This game hadn’t even been going for twelve hours and already Verity had killed two people.
It was just like how it’d been earlier today. The only difference was that now Verity was up on the surface. There were no people like how there were down in the corridors. The game had started. Everybody had woken up at some point. Now there was nobody else here. Verity had gone from running to walking, but she wasn’t moving anywhere in particular. One foot went in front of the other but there wasn’t anything in her head telling her what to do. Where she was going. She was just moving. Walking towards. There was no deck. There was no boat. There was no ocean. There was no afternoon sun. Those were just really elaborate bits of background that she could see if she looked hard enough. It was only her. Only Verity.
And Timothy.
And Keegan.
He had joined her too. The people that kind of floated around the back of her head. The ones who’d be there forever, as they had nowhere else they could be. There was… a scene she remembered, from an old episode of Being Human. There was a… guy in a gun shop (she thought) holding the Replacement Vampire Guy up at gunpoint and in response to the threat on his life the vampire just talks about what killing feels like. How it empties your soul. How you’re never able to forget what you did. How it gnaws into you and gets deeper and deeper until it's the only thing that really matters. Doesn’t matter what you do after. You can live for hundreds of years and see so many things but in the end, it always came back to your first feed. The first human life ended at your hands.
The guy with the gun said that the vampire either had to be a man of God or knew what he said from experience. The vampire replied saying that he was not a man of God.
That scene had always struck her, for some reason. It’d brainwormed. Every time she’d thought about how one of the characters she wrote would think about killing she had always come back to that. To the monologue. About how killing someone changed you forever. One of the things Verity thought whenever she imagined herself being on SotF was that it’d force her to look at all the cliches she’d used with her characters, force her to find out whether they were actually applicable to the real experience or not. It was 1:1 so far. Right once and wrong once. Gunshots weren’t surprisingly loud, they were just loud.
But killing people with them? The way doing that imprinted on you forever? That was real. That was so, so real.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
And she kept walking. Went forwards. One step, two step, more step more step. Where she’d stop…
She didn’t know. Didn’t really want to think about what happened next. Just…
Just wanted to keep walking. Didn’t want to do anything else. Meet anyone else at the end of it. Just wanted to be here. No deck, no ship, no ocean, no sun. Just her. Just her forever.
me i only got one belief (what’s that?) everything’s worse than it seems
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=326WpN3wMUo
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Wham Yubeesling
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
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She stopped, in time.
It wasn’t because she’d found her destination. She hadn’t even had a destination to begin with. She’d just found a place near the front of the deck where the railing had broken and to her legs and her body and her head this seemed like a good place to stop. A good thing to stare at. Was this where she’d been before? She… didn’t actually know. It walked like where she’d killed Timothy and it quacked like where she’d killed Timothy but she honestly couldn’t tell. It was like what happened the first day Verity was at a future school. The orientation people would walk her around and show her everything but by the time she actually needed to know where all the places were she remembered that the tour hadn’t really helped at all. Everything was so new and alien and she had no idea what directions her carers had taken and it would take weeks for her to nest. Get used to this. Know exactly where she was and where to go.
But she knew this place, at least. She’d seen it from a different angle, but… no, there couldn’t have been any other places with broken railings. Nobody else would have tried to kill. Not yet. Not immediately. Not…
Not if they weren’t meant to do that. Not if the reason they were here was for some other reason. To think things through. To burn slow. To stand a feasible chance of actually making it out of this.
Not if they weren’t Verity.
(man)
(remember what you said back there in the cabin?)
(how you weren’t going to burn?)
(how you weren’t going to be what the people here wanted you to be?)
(how long did that last?)
She took a breath. Found her hand moving up to a part of the railing that was still intact. That she hadn’t destroyed when she pushed Timothy through it. She tilted her head down and saw the entire ocean below her and suddenly there was an entire ocean below Verity. An entire part of the railing that she was holding onto right now. An entire sky and an entire wind and an entire ship and an entire deck that Verity was standing on right now. There was space. There was location. It kind of hurt her head to be here right now but she didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Something had snapped its fingers and suddenly her mind forced itself to move from into her head to outside her head. Made her look into the ocean. Made her try to see if there was anything of Tim on the surface, any evidence that he still existed. Still mattered. Still… lived, somewhere.
