We Throw Parties, You Throw Knives

[Macha*]

[Genevieve Cordova, continued from Genni Runs the Voodoo Down.]

Guilt clung to Genevieve like a spectre.

Despite the conspicuous silence of the speaker system, Genevieve knew that each step she took left dead friends in her wake. Genevieve knew there was no logical reason for her to feel responsible or accountable for their deaths. She knew with absolute certainty that she had not killed anyone on the island- yet. Neither had she engineered the circumstances that had led to anyone's death. Genevieve was as innocent as innocent could be on an island full of killers, and yet she still felt guilty because her friends had died and she wasn't there and her friends had killed and she wasn't there.

So Genevieve supposed she felt guilty for not being able to save them. For not being able to resolve the argument before it escalated to violence, or for not catching them before they fell off the deep end. The worst part was that Genevieve knew her guilt was irrational, but kept feeling it anyway. She knew she was just a single woman. She knew it would be almost impossible for her to save anyone, let alone everyone, and that the stress of even attempting to would break her. But the guilt gnawed at her anyway, eating at everything Genevieve considered to be herself.

Morose self-pity was so unlike her.

Maybe it was an evolution of the person that had always lied under the surface. A gradual, well-meaning, but toxic change of priorities. Maybe it had just been a survival mechanism. Maybe she was just turning into a better person. Redeeming herself from the vapid SOTF fan into a good person who cared about other people instead of playing to the cameras, listening to her mentor, and telling the world to go fuck itself.

Right now, Genevieve didn't care about being a good person. So she became the person she needed to be, to make the guilt go away.

[Genevieve Cordova, continued in Story on the Radio.]