I'll Be The Actress Starring In Your Bad Dreams

KamiKaze · #1

((Miranda Millers continued from I Jumped Out and I Pranked Him To Death With a Tire Iron))

"Gooood morning, children.”

Miranda flinched.

Last night hadn’t been too good. She’d laid out the blanket she found inside the daypack onto the ground, and spent the night sleeping on top of it. It wasn’t at all comfortable. The ground was still uneven, and she kept wondering if some wild animal was going to sneak up and kill her. She doubted that there were anything like, dunno, bears running around, but she had no idea what kind of wildlife would be on a deserted island. And that wasn’t even going into the other kind of animal. The two-legged kind of animal that lived in Denton.

If only she’d made it to the cabin before night-time. It’d probably be a bit more comfortable.

It still wouldn’t do anything about her leg, though. It didn’t help the discomfort.

So, she didn’t sleep too good. Her neck still felt a little funny, and her eyes felt weak. It was nothing compared to her leg, though.

Thank whoever that they picked them on a full moon, at least. There was a decent amount of light while she tried to sleep.

When light broke out, she had started packing up. Maybe next time, she could use the blanket thing as a tent somehow. It was too crinkly to sleep on, anyways.

She’d checked her leg, too. Still bruised, still looks awful. It was a reminder to be more careful. If she hadn’t, there was a chance it wouldn’t just be her leg, either. Shortly after she did, Miranda noticed how long her skirt was.

It wasn’t super long, just knee-length. But she needed more room to run. So she took out the scissors from the medkit, and started cutting. Eventually, she’d gotten frustrated and just tore. It exposed more of her legs, making her a little more skimpish, but it was movement.

She’d been hesitant to do it. It was a nice dress. It was Betsey Johnson, her favorite. It was wonderful, and she’d coordinated her outfit around it. But, here’s the thing: she could always get more outfits, right? But she couldn’t get another life.

Still, it broke her heart that she had to tear it a bit to make sure that her legs had enough room to move. But still. Still. It’d gotten dirty, anyways. There were still avocado stains on it.

So, that’s when the announcement came on.

At first, she’d thought it was someone nearby. Her hand grabbed the tire iron in response. But no, it was the intercom-thing. She’d waited, and listened.

Richard was still dead, but she got a new piece of information. She wasn’t sure how to take it, but it was information. William Lohman had been the other boy. He’d been this generally goody-good guy, who was a bit more on the… academic side. She didn’t really have anything against him, he was just there. But he was the other boy.

She let the memory play again. Richard and Will tugging and pulling, then falling to their deaths. Richard and Will slowly sinking into the tide. Richard and Will dying. She tightly closed her eyes in response.

Of course, there were other stuff she needed to know.

Katarina shot Yazmin. Someone got strangled by Sophie of all people. Lyndi and Panya were dead. She wasn’t too close with them, but she knew them since they were people hard to avoid. Even Chalmers had died.

The announcement clicked off.

Miranda sat, processing the information.

Eventually, she continued tearing.

Not long after she’d first woken up on the island, she knew what she had to do.

She knew she wasn’t a murderer. She was Miranda, someone who was on the track team, and part of the Fashion Club. But she’d known right off the bat that even if she wasn’t, there were still other people around. Other people with their own wants and needs. Other people who had weapons, and possibly a desire to use them.

Those people probably made their own choices. And Miranda knew what they could be.

She also knew what people thought of her deep down.

Sure, she was “popular.” People knew her as the track team member, or the fashionista, or whatever. But they also knew her as something else. She’d tried to make them like her. She’d tried to be popular. If she smiled the right way, was witty enough, was beautiful enough, was athletic enough, was good enough, they’d care about Miranda Millers. So she kept trying.

But she knew what they actually said.

She knew. Dumb, stupid, bitch, a boring date, a slut, someone who doesn’t matter. She was so stupid she needed tutoring. She went on so many dates, but couldn’t even keep someone. She was such a bitch. That’s what they all said.

And now they had even less reason to care. Enough people were out there, possibly with reasons why they wanted to kill her. There could be enough geeks, enough outcasts, who would even want revenge.

Plenty of options on who it could be. Aria? Aria would have a reason to. Baxter? That was another option. Hell, Michael? He was violent enough. Either way, she knew people hated her.

There were people who were overall better, too. Eris was smart, and the student council president. Jasmine was ruthless, and was smart too. Saachi… was Saachi. Wasn’t she the valedictorian? Hell, Wadia? He did all sorts of things and was everywhere.

Miranda only had her athleticism and her fashion. And even then, she knew there were people better.

So, looking back, she’d worn that mask. She’d put on a shell. Hidden who she really was. Just to make sure she was liked. That no one knew that she liked to watch anime and play video games. That no one knew about the on-and-off arguments that went on inside her nice house in Kensington. That no one knew how she felt about other girls.

It hadn’t worked, and now that it hadn’t, she had to make a decision.

When it came down to it, she’d rather have to kill someone she cared about, than be killed by them.

Seeing Richard and Will had only strengthened that. Hearing about it only made her more resolved.

She’d played the memory of Brigid and Chris again. And she still stood by it. She knew she’d have to repeat something like that soon.

Miranda had finally solved the bag issue.

You see, her bag, the one she’d brought in, wasn’t big enough. She’d found out when she tried to put everything in. It felt like it could barely fit in, if in a cramped way. Harder or bigger stuff had gone in first, while the smaller and softer stuff went in last. But when she tried to zip up, it wouldn’t budge.

Miranda deeply sighed.

Everything moved to the big black duffel.

It was just another sacrifice she had to make here. It, the dress, and the heels were minor. But she knew it wouldn’t be the last, or even the biggest.

So when she finally started to leave, she’d left it behind. It had nothing useful in it. Just a pair of heels, really.

((Miranda Millers continued in Cause We Are Young and We Are Sick))