There wasn’t. Not that she could see. She’d sent him down there, however long ago, and she hadn’t needed to look over the edge back then to know that he hadn’t come back up. She had ran, instead. Went down below. Holed herself in a room and cried and told herself that there had to have been another way. A way she could not kill people. A way she could make this better.
And she had. She’d told herself something. She’d told herself that the reason she’d killed is because that was what they wanted her to be. They wanted her to burn. They wanted her to kill and be killed. She’d told herself that she’d make it different. Not be what she’d been set to be. Find purpose. Do something. Make sure nothing like this would ever happen again.
And then she shot Keegan in the stomach.
And then she watched him drop dead.
This game hadn’t even been going for twelve hours and already Verity had killed two people.
And how had that happened? How had she lived her life for seventeen years without killing people and then suddenly she’d done it twice in the space of a couple of hours. What had happened? There hadn’t been drugs. There hadn’t been alcohol. There hadn’t been any ultimatums or mind control. No. There was only the announcer at the beginning of this who had told everybody in Mangrove to kill each other and then dropped them off here. That wasn’t enough reason to start murdering people. That wasn’t enough justification to do it twice. She’d let go of a bag hard enough to make someone fly. She’d made someone’s leg bleed just by having it hit the ground. She’d been the only contestant in SotF history to receive two assigned weapons and they were both guns. She’d fired one, and instead of having it go wild like it was supposed to the first time she’d managed to hit her best friend directly in the stomach. No. No. There had to be something controlling this. Making all those things happen. She had to have been set up. Made to do all these things. She knew what role she was she knew the only reason she was here was to play that role and that had to have been it. She had to have been controlled. She couldn’t have killed both those people-
(or maybe that’s just who you are)
(maybe this was always what was supposed to happen)
(remember what you said to Timothy? back at band camp? how when you woke up here you’d kill them all?)
(you knew who you were, back then)
(why did you forget?)
She took a breath. She took a breath. Looked up from the ocean. Focused her eyes on the skyline. No. No. That was just something she said because she was feeling down and emo and was kind of just mad at everything. It wasn’t like that meant anything. It wasn’t like anything she said had meant anything. She was just her. She was just another person out of the seven billion on this planet. She was just nothing. Her words held no weight. Her wishes went ungranted. She was being forced and propped and there was nothing she could do and-
(you could’ve not pushed Timothy)
(you could’ve not shot Keegan)
No. He wasn’t the target. Bacchia was about to attack her and-
(and you turned around and fired at her)
(you meant to hit)
(you meant to hurt)
(you said that you were going to try)
(you said that you were going to be something different)
(this game has only lasted for twelve hours and already you’ve broken that)
(made it clear)
(you’re you)
(nobody else)
(and this is the only way this was going to happen)
She stood there.
Looked into the ocean.
Saw the waves. Saw the way the water clashed against itself. The static image. The waves would just go up and down forever. They would clash in different ways — the sight in front of her didn’t quite loop — but it was predictable. Would be the same image forever. No corpse would come up. No sign would emerge that maybe Timothy wasn’t dead. He was down there. Forever. Nothing would change about that. Nothing would change this. Stop this.
So she stood there.
Looked into the ocean.
Stayed. Forever.
It wasn’t because she’d found her destination. She hadn’t even had a destination to begin with. She’d just found a place near the front of the deck where the railing had broken and to her legs and her body and her head this seemed like a good place to stop. A good thing to stare at. Was this where she’d been before? She… didn’t actually know. It walked like where she’d killed Timothy and it quacked like where she’d killed Timothy but she honestly couldn’t tell. It was like what happened the first day Verity was at a future school. The orientation people would walk her around and show her everything but by the time she actually needed to know where all the places were she remembered that the tour hadn’t really helped at all. Everything was so new and alien and she had no idea what directions her carers had taken and it would take weeks for her to nest. Get used to this. Know exactly where she was and where to go.
