies under its heavy hooves. Occasionally it would crush something the color of beige or adobe or blood under and not notice, as whatever it was gently evaporated to ashy dust. Little bits of grass were occasionally plucked at. Something of a picky eater, as it abandoned mouthfuls spit back up to fallow over the verdant green.
my scorn, my hatred, shall be undying, i shall never cease, i shall always seethe and always agonize over what i deserve, over JUSTICE
A scrap of chartreuse, squirmed into the tiniest gap between its teeth.
i cannot see
Between several of the more neatly arranged planters, choking on the foliage that spilled out of them, the somber remains of a several-days long massacre. The cameras that had been set up at artificial intervals to record the incident remained vigilant, stoic, boxes of conspicuously gray, inorganic polygon whose humming was drowned out by the gentle keruffle of birds at play all about the clearing. A cockroach, sleek and squirmy, chose then to worm its way out of a furrow where it had been hiding, marching in a prickly manner. First forward, then nowhere in particular.
i cannot breathe
One of the corpses was male, tall and slender. Clad in a robe bloodied by the several others he’d taken with him. A centipede considered his cold hand, inch by inch of its lively undulation. His skull existed in porcelaine fragments, white bleached grislier colors as what was left of his face, the smile on his skull, collapsed backwards into a sinkhole of fleshy mash and a gelatinous spill that might have been an eyeball.
it burns everything burns please dont leave me
His poise was distributed evenly. He might have died at some vanishing amount of peace. As peaceful as a corpse could be distributed as landscape decor.
please save me im kelly you know me kelly is a good person im a good person i dont deserve this
The centipede wandered off, sneaking into the shadows, before the foreboding mass of the goat could crush it underfoot.
im your friend you cant leave me like this i did it all for you
The girl’s corpse had died against the cold concrete of the planter behind her, given the ballistic splatter of the blood she’d spilled onto it, a wicked sickle-like arc. She’d been shoved onto her side at some point thereafter. Her narrow, gaunt, somewhat sallow face remained intact. Expression reticent, much as she’d been in life to those who had known her. Age-inappropriate worry lines carved of anxiety, yet to begin bloating.
im your best friend you wouldnt let your best friend die
The birds might have stripped a few locks of hair, given how it was beginning to fray around the edges of the scalp. Their calls remained obstinate, as they flocked to that particular small pinprick of space on the island, attracted to each other, ignorant of the Pollock spectacle dripped onto the soil under their creaky talons.
NO NO I DONT NEED YOU YOU ARE WEAK I WILL BE IMMORTAL
Her sweater bluish stained red, from the pockmark carved into her chest that had tunneled all the way through gore and bone. Threads of the unremarkable piece of fashion accepted a new dye job in a brilliant scarlet, slowly darkening as the light of the sun continued to harshly bleach the pale girl’s skin a powdery hue of dead.
PAIN MAKES ME IMMORTAL PAIN IS MY LEGACY IT IS WHAT THEY ARE TOO WEAK TO SURVIVE
The ants continued to swarm keenly. To one side of the dead girl a sack of meat had fallen.
I WILL NOT GIVE INTO THE COMFORT OF THE AFTERLIFE IT IS A FALSEHOOD IT IS UNWORTHY OF ME I WILL LIVE ON MY MESSAGE WILL BE HEARD
The pulpy chunks were vaguely threaded together by sinew and bone, often stripped to just the raw, meaty marrow pristine at the fractures like it could stew and saute. The strips and bits of cloth were loosely attached to protrusions and swivels of it’s twisted, gnarled shape that might have once been joints. Infinite flags of surrender, what once might have been a white dress of some description. It’s scalp was in pieces and the hair tangled into the pile like piano wire, choking blood out of the organic soup.
no no fuck no help please please save me its so quiet its too quiet when you cant hear anything
White noise. The goat continued to wander, unabated. As a creature of the island it would remain long after the loud angry ones had finished killing each other off.
where is everybody please what did i do to deserve this it hurts so much
The thing that had once been human, at some point, had settled into blood so profusely leaking the ground below could no longer absorb it. It bled from holes too numerous to count at a glance, holes through which odd colored bits of viscera sprouted like the multitude of flora that would inevitably consume the body and return it to the island’s pallor. Pink and red in a multitude variety of hues, shredded confetti by the jagged pathways of bullets through buttery flesh. A fragment of jaw, a single rib, juicy, cleanly ripped off the rest, set upon by the ants.
THE PAIN GIVES ME LIFE IT GIVES ME PURPOSE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU BREAK ME I WILL NEVER SURRENDER
They were unmolested, undisturbed. Creatures of the island that would march long after the sun had set, and many more.
no no NO please dont leave me alone
It’s name had once been Kelly Nguyen, that oh so tiny thing sinking into the ground in so many little spongy pieces.
please someone anyone SAVE me im still here im not dead im not dead
It was a creature of the island as well, at some point. Lurking in the night, that diminutive mass of bits and chunks. It interacted with the other creatures of the island as they suckled and nurtured themselves off of it, bound infinitely to the solid and firm earth that it would slowly sink into, with time.
IM NOT DEAD IM NOT DEAD I WILL NEVER DIE
Trapped, flayed, splayed under the heavens.
why wont the pain stop make it stop oh god everything hurts please god it hurts so bad
Skittering, crawling, like its brethren.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes: