One sunrise and half a pack of cigarettes later, Jodi was somewhere else.
All around her pipes twisted between panes of metal that grew from itself like flaky, scabbed skin and oozed rust the color of dried blood from the ceiling to the floor. Stephanie told her to be calm, keep hidden, but perhaps she meant somewhere other than the very belly of the beast. Every errant creak and rumble made snakes run circles around her sweat-soaked ankles as she stepped further inside. Her head jangled with bolts and screws, pilfered from crates spilled open by God-and-the-audience only knows. Something was always humming out of view about what-was-the-difference-between-the-two-anyway? They were all otherwise empty, but of course she couldn't know that until she looked inside each and every one of them.
Jodi turned the corner of the corridor and came immediately upon an open door, into which she hurriedly scurried without so much as a second thought. The familiar sight of the sailor's locker room greeted her, though this one was picked clean and not down a flight of stairs and this time there was nobody waiting inside to beat the daylight out of her. Wordless she moved across the dust-covered floor, finding her exit through another open door in the diagonally opposite corner of the room. Her head emerged first into the hall, peering left and right, before the rest of Jodi followed.
Outside the door stood a stack of wooden crates that were especially hollow and rotten with age, against which Jodi knelt down and opened her bag. Above her the light flickered rapidly enough that her twitchy fingers moved twice as quick beneath it to tug the zipper open and spill the bag's contents as intestines from a hunted kill. The flimsy sack was lighter than before, but heavy enough that it still hurt to carry for her wounded back. The Bob Ross costume was gone, though she held on to the wig for reasons she found herself cursing as she rummaged past it to her final bottle of water.
As the liquid passed between her lips and washed the tar from her mouth, Jodi felt a pang of regret that she hadn't finished it while it was still cold. It wasn't even room temperature, but warm, the last sips of water she possibly would taste, flat with leeched plastic and runny as cough syrup. What was initially intended as a single sip turned into a gulp, and then the rest of the bottle followed—she squeezed the air from it with a crackle and threw it back into the locker room. It skipped and hit the far wall. Jodi hadn't noticed how weightless plastic litter was. On a windy day she could tie a string to it and bear it back up into the ocean breeze like a kite.
Was everyone else throwing their trash into the ocean? Is that where the producers would float her corpse, when all was said and done?
Jodi was out of water. She grabbed pulled her lighter out with the ball of hair then zipped the bag shut before swinging it back over her shoulders. Then, she stood, and looked around at the empty hallway. Slow and quiet now, Jodi started her walk down the center of the empty hall, taking tiny metal pieces one at a time from underneath her hat and putting them inside the wig⁸⁹ without looking down.
What We Built To Keep The Waters Clean
Day 2, 12:30 PM | Open
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: Hanging Onto A Buoy For Dear Life
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
- Contact:
- 
- 
"Hey Luanne?"
She spoke for the first time since this morning.
Well.
Real words other than whispers and groans.
"Were you talking to someone last night?"
It wasn't a question since Pippi knew the answer.
She waved her flashlight around, searching for a loose pipe to arm Luanne.
She had wanted to explore more of the ship, but her entire body rebelled at the idea.
She wasn't sure why she felt so sick, why her whole body felt like it was shutting down.
But it was, and it made her feel worthless. She couldn't be worthless right now.
"It woke me up."
A lie.
She was already wide awake.
She had never slept.
Or maybe she did, but the dreams merged into reality.
Something dramatic for the crowd to feast on.
Two hands pressed on her ears was what she did when the announcements came on.
She didn't want to hear it.
It was for herself, but maybe for the crowd too.
Because she heard it anyways.
And what she heard didn't surprise her.
And she wished it did because she didn't want to admit that it would have only taken two announcements for her to realize that none of them would be helping each other.
Maybe it was a sign.
Or maybe not.
Did it matter?
Did it really matter, readers? Watchers? Listeners? Inquirers? Did it matter whether or not the world she had grown to love too much to leave it was now around her burning in the middle of ocean for the rest of the universe to enjoy?
She wasn't really sure.
"Sorry. Just trying to make small talk."
She spoke for the first time since this morning.
Well.
Real words other than whispers and groans.
"Were you talking to someone last night?"
It wasn't a question since Pippi knew the answer.
She waved her flashlight around, searching for a loose pipe to arm Luanne.
She had wanted to explore more of the ship, but her entire body rebelled at the idea.
She wasn't sure why she felt so sick, why her whole body felt like it was shutting down.
But it was, and it made her feel worthless. She couldn't be worthless right now.
"It woke me up."
A lie.
She was already wide awake.
She had never slept.
Or maybe she did, but the dreams merged into reality.
Something dramatic for the crowd to feast on.
Two hands pressed on her ears was what she did when the announcements came on.
She didn't want to hear it.
It was for herself, but maybe for the crowd too.
Because she heard it anyways.
And what she heard didn't surprise her.
And she wished it did because she didn't want to admit that it would have only taken two announcements for her to realize that none of them would be helping each other.
Maybe it was a sign.
Or maybe not.
Did it matter?
Did it really matter, readers? Watchers? Listeners? Inquirers? Did it matter whether or not the world she had grown to love too much to leave it was now around her burning in the middle of ocean for the rest of the universe to enjoy?
She wasn't really sure.
"Sorry. Just trying to make small talk."
((Continued POSSIBLY FROM MICHIGAN (1983)))
They'd left Pat the Skeleton at the Yacht.
The air down here was thick and soupy. It was kind of like summertime in Miami, except in an enclosed hallway. So really it was more like being slowly baked alive. It made Luanne want to scream, but like, scream really quietly, because she wasn't a very loud person. It was also pretty dark, but not too dark. But still dark enough for her to be on-edge. She was kind of glad Pippi was using a flashlight. Luanne couldn't use her own, because she needed all the battery life she could get. She still hadn't mentioned her idea to Pippi. She was going to wait until the two of them got their hands on a collar that wasn't attached to a living person.
Anyways,
There were more killers now. No repeat killers, which she found interesting. She wasn't sure what she would do if she and Pippi ran into, um, a killer. It would probably depend on whether or not the person shot first. Luanne didn't want to kill anyone. She wanted as many people to live as possible. But if it came down to it, and it was like, she had to kill to save a life? Yeah, she probably could. She barely needed to think about it. Sometimes good people had to do bad things in order to do the right thing. And the real truth about it was that nobody got it right, but she was going to try her best. Anyways, some of the killers kind of... freaked her out this time around. Noreen's friend Vasily, and the boy from the cinema museum who dressed like he rode a Vespa, and also the boy from the cinema museum who she thought worked at the cinema museum. They were all killers. Fist Baitman and Eric Cunningham. Noreen had learned about the encounter at the cinema museum from Vasily, and Luanne had learned everyone's names from Noreen.