But she knew this place, at least. She’d seen it from a different angle, but… no, there couldn’t have been any other places with broken railings. Nobody else would have tried to kill. Not yet. Not immediately. Not…
Not if they weren’t meant to do that. Not if the reason they were here was for some other reason. To think things through. To burn slow. To stand a feasible chance of actually making it out of this.
Not if they weren’t Verity.
(man)
(remember what you said back there in the cabin?)
(how you weren’t going to burn?)
(how you weren’t going to be what the people here wanted you to be?)
(how long did that last?)
She took a breath. Found her hand moving up to a part of the railing that was still intact. That she hadn’t destroyed when she pushed Timothy through it. She tilted her head down and saw the entire ocean below her and suddenly there was an entire ocean below Verity. An entire part of the railing that she was holding onto right now. An entire sky and an entire wind and an entire ship and an entire deck that Verity was standing on right now. There was space. There was location. It kind of hurt her head to be here right now but she didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Something had snapped its fingers and suddenly her mind forced itself to move from into her head to outside her head. Made her look into the ocean. Made her try to see if there was anything of Tim on the surface, any evidence that he still existed. Still mattered. Still… lived, somewhere.
There wasn’t. Not that she could see. She’d sent him down there, however long ago, and she hadn’t needed to look over the edge back then to know that he hadn’t come back up. She had ran, instead. Went down below. Holed herself in a room and cried and told herself that there had to have been another way. A way she could not kill people. A way she could make this better.
And she had. She’d told herself something. She’d told herself that the reason she’d killed is because that was what they wanted her to be. They wanted her to burn. They wanted her to kill and be killed. She’d told herself that she’d make it different. Not be what she’d been set to be. Find purpose. Do something. Make sure nothing like this would ever happen again.
And then she shot Keegan in the stomach.
And then she watched him drop dead.
This game hadn’t even been going for twelve hours and already Verity had killed two people.
And how had that happened? How had she lived her life for seventeen years without killing people and then suddenly she’d done it twice in the space of a couple of hours. What had happened? There hadn’t been drugs. There hadn’t been alcohol. There hadn’t been any ultimatums or mind control. No. There was only the announcer at the beginning of this who had told everybody in Mangrove to kill each other and then dropped them off here. That wasn’t enough reason to start murdering people. That wasn’t enough justification to do it twice. She’d let go of a bag hard enough to make someone fly. She’d made someone’s leg bleed just by having it hit the ground. She’d been the only contestant in SotF history to receive two assigned weapons and they were both guns. She’d fired one, and instead of having it go wild like it was supposed to the first time she’d managed to hit her best friend directly in the stomach. No. No. There had to be something controlling this. Making all those things happen. She had to have been set up. Made to do all these things. She knew what role she was she knew the only reason she was here was to play that role and that had to have been it. She had to have been controlled. She couldn’t have killed both those people-
(or maybe that’s just who you are)
(maybe this was always what was supposed to happen)
(remember what you said to Timothy? back at band camp? how when you woke up here you’d kill them all?)
(you knew who you were, back then)
(why did you forget?)
She took a breath. She took a breath. Looked up from the ocean. Focused her eyes on the skyline. No. No. That was just something she said because she was feeling down and emo and was kind of just mad at everything. It wasn’t like that meant anything. It wasn’t like anything she said had meant anything. She was just her. She was just another person out of the seven billion on this planet. She was just nothing. Her words held no weight. Her wishes went ungranted. She was being forced and propped and there was nothing she could do and-
(you could’ve not pushed Timothy)
(you could’ve not shot Keegan)
No. He wasn’t the target. Bacchia was about to attack her and-
(and you turned around and fired at her)
(you meant to hit)
(you meant to hurt)
(you said that you were going to try)
(you said that you were going to be something different)
(this game has only lasted for twelve hours and already you’ve broken that)
(made it clear)
(you’re you)
(nobody else)
(and this is the only way this was going to happen)
She stood there.
Looked into the ocean.
Saw the waves. Saw the way the water clashed against itself. The static image. The waves would just go up and down forever. They would clash in different ways — the sight in front of her didn’t quite loop — but it was predictable. Would be the same image forever. No corpse would come up. No sign would emerge that maybe Timothy wasn’t dead. He was down there. Forever. Nothing would change about that. Nothing would change this. Stop this.
So she stood there.
Looked into the ocean.
Stayed. Forever.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
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Not forever.
She was standing in the space where the railing had broken. Both hands were clutching where it was still intact. A couple hours had passed. The sun had sunken down towards the horizon, the sky above having changed from blue to gold. She was standing. Facing the direction of the ocean, right at the edge of the ship. She’d been doing this for long enough that her legs hurt. That was another reason to stop staying here. Maybe then she could rest. Maybe then her legs would stop hurting. Maybe then the wind whipping at her wouldn’t be so cold. There were answers to all those things that involved staying — her parka was with her bag, dropped right behind her, she could easily just sit down and put it on — but… no. Those were temporary answers. Only way this could be solved for real was if she moved. Stopped standing here.
Because
Because
Because of course there was no changing what she was. There was no preventing what Verity was going to become. The moment Timothy had failed to come up from the water her path was set in stone. The people who’d casted her had looked at each other and hi-fived because their choice had paid off. Their killer had killed. No point in whatever she did next because she’d already set this game in motion. Guaranteed that others would do the same as her. Maybe there was supposed to be freedom in that. Maybe theoretically that could make her able to do whatever she wanted, but that wasn’t the case. Verity knew what would happen after this. She would feel trapped. Cornered. Everyone would see her differently now that she had killed. They would try to kill her because they thought she would kill them. She would have to kill more, whether she actually needed to or not. The machine would feed itself. She’d kill, people would be scared, people would attack her, she would kill them first. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, until eventually someone killed her before she killed them. Repeat, until the story ended.
She’d told herself she’d change her story.
But that was a joke, wasn’t it? What would the endgoal have even been? Would she have just walked around not killing people until she eventually died? Acted like she was somehow really going through development by doing nothing? No. It was clear. That was never going to work, and if anything Verity was thankful that she’d got informed earlier rather than later. Now maybe she could figure other ways out. Ways to stop being what she was about to become. She’d figured one out, just a couple hours ago. All she had to do was stop standing around. Stop being here. Get off the ship and then-
And then-
And then…
No point thinking. Just… just do it. Just go through with this. Just… just get out of here.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
And then she stepped forward.
She was standing in the space where the railing had broken. Both hands were clutching where it was still intact. A couple hours had passed. The sun had sunken down towards the horizon, the sky above having changed from blue to gold. She was standing. Facing the direction of the ocean, right at the edge of the ship. She’d been doing this for long enough that her legs hurt. That was another reason to stop staying here. Maybe then she could rest. Maybe then her legs would stop hurting. Maybe then the wind whipping at her wouldn’t be so cold. There were answers to all those things that involved staying — her parka was with her bag, dropped right behind her, she could easily just sit down and put it on — but… no. Those were temporary answers. Only way this could be solved for real was if she moved. Stopped standing here.
Because
Because
Because of course there was no changing what she was. There was no preventing what Verity was going to become. The moment Timothy had failed to come up from the water her path was set in stone. The people who’d casted her had looked at each other and hi-fived because their choice had paid off. Their killer had killed. No point in whatever she did next because she’d already set this game in motion. Guaranteed that others would do the same as her. Maybe there was supposed to be freedom in that. Maybe theoretically that could make her able to do whatever she wanted, but that wasn’t the case. Verity knew what would happen after this. She would feel trapped. Cornered. Everyone would see her differently now that she had killed. They would try to kill her because they thought she would kill them. She would have to kill more, whether she actually needed to or not. The machine would feed itself. She’d kill, people would be scared, people would attack her, she would kill them first. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, until eventually someone killed her before she killed them. Repeat, until the story ended.
