"...maybe I should've gone outside, I guess."
By the fifty-first minute, Yvette was well aware it was over.
She'd tried to keep things together and pretend things were normal for a little, chatting with the others like there hadn't just been a death and like they weren't doomed. She'd crisscrossed the straps of her tank top to turn it into a dress when keeping the skirt up proved untenable, then felt the hem of the fabric get closer and closer to her ankles, then held it like a towel when it got too loose to stay up. Now she was huddled in the cloth like it was the sheets on her bed. It was more for comfort than modesty; she could barely see through the rainbow cloud surrounding her, and she was so small anyways.
The collar was lying off to the side. That was nice, at least. She'd half expected it to explode, because she had one of the special ones, but they hadn't bothered. It was probably obvious enough that they didn't need to.
Yvette had thought about this moment a lot of times, and not just when she went to see the doctors. She'd imagined stepping on a really big spike, or getting stabbed, or dropping into the water so deep that she just became bubbles that would never reach the surface. She'd always kind of thought it would be in a bed at home or in some wildly beautiful and fantastic natural environment, though. What she got was a dark, dusty basement full of meat.
There were a lot of things she wished she could explain to Astrid and Melodie, but she couldn't. It was getting harder and harder to talk, because at her size she had to yell just to be understood, and she didn't like yelling. It was incredibly unfair that even her voice had to be little, especially now.
"...thanks for staying with me."
Yvette was trying to pick good last words, but it was hard to think of anything. None of this felt real. Aside from the itching, she felt like she always had. Her body was like it always was. She could hop up and run around if she wanted to, but now the distance across the room was like walking from her house to the gas station to buy a drink. She was just way down here, looking up through a cloud like the universe at the hazy forms of giants who'd never really been her peers.
At least it had been smart to move away from Jenelle. Yvette didn't need to see her up close. She didn't need to know what all went on inside a body as it shut down. She was jealous enough already.
"I hate this!" she screamed, wadding her hands into fists and slapping them against her thighs, looking up into the nothing and seeing nothing but still, improbably, being something.
darkness
open, day 1
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Leaning against a meatless wall a few feet away from Yvette and her puddle of clothes, Astrid stood with her arms crossed. One of her feet rested slightly in front of the other, and particulate matter shimmered off the buckles of several belts adorning her boots. She was expressionless.
Wordlessly, she stood up straight, taking a step closer to the pile of fabric. Then, she lifted her right foot up and slammed it down, grinding Yvette into the floor like a cigarette.
Wordlessly, she stood up straight, taking a step closer to the pile of fabric. Then, she lifted her right foot up and slammed it down, grinding Yvette into the floor like a cigarette.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Yvette didn't see it coming. Astrid's foot came down, and there was a puff of rainbow vapor, and then there was nothing.
A loud voice, breathy and percussive in its bursts, rang out. It echoed through the walls, filling up the room, inescapable.
Melodie couldn't help but laugh. It was kind of funny. Kind of mood breaking. Absurd. Yvette's last words, her being squashed like a bug, gothy Astrid's rainbow-covered boot.
She tried to hide it. Tried to stop. And then she didn't. She laughed.
She hated herself for that.
Melodie couldn't help but laugh. It was kind of funny. Kind of mood breaking. Absurd. Yvette's last words, her being squashed like a bug, gothy Astrid's rainbow-covered boot.
She tried to hide it. Tried to stop. And then she didn't. She laughed.
She hated herself for that.
Astrid didn't move at all for a few moments. Eventually, after the cloud had dissipated, she tensed and untensed her fingers, bent her head down, and looked at the bottom of boot. Then, she took a step back and looked at the bed of clothes where Yvette had been sitting.
She turned her head to where Melodie was, and stared at her for a couple of seconds.
She unclenched her jaw.
"You were wrong about what it's like to kill someone. You don't feel anything when it's happening. It doesn't make you feel any different. I thought I'd let you know." She stated, turning her head away and shrugging.
Then, she grabbed her own duffelbag up off the floor, slung it over her shoulder, and began to walk the long way to the part of the room where Yvette's supplies lay near Jenelle's headless corpse. A flashlight sat next to them, still illuminating the same section of wall as when Yvette had first dropped it.
"You can have Jenelle's stuff. I'll take Yvette's. I'm not staying. If rescue ever comes, I'll let them know you're in here." She said over her shoulder, halfway to the room's exit.
She turned her head to where Melodie was, and stared at her for a couple of seconds.
She unclenched her jaw.
"You were wrong about what it's like to kill someone. You don't feel anything when it's happening. It doesn't make you feel any different. I thought I'd let you know." She stated, turning her head away and shrugging.
Then, she grabbed her own duffelbag up off the floor, slung it over her shoulder, and began to walk the long way to the part of the room where Yvette's supplies lay near Jenelle's headless corpse. A flashlight sat next to them, still illuminating the same section of wall as when Yvette had first dropped it.
"You can have Jenelle's stuff. I'll take Yvette's. I'm not staying. If rescue ever comes, I'll let them know you're in here." She said over her shoulder, halfway to the room's exit.
''Alright,'' she said, and then stopped laughing. The flesh covered walls shivered and throbbed with her.
''I don't even know what you're talking about, but good for you.''
She strutted up to Astrid, the meat trailing behind her. She picked up Jenelle's dripping, fucked up head by the hair. It swung and leaked fluid onto the floor as she walked.
''You're kind of goth,'' she said, with a shakiness that was built into her natural way of talking. ''Do you want Yvette's clothes, or can I take them?''
''I don't even know what you're talking about, but good for you.''
She strutted up to Astrid, the meat trailing behind her. She picked up Jenelle's dripping, fucked up head by the hair. It swung and leaked fluid onto the floor as she walked.
''You're kind of goth,'' she said, with a shakiness that was built into her natural way of talking. ''Do you want Yvette's clothes, or can I take them?''
...
Meanwhile, in Melodie's mind!
_____
Jenelle's head: So. Is this what you wanted?
Melodie: What do you mean?
Jenelle: You know, all your edgy bullshit posturing. Your straight-up fetish for death and danger and people in despair. All that.
Melodie: Not really. I mean, like, it's just writing. It's just me thinking about how the mind could be pushed into extreme mindsets and conditions.
(Melodie raises the head up higher, to where she was staring more at the stump of the neck than Jenelle's eyes. The coagulated blood half dripped, half flaked down, onto her clothes and face, inter her mouth.)
Jenelle: Oh, come the fuck on. I know what you write. I know what you read. You're glad that I'm gone. And you hope that Astrid's as much as a freak as you are, because at least that means you won't hate yourself for it. Yoy've been writing about this death and murder shit for years. You've probably written this exact scenario before. Don't tell me that this isn't a dream come true. Don't tell me that you haven't looked at your classmates and thought about how you'd kill them when, and not if, when the men with guns and the vans came. You don't even have an excuse. You're happy with your life. You're just fucked up, no freudian bullshit trauma you like to use to justify your characters' edginess.
(Melodie frowned and threw the head with a resounding crack. It bounces off the wall and plops comically onto the ground with a noise that's somehow both hollow and a loud, meaty slap.)
Melodie: You're not real.
Jenelle: Neither are you. Neither am I. Neither is this. You're projecting your insecurities onto another constructed voice in your head, because you can't face the fact that you're a piece of shit who jokes about how you get off murdering people or whatever makes everyone the most uncomfortable. You harrassed Astrid on twitter, for fuckhs sake. It's like you wanted to be hated. Well, you do. But that's not the point.
(Melodie frowns and kicks the skull into a wall like a soccer ball.)
Melodie: At least I try to be civil. You're, like, openly a bitch all around. You liked digging your words into people and making them squirm as much as I did.
Jenelle: 'oh I'm a shitty person but at least I lie and say I'm not!' Fucking news flash, cunt:
a. you're not hiding it, like, at all. Everyone can see it.
b. lying to people about your weird gore fetish or whatever is even worse than pretending you're a cool and normal person to hang around.
c. Kill yourself.
Melodie: You know what?
Jenelle: That every time you enter a party, everyone scrambles to be at least five foot away from you because you're a creepy bitch?