Anyways, yeah, it was kind of freaky that, barely a week ago, she'd been sitting in a room by herself with her back turned to three boys who were now murderers. She was going to change the subject now, because that train of thought was incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable.
Luckily, Pippi changed the subject for her. Were you talking to someone last night?
She stopped walking, and glanced at the corner the hallway would turn around twenty or so feet in the future. Of all the places to be murdered, this was sure one.
"Yeah."
You're half-there again.
...
"- Oh, um, I mean, yeah. I talked to - or, um, I talked to Stephanie. And then Jewel Evans talked to me. And then I talked to Jewel. About, um," she stopped, briefly glancing sideways at a spot she thought there would be a camera, "about stuff I'm not sure if I should say."
...
"Right before that, though, I had, um, a bad dream. Laura was my sleep paralysis demon, which I guess is funny, except she sounded like you, and you sounded like you were giving up."
...
"I dunno. I'm sorry. I'm not great at smalltalk."
She scratched the back of her neck.
They'd left Pat the Skeleton at the Yacht.
The air down here was thick and soupy. It was kind of like summertime in Miami, except in an enclosed hallway. So really it was more like being slowly baked alive. It made Luanne want to scream, but like, scream really quietly, because she wasn't a very loud person. It was also pretty dark, but not too dark. But still dark enough for her to be on-edge. She was kind of glad Pippi was using a flashlight. Luanne couldn't use her own, because she needed all the battery life she could get. She still hadn't mentioned her idea to Pippi. She was going to wait until the two of them got their hands on a collar that wasn't attached to a living person.
Anyways,
There were more killers now. No repeat killers, which she found interesting. She wasn't sure what she would do if she and Pippi ran into, um, a killer. It would probably depend on whether or not the person shot first. Luanne didn't want to kill anyone. She wanted as many people to live as possible. But if it came down to it, and it was like, she had to kill to save a life? Yeah, she probably could. She barely needed to think about it. Sometimes good people had to do bad things in order to do the right thing. And the real truth about it was that nobody got it right, but she was going to try her best. Anyways, some of the killers kind of... freaked her out this time around. Noreen's friend Vasily, and the boy from the cinema museum who dressed like he rode a Vespa, and also the boy from the cinema museum who she thought worked at the cinema museum. They were all killers. Fist Baitman and Eric Cunningham. Noreen had learned about the encounter at the cinema museum from Vasily, and Luanne had learned everyone's names from Noreen.
Anyways, yeah, it was kind of freaky that, barely a week ago, she'd been sitting in a room by herself with her back turned to three boys who were now murderers. She was going to change the subject now, because that train of thought was incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable.
Luckily, Pippi changed the subject for her. Were you talking to someone last night?
She stopped walking, and glanced at the corner the hallway would turn around twenty or so feet in the future. Of all the places to be murdered, this was sure one.
"Yeah."
You're half-there again.
...
"- Oh, um, I mean, yeah. I talked to - or, um, I talked to Stephanie. And then Jewel Evans talked to me. And then I talked to Jewel. About, um," she stopped, briefly glancing sideways at a spot she thought there would be a camera, "about stuff I'm not sure if I should say."
...
"Right before that, though, I had, um, a bad dream. Laura was my sleep paralysis demon, which I guess is funny, except she sounded like you, and you sounded like you were giving up."
...
"I dunno. I'm sorry. I'm not great at smalltalk."
She scratched the back of her neck.
This feels wrong.
The world screamed at her.
There were other people there, talking. Talking like they’re friends. Talking like there was this sense of trust between them, between words and bandannas.
Leah felt like she was intruding, invading. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Leah missed home. She wanted to hug her father one last time. She wanted warm bed sheets and succulents.
They were talking about something that felt like it existed on a vaguely alternate plane of existence, but it may just be because Leah wasn’t even listening until Jewel’s name came up.
She remembered what happened last time she went noticed, and she stopped her urge to reach out and talk about Jewel. Leah wasn’t good at many things, but she was good at being quiet.
She scratched idly at her arms, and that was the only movement she had. Beyond, you know, breathing and heartbeats and blinking and all the movements that you couldn’t help.
Leah wanted to reach out and ask the audience if they are aware of their own blinking right now.
That would kind of be a bad move, though, so she just stood there, hidden away behind the familiar sprawling corners. How long has it been since she talked to Verity, again?
Leah found it a bit hard to keep track of things now. The world felt fuzzy to her sometimes. She kept listening.
Leah's never heard Jewel talk to or talk about someone else ever since they were all taken. It felt wrong to her. Jewel felt like her's, as selfish and as stupid as it sounded. The two girls aren't even Leviathans. Leah felt bad for feeling possessive over a literal celebrity, but it didn't help the feeling of ants crawling in her stomach. What were they talking about? What made this girl so important that Jewel reached out to her?
The last time Jewel reached out she had to ask her. It took her being with someone two seconds away from strangling her. Jewel didn't even warn her before she asked.
The last time Leah talked to someone who she couldn't trust they proved that she should never trust anyone ever again, and that she should never talk with anyone ever again, and that she should never give up ever again.
That was hard to swallow.
The world screamed at her.
There were other people there, talking. Talking like they’re friends. Talking like there was this sense of trust between them, between words and bandannas.
Leah felt like she was intruding, invading. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Leah missed home. She wanted to hug her father one last time. She wanted warm bed sheets and succulents.
They were talking about something that felt like it existed on a vaguely alternate plane of existence, but it may just be because Leah wasn’t even listening until Jewel’s name came up.
She remembered what happened last time she went noticed, and she stopped her urge to reach out and talk about Jewel. Leah wasn’t good at many things, but she was good at being quiet.
She scratched idly at her arms, and that was the only movement she had. Beyond, you know, breathing and heartbeats and blinking and all the movements that you couldn’t help.
Leah wanted to reach out and ask the audience if they are aware of their own blinking right now.
That would kind of be a bad move, though, so she just stood there, hidden away behind the familiar sprawling corners. How long has it been since she talked to Verity, again?
Leah found it a bit hard to keep track of things now. The world felt fuzzy to her sometimes. She kept listening.
Leah's never heard Jewel talk to or talk about someone else ever since they were all taken. It felt wrong to her. Jewel felt like her's, as selfish and as stupid as it sounded. The two girls aren't even Leviathans. Leah felt bad for feeling possessive over a literal celebrity, but it didn't help the feeling of ants crawling in her stomach. What were they talking about? What made this girl so important that Jewel reached out to her?
The last time Jewel reached out she had to ask her. It took her being with someone two seconds away from strangling her. Jewel didn't even warn her before she asked.
The last time Leah talked to someone who she couldn't trust they proved that she should never trust anyone ever again, and that she should never talk with anyone ever again, and that she should never give up ever again.
That was hard to swallow.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 250
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: Hanging Onto A Buoy For Dear Life
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
- Contact:
The whispers of tinny voices reverberated along the side wall. Jodi stepped forward, undeterred, tracing the metal paneling with her free index finger, empty of bolts and screws and thus a little lighter now, which is also the only thing left clutched in her palm. The hallway, or what Jodi can see of it, remained empty, the voices stood static in their corner of the pipeworks, and so Jodi pressed on. Her thumb and middle finger pinched shut the corners of the wig, sealing the added weight inside. The smell of singed hair from her mother's curler five mornings ago spun around in a bitter dance⁹⁰ at the end of her nose.
Jodi considered two possibilities as she slowly made her way down the hall. Either the voices were friends, or they were foes. It was impossible for them to be neither—they were on her team, or they were not—and it was similarly impossible for them to be be both, as any equivocating between 'temporary allies' of a different color was just that, temporary, a phase change split second agreement arrangement that meant nothing, not more than either of their deaths. Her finger left the wall and curled around her lighter lighter, lighter than before, light a lighter until it gets lighter and lighter and then it lights no more⁹¹.
The corner was getting closer. That was part of why Jodi took her finger away from it. Without turning herself she stepped closer to the opposite side, the far wall at the bottom of the next left turn. Her shoes made a thin tapping sound on the metal grate floor that wasn't as small as she felt she was being, and that made her anxious. With shaky hands she grasped the wig and started to draw her aching elbow back. Sweat clung to the underside of her hat, gluing her hair to her head when it wasn't hanging crazy by the sides. If the next hallway was too long there was no way she could throw it down the entire way. The best she was doing was making something less than pleasant to step on as whoever was waiting chased her back through the same crooked serpentines back to the locker room and tore her open like a bag of things. There was such a thing as fighting fire with fire and such a thing as supplying fuel for it and the two looked nearly identical, especially when the literal object was so heavily involved.
The corner was getting closer. It was not getting further away. Jodi's legs would not stop moving. They moved on their own. Once she set the fire, there was no turning back. The voices were clearer, and she didn't recognize either of them very readily. Maybe if she knew she'd have to kill them one day in order to survive she would have made less friends. Behind her the lightbulb flashed out of phase and in sync with the deep thrum of the cruise ship's engine.
Jodi's first step beyond the corner was with her left foot. She planted sideways and pivoted on her ankle, leaning into the momentum with the weight of her bag—her arm clutching the hairball shot backwards, lead mostly by the momentum, like a trebuchet mid swing,
as Jodi found herself face to face with two of her teammates.
There they were; pink bandanas.
Jodi felt her throat go tight and the weight slide from her shoulders. Her bag hit the floor behind her. She didn't notice.
"I thought I would never find anyone," she said through the beginnings of her tears as she suddenly felt like everything she was was jelly and soft and not to raise itself in anger again. Her free hand went to her eyes to wipe away the mess of snot and salt that was sure to pour forth in the next minute.
In Jodi's other hand, halfway taken by the spreading fire, was a tangled mess of brown synthetic hair and the smell of melting plastic, still burning.
"Thank God," she said obliviously, choking back a sob.
Jodi considered two possibilities as she slowly made her way down the hall. Either the voices were friends, or they were foes. It was impossible for them to be neither—they were on her team, or they were not—and it was similarly impossible for them to be be both, as any equivocating between 'temporary allies' of a different color was just that, temporary, a phase change split second agreement arrangement that meant nothing, not more than either of their deaths. Her finger left the wall and curled around her lighter lighter, lighter than before, light a lighter until it gets lighter and lighter and then it lights no more⁹¹.
The corner was getting closer. That was part of why Jodi took her finger away from it. Without turning herself she stepped closer to the opposite side, the far wall at the bottom of the next left turn. Her shoes made a thin tapping sound on the metal grate floor that wasn't as small as she felt she was being, and that made her anxious. With shaky hands she grasped the wig and started to draw her aching elbow back. Sweat clung to the underside of her hat, gluing her hair to her head when it wasn't hanging crazy by the sides. If the next hallway was too long there was no way she could throw it down the entire way. The best she was doing was making something less than pleasant to step on as whoever was waiting chased her back through the same crooked serpentines back to the locker room and tore her open like a bag of things. There was such a thing as fighting fire with fire and such a thing as supplying fuel for it and the two looked nearly identical, especially when the literal object was so heavily involved.
The corner was getting closer. It was not getting further away. Jodi's legs would not stop moving. They moved on their own. Once she set the fire, there was no turning back. The voices were clearer, and she didn't recognize either of them very readily. Maybe if she knew she'd have to kill them one day in order to survive she would have made less friends. Behind her the lightbulb flashed out of phase and in sync with the deep thrum of the cruise ship's engine.
Jodi's first step beyond the corner was with her left foot. She planted sideways and pivoted on her ankle, leaning into the momentum with the weight of her bag—her arm clutching the hairball shot backwards, lead mostly by the momentum, like a trebuchet mid swing,
as Jodi found herself face to face with two of her teammates.
There they were; pink bandanas.
Jodi felt her throat go tight and the weight slide from her shoulders. Her bag hit the floor behind her. She didn't notice.
"I thought I would never find anyone," she said through the beginnings of her tears as she suddenly felt like everything she was was jelly and soft and not to raise itself in anger again. Her free hand went to her eyes to wipe away the mess of snot and salt that was sure to pour forth in the next minute.
In Jodi's other hand, halfway taken by the spreading fire, was a tangled mess of brown synthetic hair and the smell of melting plastic, still burning.
"Thank God," she said obliviously, choking back a sob.
"I-"
She chose to not do small talk again.
She kept it at that.
There wasn't any point in explaining.
She did want to give up. And she still wanted to give up.
Giving up would make it easier.
For everyone.
A free collar to explore.
A free body to test things out.
A free soul to use. She swallowed.
Staring at Jodi.
A teammate.
But it wasn't the sole discovery.
"Oh my God."
She stepped forward.
Fire. Bright. Illuminating the darkness and blinding the light from the flashlight.
"Hey, p-put the- put it down. Don't-"
Pippi snapped her head at Luanne,
then back at Jodi.
"Don't burn yourself."
"Yeah."
"I did talk to Stephanie last night."
She chose to not do small talk again.
She kept it at that.
There wasn't any point in explaining.
She did want to give up. And she still wanted to give up.
Giving up would make it easier.
For everyone.
A free collar to explore.
A free body to test things out.
A free soul to use. She swallowed.
Staring at Jodi.
A teammate.
But it wasn't the sole discovery.
"Oh my God."
She stepped forward.
Fire. Bright. Illuminating the darkness and blinding the light from the flashlight.
"Hey, p-put the- put it down. Don't-"
Pippi snapped her head at Luanne,
then back at Jodi.
"Don't burn yourself."
...
Luanne glanced sideways and saw the look in Pippi's eyes. She wasn't sure if she had the words to name it.
Her jaw clenched. She wanted to grab Pippi. And then just hold her until she didn't want to give up.
Because out of the two of them, Luanne was the expendable one.
Because Pippi didn't just fucking get to give up. Because if Pippi died, the plan inside Pippi's head died too.
So Luanne stared sideways at her. And there was just this mental fuzziness all of a sudden, like TV static, except it didn't really feel fuzzy, it felt more like thinking through a magnifying glass.
And she tried to say something. But she couldn't figure out how to say it. Her throat hurt and her eyes were watering. But she kept trying. Because whatever it was, she needed to say it, because she really fucking meant it.
Oh - FUCK oh god. Fire. There was fire. Why was - fire. Suddenly everything looked much darker than it really was. There was someone. Were they saying something? She couldn't tell. All she could hear was the sound of her own ears. The person had fire in their hand. She could see it. Like one of the bouquets thrown by a rioter painted by Banksy, except it was one of those Russian fire bottles like the rioter was throwing in real life, and then she saw herself laying dead on the ground with her clothing scorched to tatters. Her skin was red and pink and brown and black and boiled. Her hair had been burnt away. Her face was warped, nearly unrecognizable, but not enough for Noreen not to instantly know who it was. She saw Pippi laying next to her, mangled in the same way. Then she snapped out of it and saw Pippi look backwards at her in real life. What? Why? What was she supposed to do? She didn't know. She didn't know. Pippi looked back at the person with the fire in their hand. Luanne looked at them. A flash of what was maybe a skull and crossbones insignia. She remembered what she was trying to say to Pippi. Thought of a way to say it in someone else's words. She wasn't sure where she'd heard it before, but it was there, written in her brain.
'If all this was easy, it wouldn't matter how it ends.'
She yanked at the bandana tied around her own neck. Needed to make sure they saw it.
"THROW IT THE OTHER WAY!"
Luanne glanced sideways and saw the look in Pippi's eyes. She wasn't sure if she had the words to name it.
Her jaw clenched. She wanted to grab Pippi. And then just hold her until she didn't want to give up.
Because out of the two of them, Luanne was the expendable one.
Because Pippi didn't just fucking get to give up. Because if Pippi died, the plan inside Pippi's head died too.
So Luanne stared sideways at her. And there was just this mental fuzziness all of a sudden, like TV static, except it didn't really feel fuzzy, it felt more like thinking through a magnifying glass.
And she tried to say something. But she couldn't figure out how to say it. Her throat hurt and her eyes were watering. But she kept trying. Because whatever it was, she needed to say it, because she really fucking meant it.
Oh - FUCK oh god. Fire. There was fire. Why was - fire. Suddenly everything looked much darker than it really was. There was someone. Were they saying something? She couldn't tell. All she could hear was the sound of her own ears. The person had fire in their hand. She could see it. Like one of the bouquets thrown by a rioter painted by Banksy, except it was one of those Russian fire bottles like the rioter was throwing in real life, and then she saw herself laying dead on the ground with her clothing scorched to tatters. Her skin was red and pink and brown and black and boiled. Her hair had been burnt away. Her face was warped, nearly unrecognizable, but not enough for Noreen not to instantly know who it was. She saw Pippi laying next to her, mangled in the same way. Then she snapped out of it and saw Pippi look backwards at her in real life. What? Why? What was she supposed to do? She didn't know. She didn't know. Pippi looked back at the person with the fire in their hand. Luanne looked at them. A flash of what was maybe a skull and crossbones insignia. She remembered what she was trying to say to Pippi. Thought of a way to say it in someone else's words. She wasn't sure where she'd heard it before, but it was there, written in her brain.
'If all this was easy, it wouldn't matter how it ends.'
She yanked at the bandana tied around her own neck. Needed to make sure they saw it.
"THROW IT THE OTHER WAY!"
The third girl, she-
Oh.
Oh. Pink.
This was unfair. This was so unfair it hurt.
It smelt like burning plastic. It sounded like people preoccupied with the presence of each other.
Leah kept still. She kept being invisible. It felt like she was alone. If she closed her eyes and ignored the words, it felt like everything in front of her could play on TV in front of her. And she wouldn’t be watched, and nobody would know she existed, just like a part of her wanted.
She took a small step backwards, gentle footsteps undetectable to cameras nor to the naked ear.
Leah pressed her thumb to her other hand’s palm and thought about how Survival of the Fittest became something that was socially acceptable- everybody who was on this flotilla right now was only a child when it all started. They grew up with this. Leah didn’t remember a time before this.
How did society come to be this way? How did this all become acceptable?
It was because the new generation hasn’t lived without it. They put in front of her face and told her that this was a good thing- they told her to dig in. And everybody did just that- they used and consumed without question until it became the new normal.
In the end, no amount of morality was strong enough against indoctrinated kids.
That terrified her. It’s so easy to make something feel like a natural part of life. All you need to do is to teach ‘em young. It was brainwashing. Gladiator games weren’t usually fought to the death- not unless the people were either foreign or criminals. Societies didn’t treat their own people this way- they only got to this point when they were able to brand the victims as Others- foreign, inhuman, deserving. Was she an Other? Were they all Others to the rich and the powerful? Is that how this all operated?
Her thumb left her palm. She blinked, and kept listening. Resisting the irrational urge to cry.
It took almost everything she had to not move and break down right in front of the three girls and everybody watching in America.
A beat
And then a noise, louder than the rest, piercing through the musty air.
Leah couldn't stop shaking when Luanne was yelling. She closed her eyes.
There was no need to engage. There was no need to interact. There was no need to intertwine her own story with the girls'.
Remember what happened last time.
She was still standing like she was anywhere but there.
Oh.
Oh. Pink.
This was unfair. This was so unfair it hurt.
It smelt like burning plastic. It sounded like people preoccupied with the presence of each other.
Leah kept still. She kept being invisible. It felt like she was alone. If she closed her eyes and ignored the words, it felt like everything in front of her could play on TV in front of her. And she wouldn’t be watched, and nobody would know she existed, just like a part of her wanted.
She took a small step backwards, gentle footsteps undetectable to cameras nor to the naked ear.
Leah pressed her thumb to her other hand’s palm and thought about how Survival of the Fittest became something that was socially acceptable- everybody who was on this flotilla right now was only a child when it all started. They grew up with this. Leah didn’t remember a time before this.
How did society come to be this way? How did this all become acceptable?
It was because the new generation hasn’t lived without it. They put in front of her face and told her that this was a good thing- they told her to dig in. And everybody did just that- they used and consumed without question until it became the new normal.
In the end, no amount of morality was strong enough against indoctrinated kids.
That terrified her. It’s so easy to make something feel like a natural part of life. All you need to do is to teach ‘em young. It was brainwashing. Gladiator games weren’t usually fought to the death- not unless the people were either foreign or criminals. Societies didn’t treat their own people this way- they only got to this point when they were able to brand the victims as Others- foreign, inhuman, deserving. Was she an Other? Were they all Others to the rich and the powerful? Is that how this all operated?
Her thumb left her palm. She blinked, and kept listening. Resisting the irrational urge to cry.
It took almost everything she had to not move and break down right in front of the three girls and everybody watching in America.
A beat
And then a noise, louder than the rest, piercing through the musty air.
Leah couldn't stop shaking when Luanne was yelling. She closed her eyes.
There was no need to engage. There was no need to interact. There was no need to intertwine her own story with the girls'.
Remember what happened last time.
She was still standing like she was anywhere but there.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Why weren't her teammates greeting her? Jodi stood before them with open arms, battered but still standing, and all they could do was what, gawk? Glare? In momentary bewilderment Jodi followed the path of their glances across the dusty basement air to—
"ShhHHIZAH!"
—shouted Jodi as she lifted her arm, holding the flaming wig as far away from herself as her arm would extend. The flames had chewed their way through half of the wig while she wasn't looking, not even thinking about what was going off in the palm of her hand. Turning and twisting and backing herself against the far wall Jodi watched with horror as the strands of hair folded in on themselves like the dying fuses of dynamite sticks, gnawing their fatal path closer to her warming hand.
"Help!" she cried, but there was none for anyone to give. She let her wrist go limp and shook it around helplessly as orange curls of flame dancing about in the tangled web of synthetic hair. The strong noxious fumes of heated plastic wafted out in plumes with the thickening smoke, filling the cramped corridors in an instant.⁹² Jodi gagged but closed her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned with empty nauseous air. Slime ran in a thin line inside her neck at the front of her throat. Sweat beads slide beneath the brim of her hat and ran down to her brows. The flames grew nearer, nearer, stronger, and still Jodi waved and gagged at the mess she had made.
Jodi couldn't imagine that such a strong smell could come from some place, a fixed point in space, but there it was, the mass in her hand, burning almost three quarters now and still she has done nothing but scream and put herself between it and the wall. The fire she started, filled with the metal that she stole, and still she wanted to reject it—push it away—force it OUT—
And that was what did it, between the smell, the sound, the screaming of her teammates to get it away and get rid of it and get herself free of the fire. Something beneath her awareness and mastery of paralysis rose and moved Jodi from the wall and brought the fire back behind her. It⁹³ took hard clanging steps forward in her shoes, heavier than Jodi thought possible with her weight, and in a snapping motion brought her arm in an arc cleanly forward and loosed the wig across the hallway from which Jodi had come, freeing her of the fire in one clean motion.
While simultaneously making it someone else's problem.
This time there was no freeze. Jodi recognized her doing and her mistake and the person standing in its path on the other end.
Before the recognition could register consciously Jodi found she had already called for Leah to duck and cover out of the path of Jodi's flaming wig and its trailing arc of bolts and screws.
"ShhHHIZAH!"
—shouted Jodi as she lifted her arm, holding the flaming wig as far away from herself as her arm would extend. The flames had chewed their way through half of the wig while she wasn't looking, not even thinking about what was going off in the palm of her hand. Turning and twisting and backing herself against the far wall Jodi watched with horror as the strands of hair folded in on themselves like the dying fuses of dynamite sticks, gnawing their fatal path closer to her warming hand.
"Help!" she cried, but there was none for anyone to give. She let her wrist go limp and shook it around helplessly as orange curls of flame dancing about in the tangled web of synthetic hair. The strong noxious fumes of heated plastic wafted out in plumes with the thickening smoke, filling the cramped corridors in an instant.⁹² Jodi gagged but closed her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned with empty nauseous air. Slime ran in a thin line inside her neck at the front of her throat. Sweat beads slide beneath the brim of her hat and ran down to her brows. The flames grew nearer, nearer, stronger, and still Jodi waved and gagged at the mess she had made.
Jodi couldn't imagine that such a strong smell could come from some place, a fixed point in space, but there it was, the mass in her hand, burning almost three quarters now and still she has done nothing but scream and put herself between it and the wall. The fire she started, filled with the metal that she stole, and still she wanted to reject it—push it away—force it OUT—
And that was what did it, between the smell, the sound, the screaming of her teammates to get it away and get rid of it and get herself free of the fire. Something beneath her awareness and mastery of paralysis rose and moved Jodi from the wall and brought the fire back behind her. It⁹³ took hard clanging steps forward in her shoes, heavier than Jodi thought possible with her weight, and in a snapping motion brought her arm in an arc cleanly forward and loosed the wig across the hallway from which Jodi had come, freeing her of the fire in one clean motion.
While simultaneously making it someone else's problem.
This time there was no freeze. Jodi recognized her doing and her mistake and the person standing in its path on the other end.
Before the recognition could register consciously Jodi found she had already called for Leah to duck and cover out of the path of Jodi's flaming wig and its trailing arc of bolts and screws.
Her hands were forced.
The sun was rising.
Setting
Melting her.
Flames licking at fabric, and then skin. Red-hot. Searing. First, then second degree.
She howled.
God, it hurt.
Red-hot metal clashed against her clothes, bouncing off and leaving painful marks behind. Her leg was on fire- flames licking against fabric and singing her hairs.
Leah's leg swung backwards on instinct, and then forwards, and then a thud hit her foot and the sun was rising up again, hurled straight at the girls.
Then, she stopped, dropped, and rolled, away from the girls, just like what dad taught her in fourth grade.
''Sorry,'' she called, in a loud, quick voice that wasn't sure if it wanted to be a bang or a whimper.
Shoulders tensed up. Hands raised. Fingers overlayed on top of each other. It looked like she was praying, even though her palms covered her mouth. She wished that praying could do anything right now.
Whatever made her never wanted her to be happy in the first place.
The sun set. She should have kicked it in any other direction.
Black smoke and ash. Filling up the already overcrowded room. She could almost taste the burning plastic.
“It was on instinct.”
The ground was digging into her knees. Her leg wasn't on fire anymore, but it still felt like it was. She forced herself to get up.
-
MethodicalSlacker
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The wig sailed from Jodi's hand through the air twenty feet to the other end of the long hallway by the locker room door, met Leah's foot, and jumped to her leg like an eager parasite. She battered the hairball away but by that point it was ash spilling searing plinking screws against the floor. Then, Leah's body met the same floor as those screws and flailed, and for a second before it went out Jodi thought she had verifiably lit her on fire.
Meanwhile the wig was on a return path, crackling with steam and newfound lightness at the departure of the screws. Up, up, up it went, up to the basement ceiling. Jodi raised her hands afore her face ready for any one strand of hair to peel from the clump and pull the wig across the ceiling to drop atop her face. But nonesuch happened, and the wig skimmed the ceiling, leaving not a trace of fire but for extending vertically the wall of smog. The wig tumbled forward in descent, but it was clear it would not reach her. In another moment's passing the empty hair had landed not more than eight feet from the tip of Jodi's toes.
Then it went out. The fire died without ceremony on the ground, and the stench of burning hair made way for the more muted but still ugly smell of burnt hair and denim.
Jodi's chest rose and fell with her panting panicked hyperventilations. She splayed a hand across her rib cage to keep her lungs from popping, and had to push like she was shoving a broken car to keep her own air down.
Dead at last.
Thin wisps of smoke rose off of the screws strewn about across the floor as the metal lost its red hot blush. The aroma of hot iron mingled with the noxious burnt hair. With her eyes closed Jodi could imagine that a person was dead on the ground, crisped over, the wig fused to their torso.
Jodi opened her eyes. Leah was getting back up⁹⁴. Jodi parted her lips to speak and almost split them. When she wasn't looking they dried out. Perhaps the heat leeched away all the moisture in her face. That would help explain how pale she felt. Or maybe that was Leah's apologies, working their way into her feeble heart.
"My fault!" Jodi called across the room, loud enough that Leah and anyone in hiding could hear, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you, I didn't mean to get you with that, honest!"
She put her arm over her mouth and coughed into it—four rough hacks of heavy hair.
"Maybe we should run," Jodi said quietly behind her arm, hoping her teammates could hear and Leah could not.
Meanwhile the wig was on a return path, crackling with steam and newfound lightness at the departure of the screws. Up, up, up it went, up to the basement ceiling. Jodi raised her hands afore her face ready for any one strand of hair to peel from the clump and pull the wig across the ceiling to drop atop her face. But nonesuch happened, and the wig skimmed the ceiling, leaving not a trace of fire but for extending vertically the wall of smog. The wig tumbled forward in descent, but it was clear it would not reach her. In another moment's passing the empty hair had landed not more than eight feet from the tip of Jodi's toes.
Then it went out. The fire died without ceremony on the ground, and the stench of burning hair made way for the more muted but still ugly smell of burnt hair and denim.
Jodi's chest rose and fell with her panting panicked hyperventilations. She splayed a hand across her rib cage to keep her lungs from popping, and had to push like she was shoving a broken car to keep her own air down.
Dead at last.
Thin wisps of smoke rose off of the screws strewn about across the floor as the metal lost its red hot blush. The aroma of hot iron mingled with the noxious burnt hair. With her eyes closed Jodi could imagine that a person was dead on the ground, crisped over, the wig fused to their torso.
Jodi opened her eyes. Leah was getting back up⁹⁴. Jodi parted her lips to speak and almost split them. When she wasn't looking they dried out. Perhaps the heat leeched away all the moisture in her face. That would help explain how pale she felt. Or maybe that was Leah's apologies, working their way into her feeble heart.
"My fault!" Jodi called across the room, loud enough that Leah and anyone in hiding could hear, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you, I didn't mean to get you with that, honest!"
She put her arm over her mouth and coughed into it—four rough hacks of heavy hair.
"Maybe we should run," Jodi said quietly behind her arm, hoping her teammates could hear and Leah could not.
Someone was hiding in the darkness.
There must be more,
was her first thought,
followed by the swift biting of her lips.
Was there more?
People hiding?
In the shadows behind?
Beneath?
Under?
Her?
She flinched, pulling her baton out.
(It was already out.)
(Simply dangling from her waist.)
(She hated it.)
(A reminder of an impending faith.)
She swung it at the burning thing.
She now swung her head up, dizzy from the smoke.
"We-we need to go but,"
she pointed the wailing girl,
"we've got to- to help her."
There must be more,
was her first thought,
followed by the swift biting of her lips.
Was there more?
People hiding?
In the shadows behind?
Beneath?
Under?
Her?
She flinched, pulling her baton out.
(It was already out.)
(Simply dangling from her waist.)
(She hated it.)
(A reminder of an impending faith.)
She swung it at the burning thing.
She now swung her head up, dizzy from the smoke.
"We-we need to go but,"
she pointed the wailing girl,
"we've got to- to help her."