She’d told herself she’d change her story.
But that was a joke, wasn’t it? What would the endgoal have even been? Would she have just walked around not killing people until she eventually died? Acted like she was somehow really going through development by doing nothing? No. It was clear. That was never going to work, and if anything Verity was thankful that she’d got informed earlier rather than later. Now maybe she could figure other ways out. Ways to stop being what she was about to become. She’d figured one out, just a couple hours ago. All she had to do was stop standing around. Stop being here. Get off the ship and then-
And then-
And then…
No point thinking. Just… just do it. Just go through with this. Just… just get out of here.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
She took a breath.
And then she stepped forward.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
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There was wind.
There was wind.
There was wind.
And then there was glass.
There was wind.
There was wind.
And then there was glass.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
There was water.
There was water.
There was water.
And then there was air.
There was pain — white, searing, as if she was four again and her parents had smacked her — all across her skin. There was cold a layer below that, in her muscle and in her bone. There was movement, down inside the nerves of her legs. It was faint — overwhelmed by the tactile sounds of the pain and the cold — but it was still there, buried underneath the feedback. Still making her body move. There was still something, inside her head. Not words. Not things she was thinking, but the sound of the wind blowing. The noise that you could hear in the air even when nothing was making any noise. It wasn’t death.
None of what she was feeling was death.
She opened her eyes, just a little bit. She heard — smelt — the presence of the sea, stronger than it had ever been when she was on the deck. She felt the water start going into her eyes, thought briefly that her glasses should’ve blocked them, then realized that they were gone, that the weight on her nose and in the corners of her eyes was just a sort of phantom pain, the ghost of a limb long gone that somehow still itched. She tasted many things: water, spit, blood; had she bit her tongue when she hit the water? Was it her cheek or something? Putting salt in an open wound made it hurt more, so was it somewhere where the water wasn’t touching? Why didn’t that cut hurt as much as falling into the water did?
Those questions weren’t really comparatively important right now, though. What was was what Verity could see, through her squinted eyes. There was ocean. There was sunset. There was a whole world, micro meso macro, all around her.
Verity wasn’t dead.
She’d killed herself and Verity somehow wasn’t dead.
…
…
Suicide was… not something Verity had thought about much, honestly. She knew that it was probably something people would be worried she was considering (well, maybe not; if they did and if they cared they probably would’ve talked to her about it), but… no. Barely ever crossed her mind. Sometimes she’d think about it and almost immediately she’d shake her head, shake it off. No real point. She was here and there was still a chance that things could maybe get better but ending it all would ensure that she’d never get that chance. Better to wait it out. See if college really did make things better. See if things really could change.
But sometimes she couldn’t help it. Sometimes the thoughts came in. Sometimes her parents shouted at her or sometimes she had an attack and at the end of it she’d be alone, in her bed, and she’d think about it. Not very voluntarily. She’d think about what killing herself would look like. She’d think of what would happen after she went. A little part of her would point out how fucked this was but no matter what the conversation would always return to the same topic. The idea of suicide would never leave her mind. She’d just have to wait until she could sleep, her mind obsessed with the topic of what dying was like but also knowing that she’d never go for it, that she’d never consider suicide.
Well, until now. There was a first for everything. SotF had given a lot of those in the space of the last twelve hours.
Best part was that it didn’t even work. Wasn’t that a rarity? She was pretty sure most suicides in SotF usually worked, but… not hers. She was hoping that maybe this would be the easiest way to stop, but… no. Guess in her case Verity just sucked shit. The world was just that determined to make her go on its path She’d let go of a bag hard enough to make someone fly. She’d made someone’s leg bleed just by having it hit the ground. She’d been the only contestant in SotF history to receive two assigned weapons and they were both guns. She’d fired one, and instead of having it go wild like it was supposed to the first time she’d managed to hit her best friend directly in the stomach. Only fitting that she’d kill herself and not die. Didn’t even know what she should’ve expected.