Melodie: No. I'm legitimately, actually, seriously fucking glad that you're dead. You like hurting people. One of your last words is you calling Astrid a clown. You think ruining someone's day is a good hobby. And you think that you're so justified because all your victims are, like, privileged, have differing opinions from you, or are weird and gross and whatever.
Jenelle: Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong again! Youhre projecting. And you don't know shit about me. Never had, never will.
Melodie: Either way you're a bitch.
Jenelle: Freak.
Melodie: Cunt. Whore.
Jenelle: Enjoy fucking rotting on this desert! I think it's really fitting how you make the world around you disgusting and unbearable with your gift. It's real fucking fitting.
Melodie: Fucking enjoy rotting too!
Meanwhile, in Melodie's mind!
_____
Jenelle's head: So. Is this what you wanted?
Melodie: What do you mean?
Jenelle: You know, all your edgy bullshit posturing. Your straight-up fetish for death and danger and people in despair. All that.
Melodie: Not really. I mean, like, it's just writing. It's just me thinking about how the mind could be pushed into extreme mindsets and conditions.
(Melodie raises the head up higher, to where she was staring more at the stump of the neck than Jenelle's eyes. The coagulated blood half dripped, half flaked down, onto her clothes and face, inter her mouth.)
Jenelle: Oh, come the fuck on. I know what you write. I know what you read. You're glad that I'm gone. And you hope that Astrid's as much as a freak as you are, because at least that means you won't hate yourself for it. Yoy've been writing about this death and murder shit for years. You've probably written this exact scenario before. Don't tell me that this isn't a dream come true. Don't tell me that you haven't looked at your classmates and thought about how you'd kill them when, and not if, when the men with guns and the vans came. You don't even have an excuse. You're happy with your life. You're just fucked up, no freudian bullshit trauma you like to use to justify your characters' edginess.
(Melodie frowned and threw the head with a resounding crack. It bounces off the wall and plops comically onto the ground with a noise that's somehow both hollow and a loud, meaty slap.)
Melodie: You're not real.
Jenelle: Neither are you. Neither am I. Neither is this. You're projecting your insecurities onto another constructed voice in your head, because you can't face the fact that you're a piece of shit who jokes about how you get off murdering people or whatever makes everyone the most uncomfortable. You harrassed Astrid on twitter, for fuckhs sake. It's like you wanted to be hated. Well, you do. But that's not the point.
(Melodie frowns and kicks the skull into a wall like a soccer ball.)
Melodie: At least I try to be civil. You're, like, openly a bitch all around. You liked digging your words into people and making them squirm as much as I did.
Jenelle: 'oh I'm a shitty person but at least I lie and say I'm not!' Fucking news flash, cunt:
a. you're not hiding it, like, at all. Everyone can see it.
b. lying to people about your weird gore fetish or whatever is even worse than pretending you're a cool and normal person to hang around.
c. Kill yourself.
Melodie: You know what?
Jenelle: That every time you enter a party, everyone scrambles to be at least five foot away from you because you're a creepy bitch?
Melodie: No. I'm legitimately, actually, seriously fucking glad that you're dead. You like hurting people. One of your last words is you calling Astrid a clown. You think ruining someone's day is a good hobby. And you think that you're so justified because all your victims are, like, privileged, have differing opinions from you, or are weird and gross and whatever.
Jenelle: Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong again! Youhre projecting. And you don't know shit about me. Never had, never will.
Melodie: Either way you're a bitch.
Jenelle: Freak.
Melodie: Cunt. Whore.
Jenelle: Enjoy fucking rotting on this desert! I think it's really fitting how you make the world around you disgusting and unbearable with your gift. It's real fucking fitting.
Melodie: Fucking enjoy rotting too!
Under the cover of darkness, Melodie could've done anything. Anything at all. There's Jenelle's blood between her teeth. There's her head underneath her palm.
The mass following her reached out, putting its wet, red fingers everywhere. Claiming. "I don't want to see."
The mass following her reached out, putting its wet, red fingers everywhere. Claiming. "I don't want to see."