Um, so, um, um? Everything was happening so much, and it was all very confusing, but Luanne was doing her best to parse the situation. The person throwing the fire stopped throwing the fire, flailed their arm around, and then threw the fire back around the corner they'd just walked around. So that was good? But there wasn't really enough time for Luanne to feel relieved about not being burned to death, because then someone threw the fire back the way it came, and that was incredibly, incredibly confusing, because, um, it moved like it wasn't a fire bottle. And then, a reflexive apology shot around the corner. And then the fire-thrower threw the apology back the way it came. And then the fire-thrower said to run. And then Pippi, who was suddenly a ways in front of Luanne, bludgeoned the fire to death, and then she said they needed to help someone. And then now. Ok. Okay?
Okay.
...
Just do your best.
...
She stepped forward, centered and tall. Like she was on strings. The air smelled like lung cancer. She looked the fire-thrower in the eye. Luanne liked her hat. Luanne disliked the fact that she had probably gone into this situation fully intending to burn someone to death. Luanne tried her best to convey that through her stare. Then she turned half-sideways and glanced over at the person who'd been hit.
They were hurt bad. Wrapped in bandages. They had already been through enough for them to qualify as having survived something. They were scared, and they were hurt, and that meant they were potentially, um, dangerous. But not in a way that she could fault them for. Like, a stray dog being backed into a corner kind of scared.
She put her hand on Pippi's shoulder. Tried to tether her and give her a chance to hesitate before she made any sudden moves, because like, that was how people got stabbed by scared people, and maybe the bandaged person had a knife, Luanne didn't know.
...
Oh right. She needed to do something.
She lifted one of her hands up, the one that wasn't on Pippi's shoulder, to show that she wasn't holding a weapon.
"We're - we can help you. If you want us to. We won't hurt you. It's okay. We can help you. But if that's - if you want us to leave you alone, that's okay. We can go. It's okay."
She glanced backwards over her shoulder.
"We're not running unless we have to. What did you throw, what was it?" She asked under her breath.
Okay.
...
Just do your best.
...
She stepped forward, centered and tall. Like she was on strings. The air smelled like lung cancer. She looked the fire-thrower in the eye. Luanne liked her hat. Luanne disliked the fact that she had probably gone into this situation fully intending to burn someone to death. Luanne tried her best to convey that through her stare. Then she turned half-sideways and glanced over at the person who'd been hit.
They were hurt bad. Wrapped in bandages. They had already been through enough for them to qualify as having survived something. They were scared, and they were hurt, and that meant they were potentially, um, dangerous. But not in a way that she could fault them for. Like, a stray dog being backed into a corner kind of scared.
She put her hand on Pippi's shoulder. Tried to tether her and give her a chance to hesitate before she made any sudden moves, because like, that was how people got stabbed by scared people, and maybe the bandaged person had a knife, Luanne didn't know.
...
Oh right. She needed to do something.
She lifted one of her hands up, the one that wasn't on Pippi's shoulder, to show that she wasn't holding a weapon.
"We're - we can help you. If you want us to. We won't hurt you. It's okay. We can help you. But if that's - if you want us to leave you alone, that's okay. We can go. It's okay."
She glanced backwards over her shoulder.
"We're not running unless we have to. What did you throw, what was it?" She asked under her breath.
“I, uh, I just- I just-”
Her knees wobbled-
The sun went out. Pippi killed it.
She lifted her hands, too, mimicking Luanne’s hand. Empty palms- but they themselves can be a weapon.
“I can manage it.”
She checked the girls- they all looked tired. Or, maybe, Leah just expected everybody to look as tired as she was and her mind filled in the blanks.
“I just don’t want to be a burden on you all,” she lied.
She didn’t want them to make a move that would make Leah hurt them.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean that. To kick it at you, I mean. I swear!”
Leah realized that her hand was still held up, and she let it down with a slight swoop of air.
She wasn’t on the announcements yet. It wouldn’t hurt, right?
“I’m… Leah. Hemingway. Leviathans. Um… Is it appropriate to ask you for your names? I just… Want to make sure you aren’t, um, on the announcements or anything.”
All those girls seem kind of familiar, in that vague way where you can't exactly remember who they are, but if somebody gave you a picture of them and went "oh, that's XYZ," you'd nod and think, oh, I probably should have remembered that.
It felt kind of sad that names are the only things she has to go by right now- there was a huge, underutilized advantage in being able to know who everybody is- their names, their faces, who they’re like. Leah didn’t have any of that. The realization that she might not even know the name of who would kill her felt like someone digging their knuckles into her stomach.
She wondered what would be the title of this episode she’s in.
Names are stupid, most of the time. When Leah was born, nobody really knew what kind of person she would be like, and it’s not like she could pick her name. It felt so disproportionately important for something that’s usually just a label- a person isn’t art. The titles have no deeper meaning. The notion that what the producers saw fit to announce was just their names felt like a disgusting lack of agency on the kids’ part- it’s not like they even picked their names. They just saw fit to reduce a person down, from a character, to a single name given to them. It made her feel sick. That was so dumb- she could have killed someone. She saw a corpse. She saw someone kill another person, or maybe Giselle was already dead, and she did nothing, and now she was there just thinking about the names of the people that she should be thinking about the lives of, except she didn’t know what Giselle was like, she didn’t know most of the people on here, and it was so fucking disgusting how impersonal everything felt.
She held out a hand for the girls to shake, for some reason.
It sort of struck her how senseless it was, for people to worry about the killers. There's the same bombs around their necks and the same people with their hands on the big red button. In the end, the same number of people make it out- the 10 kills were a gimmick, not a conscious choice that the victims voted upon. And the same premise would happen, again and again, and it wouldn't matter who the fuck it was that got out and who killed who, just that people are dying because government-sponsored billionaires saw it fit to pit them against each other.
Do you blame the crabs pulling each other in the bucket, or do you blame the person who caught them?
The worst people were always those above them in the end. Divide and conquer. They make them forget it's a show ran by higher-ups and not the masses.
(Ok, Ok, she got carried away there.)
Her knees wobbled-
The sun went out. Pippi killed it.
She lifted her hands, too, mimicking Luanne’s hand. Empty palms- but they themselves can be a weapon.
“I can manage it.”
She checked the girls- they all looked tired. Or, maybe, Leah just expected everybody to look as tired as she was and her mind filled in the blanks.
“I just don’t want to be a burden on you all,” she lied.
She didn’t want them to make a move that would make Leah hurt them.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean that. To kick it at you, I mean. I swear!”
