Sputter.
"Hey Austin. Don't watch this. I... I love you. I've never been good at telling it to you, but I love you.
Please don't watch this.
I don't want you to see this."
Sputtering.
darkness
open, day 1
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
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MurderWeasel
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"Oh no," Yvette said to herself, quietly.
Her hands pressed against Jenelle, trying to stop the girl from flowing away. Yvette knew what blood was, of course, on an intellectual level. She'd seen it a bunch over the years, usually glowering at whoever was dripping it. She knew that it was important for people because it brought oxygen to their brains, which were what let them think. A disrupted flow or a loss of blood would make that stop happening.
She didn't know how much lost blood was too much, though. She didn't know how hard it was to stop it from draining away when the gashes were big like this. She didn't know how to help Jenelle stay.
She felt so powerless, her little fingertips protruding from the sleeves of her jacket searching for something useful to do and just dragging the fabric around to stain it deeper red. Everything was itching, like the bugs were swarming all over her, and she wanted to close her eyes and make this go away but if she did that then what would happen to Jenelle?
"We need to help her," Yvette said.
She whipped her head around to look at the other girls, but there was so much sparkling haze in their air that she couldn't quite see them beyond silhouettes.
"Do you know how to help?"
Her hands pressed against Jenelle, trying to stop the girl from flowing away. Yvette knew what blood was, of course, on an intellectual level. She'd seen it a bunch over the years, usually glowering at whoever was dripping it. She knew that it was important for people because it brought oxygen to their brains, which were what let them think. A disrupted flow or a loss of blood would make that stop happening.
She didn't know how much lost blood was too much, though. She didn't know how hard it was to stop it from draining away when the gashes were big like this. She didn't know how to help Jenelle stay.
She felt so powerless, her little fingertips protruding from the sleeves of her jacket searching for something useful to do and just dragging the fabric around to stain it deeper red. Everything was itching, like the bugs were swarming all over her, and she wanted to close her eyes and make this go away but if she did that then what would happen to Jenelle?
"We need to help her," Yvette said.
She whipped her head around to look at the other girls, but there was so much sparkling haze in their air that she couldn't quite see them beyond silhouettes.
"Do you know how to help?"
"We can't."
She inhaled through her mouth, choked, and coughed out a puff of Yvette.
"Yvette, you're hurt too. I don't know how bad, I can't tell."
She inhaled through her mouth, choked, and coughed out a puff of Yvette.
"Yvette, you're hurt too. I don't know how bad, I can't tell."
"Um... Yeah. Jenelle's already dead."
Nobody could survive that. It was some kind of rule, some law, of the natural human anatomy that couldn't be broken.
She knew that Yvette, too, wasn't meant to last, from the very beginning of the explosion of shrapnel and matter and dust. She wanted to cling on to that hope, she wanted to add to this, she wanted to be real. She wanted to run away and she wanted to stay.
"What she said."
"Worry for yourself," The hand puppeting her mouth said.
She rubbed the powder in between her thumb and her forefinger, chalk-like in its sensation, staining the tips of her hand. Her shirt was covered with what Yvette was made of, turning the white into a swirl of rainbows. If it were any other situation, she would've liked it, kind of- wasn't her style, still very pretty.
Melodie took a step forward, and took another step back. She wanted to put her hand against Yvette's wounds, and feel the matter seeping out, like somebody breathing in between her fingers. This was her organs, her blood, her everything. Yvette was losing herself.
Nobody could survive that. It was some kind of rule, some law, of the natural human anatomy that couldn't be broken.
She knew that Yvette, too, wasn't meant to last, from the very beginning of the explosion of shrapnel and matter and dust. She wanted to cling on to that hope, she wanted to add to this, she wanted to be real. She wanted to run away and she wanted to stay.
"What she said."
"Worry for yourself," The hand puppeting her mouth said.
She rubbed the powder in between her thumb and her forefinger, chalk-like in its sensation, staining the tips of her hand. Her shirt was covered with what Yvette was made of, turning the white into a swirl of rainbows. If it were any other situation, she would've liked it, kind of- wasn't her style, still very pretty.
Melodie took a step forward, and took another step back. She wanted to put her hand against Yvette's wounds, and feel the matter seeping out, like somebody breathing in between her fingers. This was her organs, her blood, her everything. Yvette was losing herself.
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MurderWeasel
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Yvette knew, of course.
She'd known from the start that she hadn't escaped unscathed. The billows said that much, and the way her clothes hung funny, partially because of the dozens of ragged holes but more because she didn't fill them out anymore. She'd been really careful for the past few weeks, just to make sure she'd be the right size that her tank top would leave that little sliver of visible flesh, but now the bottom of her top was hanging over her skirt. She was on her knees, and that was the only reason her socks hadn't slipped off.
It wasn't that that didn't matter. It wasn't that it wasn't terrifying or distressing. But Yvette had time, and Jenelle didn't. Jenelle could be helped, and Yvette couldn't. When normal people got cut up, they went to the hospital and got bandages put on them, or they got stitches. Something could always be done. It was one of the many unfair parts of life.
"I'm fine for now," she said, and her voice felt even smaller than she was, whiny, but she squeezed her hands even tighter against Jenelle, tugging uselessly at cloth. "We have to help her. Please."
The clouds shifted and spun into nothingness all around Yvette. She tried not to think of all the things the doctors had said.
She'd known from the start that she hadn't escaped unscathed. The billows said that much, and the way her clothes hung funny, partially because of the dozens of ragged holes but more because she didn't fill them out anymore. She'd been really careful for the past few weeks, just to make sure she'd be the right size that her tank top would leave that little sliver of visible flesh, but now the bottom of her top was hanging over her skirt. She was on her knees, and that was the only reason her socks hadn't slipped off.
It wasn't that that didn't matter. It wasn't that it wasn't terrifying or distressing. But Yvette had time, and Jenelle didn't. Jenelle could be helped, and Yvette couldn't. When normal people got cut up, they went to the hospital and got bandages put on them, or they got stitches. Something could always be done. It was one of the many unfair parts of life.
"I'm fine for now," she said, and her voice felt even smaller than she was, whiny, but she squeezed her hands even tighter against Jenelle, tugging uselessly at cloth. "We have to help her. Please."
The clouds shifted and spun into nothingness all around Yvette. She tried not to think of all the things the doctors had said.
Her body was frozen.
Both literally and metaphorically. She couldn’t move an inch. Her body felt like it was plunged in an ice bath. Even her thoughts felt frozen like she couldn’t compute basic information.
She realized she hadn’t been breathing for a while. She hadn’t noticed it. She was too busy looking at the stars above. She wasn’t sputtering anymore. No more fountains of blood, no more incessant twitching.
She was dying. That solidified it. She closed her eyes.
There was a pop. As if to confirm what was happening to Yves, Jenelle’s head detached from her body.
Both literally and metaphorically. She couldn’t move an inch. Her body felt like it was plunged in an ice bath. Even her thoughts felt frozen like she couldn’t compute basic information.
She realized she hadn’t been breathing for a while. She hadn’t noticed it. She was too busy looking at the stars above. She wasn’t sputtering anymore. No more fountains of blood, no more incessant twitching.
She was dying. That solidified it. She closed her eyes.
There was a pop. As if to confirm what was happening to Yves, Jenelle’s head detached from her body.
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almostinhuman
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...
He knew now what dying felt like. Though really, he'd been only a partial audience to it, in after the show began and out before it even truly ended. Jenelle had been the one to get the full experience.
He felt dead either way.
He was dimly aware of the state of things around him; Melodie turning the room into an abbatoir, Yvette spraying that colorful shit she was made of everywhere, that one girl with the weird eyes looking over the scene. But his sister - what was left of her - was all he could focus on. As much as Melodie's gaze would let him, anyway.
Already his tether to her was straining. Perhaps his Gift was trying to shield him from this, or maybe it was just arbitrarily fucking with him like it always did. After all, it'd carried him right to her.
It didn't really matter. Nothing did, anymore.
He faded out without a word.
((Austin Greene continued in What a shame those two are you and me))
He knew now what dying felt like. Though really, he'd been only a partial audience to it, in after the show began and out before it even truly ended. Jenelle had been the one to get the full experience.
He felt dead either way.
He was dimly aware of the state of things around him; Melodie turning the room into an abbatoir, Yvette spraying that colorful shit she was made of everywhere, that one girl with the weird eyes looking over the scene. But his sister - what was left of her - was all he could focus on. As much as Melodie's gaze would let him, anyway.
Already his tether to her was straining. Perhaps his Gift was trying to shield him from this, or maybe it was just arbitrarily fucking with him like it always did. After all, it'd carried him right to her.
It didn't really matter. Nothing did, anymore.
He faded out without a word.
((Austin Greene continued in What a shame those two are you and me))
Jenelle's head popped off, and a shockwave could be seen rippling through the particles in the air. A little bit of blood sprayed against Astrid's ankle, and she winced. Her flashlight jittered, catching a glint of spinal column on the ground.
She frowned slightly, then tilted her face up at the ceiling.
"Yvette, how do we stop it? Can we stop it? Are you, are you dying too?"
She frowned slightly, then tilted her face up at the ceiling.
"Yvette, how do we stop it? Can we stop it? Are you, are you dying too?"
Melodie knew that heads could live several seconds after death. What were the thoughts running through Jenelle's detatched brain in those few moments? Was she looking right up at the ceiling of this vein-studded abbatoir, or at the dusty ground below? Her hair was obscuring everything, underneath the layer of dust and Yvvette. Was she full of hate to the very last milisecond? Did the neurons, as they degraded and shut down, manage a thought just as cohesive?
The edge of Jenelle's spine seemed to clink on the floor as the head slid down. She didn't know this kind of thing could be... real.
''We can't help her. People can't survive this shit. And you're dying. I know. You don't have to say that you're OK when you're literally falling apart. Let us help you.''
The stump that used to be a neck leaked out blood and spinal fluid and plasma, muscle and bone-shards displaced by the skull's impact on the floor. Melodie walked a bit closer, between Jenelle and Yvette, as if that could do anything.
The edge of Jenelle's spine seemed to clink on the floor as the head slid down. She didn't know this kind of thing could be... real.
''We can't help her. People can't survive this shit. And you're dying. I know. You don't have to say that you're OK when you're literally falling apart. Let us help you.''
The stump that used to be a neck leaked out blood and spinal fluid and plasma, muscle and bone-shards displaced by the skull's impact on the floor. Melodie walked a bit closer, between Jenelle and Yvette, as if that could do anything.
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MurderWeasel
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Yvette jerked backwards, and Melodie shielded Jenelle from her view. A purple Converse sneaker stayed behind in the dust, laces no longer tight enough to keep it attached. Yvette scooted further, squeezing her eyes closed.
What the doctors said was that they didn't really know how she worked, but she could probably stop working just like everyone else. She changed shape as she got older, and they thought that would keep happening, probably, though it had slowed down. Her maximum height had increased for a long time, so they figured when she was very old it would go the other way. If she got that far.
The key phrase that stuck with her was "sufficient matter to sustain cognition," which meant that they thought that for her to exist in any meaningful way she needed a certain level of stuff to her. They weren't really sure how much. The only time she'd been small enough for it to matter was before she was born.
Astrid and Melodie were asking and telling her about her condition, but neither of them could understand. Nobody could understand, unless they could settle into her. Maybe Austin might kind of get it. She couldn't remember if he'd ever experienced an injury through her senses, and then she realized that whatever she was suffering from what had just happened to Jenelle, it would be so much worse for him, and then she realized he might not even have survived the attack on the bus.
Yvette's eyes opened again. She was scratching at herself now, fingernails running over her chest and neck, but the tickling itching wouldn't stop.
Her skin was unmarked by now. There was just less of it, and from dozens of points streams of pearlescent matter streamed and mingled and then vanished into nothing seconds later, only to be replaced by more. When she inhaled, it was like the air was sparkling water, fizzing away in her mouth and throat and nose.
"Okay," Yvette said, "okay. I'm not okay."
It was an understatement. It had never been this bad ever ibefore. She hated being small, and she was well on her way to where she'd been in seventh grade and it had only been a minute or so. But Jenelle was dead, so how could she worry about that?
"We, you can't stop this," she said. "Nothing can stop it. It just stops on its own after a while."
Or doesn't, she didn't say. She tried to hide it, to cover up, so a lot of her classmates didn't know how it worked. Her hand had vented for weeks.
She didn't answer if she was dying. She didn't know if she even had the right.
Did a fire really die when it burned the last log to ashes?
What the doctors said was that they didn't really know how she worked, but she could probably stop working just like everyone else. She changed shape as she got older, and they thought that would keep happening, probably, though it had slowed down. Her maximum height had increased for a long time, so they figured when she was very old it would go the other way. If she got that far.
The key phrase that stuck with her was "sufficient matter to sustain cognition," which meant that they thought that for her to exist in any meaningful way she needed a certain level of stuff to her. They weren't really sure how much. The only time she'd been small enough for it to matter was before she was born.
Astrid and Melodie were asking and telling her about her condition, but neither of them could understand. Nobody could understand, unless they could settle into her. Maybe Austin might kind of get it. She couldn't remember if he'd ever experienced an injury through her senses, and then she realized that whatever she was suffering from what had just happened to Jenelle, it would be so much worse for him, and then she realized he might not even have survived the attack on the bus.
Yvette's eyes opened again. She was scratching at herself now, fingernails running over her chest and neck, but the tickling itching wouldn't stop.
Her skin was unmarked by now. There was just less of it, and from dozens of points streams of pearlescent matter streamed and mingled and then vanished into nothing seconds later, only to be replaced by more. When she inhaled, it was like the air was sparkling water, fizzing away in her mouth and throat and nose.
"Okay," Yvette said, "okay. I'm not okay."
It was an understatement. It had never been this bad ever ibefore. She hated being small, and she was well on her way to where she'd been in seventh grade and it had only been a minute or so. But Jenelle was dead, so how could she worry about that?
"We, you can't stop this," she said. "Nothing can stop it. It just stops on its own after a while."
Or doesn't, she didn't say. She tried to hide it, to cover up, so a lot of her classmates didn't know how it worked. Her hand had vented for weeks.
She didn't answer if she was dying. She didn't know if she even had the right.
Did a fire really die when it burned the last log to ashes?
“Okay.”
She was silent for a moment as she shuffled a few steps away from Jenelle and Melodie.
“Do you want me to step on you if you pass a certain point?” She quietly asked.
She was silent for a moment as she shuffled a few steps away from Jenelle and Melodie.
“Do you want me to step on you if you pass a certain point?” She quietly asked.
She couldn't think of many less absurd, humiliating ways to die.
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MurderWeasel
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"When I came here, it was because I thought I heard someone say Jenelle's name," Yvette said. "I wanted to find her, because she was my friend a, a year ago, but also because..."
She looked down into the swirling clouds.
"...because I was going to ask her to, if I got too bad, to just, you know..."
She clicked her tongue against the roof her mouth and made a neat little pop.
For a long five or so seconds after that, Yvette didn't do anything. Then she stood up and walked to the point of the room furthest from where Jenelle lay.
She lost her other shoe on the way, and her socks slid down and fell off and pooled on the floor. Her bare feet squished through the meat she traversed, and it stuck to her, juices squelching between her toes as it throbbed and pulsed and sucked at her heels, and it was more real than the idea that Jenelle was just meat now too.
There might have been broken glass on the ground still, but that just didn't seem very important anymore. Yvette's skirt was only staying up because she was holding it, and she was so very conscious of how each step of hers carried her a fraction less far than its predecessor.
Finally reaching the corner, she dropped down to the ground and sat, staring at the wall. She'd left her flashlight behind, so it was mostly just dark grey and darker where her shadow blocked the spillover light from over on the other side.
"When it happens," Yvette said to the concrete, "I don't want to see it coming."
She scratched at the itching. It wasn't letting up.
"...Jenelle would say you're not a hot enough guy to step on me," she said, and laughed.
She looked down into the swirling clouds.
"...because I was going to ask her to, if I got too bad, to just, you know..."
She clicked her tongue against the roof her mouth and made a neat little pop.
For a long five or so seconds after that, Yvette didn't do anything. Then she stood up and walked to the point of the room furthest from where Jenelle lay.
She lost her other shoe on the way, and her socks slid down and fell off and pooled on the floor. Her bare feet squished through the meat she traversed, and it stuck to her, juices squelching between her toes as it throbbed and pulsed and sucked at her heels, and it was more real than the idea that Jenelle was just meat now too.
There might have been broken glass on the ground still, but that just didn't seem very important anymore. Yvette's skirt was only staying up because she was holding it, and she was so very conscious of how each step of hers carried her a fraction less far than its predecessor.
Finally reaching the corner, she dropped down to the ground and sat, staring at the wall. She'd left her flashlight behind, so it was mostly just dark grey and darker where her shadow blocked the spillover light from over on the other side.
"When it happens," Yvette said to the concrete, "I don't want to see it coming."
She scratched at the itching. It wasn't letting up.
"...Jenelle would say you're not a hot enough guy to step on me," she said, and laughed.