She thought about staying here. Letting her body sink under. You could only tread water for so long, so…
She shook her head. Turned around, back towards the cruise ship. Saw a ladder onto the deck, nearby. Started swimming. It was cold. There were pleasanter ways to die than drowning in the cold.
Probably wouldn’t have even worked, anyway. The point had been made a long time ago.
((Verity Stewart, continued in this thread, probably))
There was water.
There was water.
And then there was air.
There was pain — white, searing, as if she was four again and her parents had smacked her — all across her skin. There was cold a layer below that, in her muscle and in her bone. There was movement, down inside the nerves of her legs. It was faint — overwhelmed by the tactile sounds of the pain and the cold — but it was still there, buried underneath the feedback. Still making her body move. There was still something, inside her head. Not words. Not things she was thinking, but the sound of the wind blowing. The noise that you could hear in the air even when nothing was making any noise. It wasn’t death.
None of what she was feeling was death.
She opened her eyes, just a little bit. She heard — smelt — the presence of the sea, stronger than it had ever been when she was on the deck. She felt the water start going into her eyes, thought briefly that her glasses should’ve blocked them, then realized that they were gone, that the weight on her nose and in the corners of her eyes was just a sort of phantom pain, the ghost of a limb long gone that somehow still itched. She tasted many things: water, spit, blood; had she bit her tongue when she hit the water? Was it her cheek or something? Putting salt in an open wound made it hurt more, so was it somewhere where the water wasn’t touching? Why didn’t that cut hurt as much as falling into the water did?
Those questions weren’t really comparatively important right now, though. What was was what Verity could see, through her squinted eyes. There was ocean. There was sunset. There was a whole world, micro meso macro, all around her.
Verity wasn’t dead.
She’d killed herself and Verity somehow wasn’t dead.
…
…
Suicide was… not something Verity had thought about much, honestly. She knew that it was probably something people would be worried she was considering (well, maybe not; if they did and if they cared they probably would’ve talked to her about it), but… no. Barely ever crossed her mind. Sometimes she’d think about it and almost immediately she’d shake her head, shake it off. No real point. She was here and there was still a chance that things could maybe get better but ending it all would ensure that she’d never get that chance. Better to wait it out. See if college really did make things better. See if things really could change.
But sometimes she couldn’t help it. Sometimes the thoughts came in. Sometimes her parents shouted at her or sometimes she had an attack and at the end of it she’d be alone, in her bed, and she’d think about it. Not very voluntarily. She’d think about what killing herself would look like. She’d think of what would happen after she went. A little part of her would point out how fucked this was but no matter what the conversation would always return to the same topic. The idea of suicide would never leave her mind. She’d just have to wait until she could sleep, her mind obsessed with the topic of what dying was like but also knowing that she’d never go for it, that she’d never consider suicide.
Well, until now. There was a first for everything. SotF had given a lot of those in the space of the last twelve hours.
Best part was that it didn’t even work. Wasn’t that a rarity? She was pretty sure most suicides in SotF usually worked, but… not hers. She was hoping that maybe this would be the easiest way to stop, but… no. Guess in her case Verity just sucked shit. The world was just that determined to make her go on its path She’d let go of a bag hard enough to make someone fly. She’d made someone’s leg bleed just by having it hit the ground. She’d been the only contestant in SotF history to receive two assigned weapons and they were both guns. She’d fired one, and instead of having it go wild like it was supposed to the first time she’d managed to hit her best friend directly in the stomach. Only fitting that she’d kill herself and not die. Didn’t even know what she should’ve expected.
She thought about staying here. Letting her body sink under. You could only tread water for so long, so…
She shook her head. Turned around, back towards the cruise ship. Saw a ladder onto the deck, nearby. Started swimming. It was cold. There were pleasanter ways to die than drowning in the cold.
Probably wouldn’t have even worked, anyway. The point had been made a long time ago.
((Verity Stewart, continued in this thread, probably))