Leah realized that her hand was still held up, and she let it down with a slight swoop of air.
She wasn’t on the announcements yet. It wouldn’t hurt, right?
“I’m… Leah. Hemingway. Leviathans. Um… Is it appropriate to ask you for your names? I just… Want to make sure you aren’t, um, on the announcements or anything.”
All those girls seem kind of familiar, in that vague way where you can't exactly remember who they are, but if somebody gave you a picture of them and went "oh, that's XYZ," you'd nod and think, oh, I probably should have remembered that.
It felt kind of sad that names are the only things she has to go by right now- there was a huge, underutilized advantage in being able to know who everybody is- their names, their faces, who they’re like. Leah didn’t have any of that. The realization that she might not even know the name of who would kill her felt like someone digging their knuckles into her stomach.
She wondered what would be the title of this episode she’s in.
Names are stupid, most of the time. When Leah was born, nobody really knew what kind of person she would be like, and it’s not like she could pick her name. It felt so disproportionately important for something that’s usually just a label- a person isn’t art. The titles have no deeper meaning. The notion that what the producers saw fit to announce was just their names felt like a disgusting lack of agency on the kids’ part- it’s not like they even picked their names. They just saw fit to reduce a person down, from a character, to a single name given to them. It made her feel sick. That was so dumb- she could have killed someone. She saw a corpse. She saw someone kill another person, or maybe Giselle was already dead, and she did nothing, and now she was there just thinking about the names of the people that she should be thinking about the lives of, except she didn’t know what Giselle was like, she didn’t know most of the people on here, and it was so fucking disgusting how impersonal everything felt.
She held out a hand for the girls to shake, for some reason.
It sort of struck her how senseless it was, for people to worry about the killers. There's the same bombs around their necks and the same people with their hands on the big red button. In the end, the same number of people make it out- the 10 kills were a gimmick, not a conscious choice that the victims voted upon. And the same premise would happen, again and again, and it wouldn't matter who the fuck it was that got out and who killed who, just that people are dying because government-sponsored billionaires saw it fit to pit them against each other.
Do you blame the crabs pulling each other in the bucket, or do you blame the person who caught them?
The worst people were always those above them in the end. Divide and conquer. They make them forget it's a show ran by higher-ups and not the masses.
(Ok, Ok, she got carried away there.)
-
MethodicalSlacker
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"W-wig!" Jodi said in a whisper, "Filled with, uh, screws from the boxes!"
She thought of something and quickly buried it.⁹⁵
Luanne was doing the opposite of running and the air was the opposite of good and their thoughts must have been the opposite of smart, because before them was an enemy. Her armband was black with soot but also with the color that it always was. The wrong one. One of many wrongs. For starters, Pippi didn't kill anything. The flame went out on its own because there was nothing else to burn through, no matter how many times Pippi hit it. Also, it wasn't a sun, it was a terrible hair piece from a dead artist who Jodi only knew about from memes and another memory that she would need to sideline for the time being.⁹⁶
Why did Leah care if they had been on the announcements or not? Did that mean something to her? They would all be read aloud on it at one point or another, the difference was only if they'd be alive for it or not. Jodi wasn't dead, and Pippi and Luanne weren't dead, and neither was Leah Hemmingway,⁹⁷ and it was pretty obvious that none of them were killers. None of them looked like killers, and those were the only people that would wind up killing anyways. The people who were obvious about it. People who had been dreaming about it for years.⁹⁸
None of these people have been dreaming about me, she thought in the foreground.
None of these people even know who I am. They've never had any reason to know.
I never gave them a reason.
Jodi sighed. She lifted her right hand⁹⁹ to the brim of her hat and pushed it down a quarter inch, pulling it gently left and right as she did so. The brim of the hat swept the beads of sweat from her forehead, missing only one, which had slid all the way down to the side of her nose in the confusion.
Her eyes found the ashes of the wig on the ground.
"I'm Betty," she said, "Betty Whitman."
She looked up at Pippi,¹⁰⁰ then to Leah¹⁰¹, then back to Pippi, and then to Luanne¹⁰², then lastly to Leah once more because it was time to talk at her now.
"The fire was my fault. My gun and most of my stuff was stolen from me on the first day, um, because I got beat up, so I've been carrying that around since the morning because I never know who I'm going to run into down here, and I heard voices and, uh, panicked,¹⁰³ and lit it. And then it was on fire and was going to burn me and I needed it to be gone, so... I threw it.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you."
She thought of something and quickly buried it.⁹⁵
Luanne was doing the opposite of running and the air was the opposite of good and their thoughts must have been the opposite of smart, because before them was an enemy. Her armband was black with soot but also with the color that it always was. The wrong one. One of many wrongs. For starters, Pippi didn't kill anything. The flame went out on its own because there was nothing else to burn through, no matter how many times Pippi hit it. Also, it wasn't a sun, it was a terrible hair piece from a dead artist who Jodi only knew about from memes and another memory that she would need to sideline for the time being.⁹⁶
Why did Leah care if they had been on the announcements or not? Did that mean something to her? They would all be read aloud on it at one point or another, the difference was only if they'd be alive for it or not. Jodi wasn't dead, and Pippi and Luanne weren't dead, and neither was Leah Hemmingway,⁹⁷ and it was pretty obvious that none of them were killers. None of them looked like killers, and those were the only people that would wind up killing anyways. The people who were obvious about it. People who had been dreaming about it for years.⁹⁸
None of these people have been dreaming about me, she thought in the foreground.
None of these people even know who I am. They've never had any reason to know.
I never gave them a reason.
Jodi sighed. She lifted her right hand⁹⁹ to the brim of her hat and pushed it down a quarter inch, pulling it gently left and right as she did so. The brim of the hat swept the beads of sweat from her forehead, missing only one, which had slid all the way down to the side of her nose in the confusion.
Her eyes found the ashes of the wig on the ground.
"I'm Betty," she said, "Betty Whitman."
She looked up at Pippi,¹⁰⁰ then to Leah¹⁰¹, then back to Pippi, and then to Luanne¹⁰², then lastly to Leah once more because it was time to talk at her now.
"The fire was my fault. My gun and most of my stuff was stolen from me on the first day, um, because I got beat up, so I've been carrying that around since the morning because I never know who I'm going to run into down here, and I heard voices and, uh, panicked,¹⁰³ and lit it. And then it was on fire and was going to burn me and I needed it to be gone, so... I threw it.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you."