I Don't Wanna Grow Up

[Casey The Undead*]

((Megan Jacobson, continued from Naptime))

Eventually, her feet gave out from under her, and Megan went toppling down towards the ground, smashing her face into the dirt. Helmut Von Slappenstien was released from her grip, and went tumbling off in front of her. Her bag slid off her shoulder, and she became aware, for the first time, of the deep pain in her lungs and throat.

Then came all the other pain, from hitting the ground, and soon all Megan was was a blubbering pile of dull, throbbing pain. She pulled her knees into her chest, lying on the ground, letting the sobs attack and violently shake her. She couldn't get the image of Kami's guts spewed across the floor out of her head. The look on Bryant's face as he pulled the trigger was burned onto her retina.

She furiously rubbed her eyes, noting that there was no longer any black goop on them. All of her mascara had rubbed off. She let out a bitter laugh, which mingled with half of a sob. All this time she'd been worried about how she looked, about her fucking mascara. And now? Now she probably just looked like shit.

She couldn't care less, really.

Megan shut her eyes tightly, only to be greeted with Kami's blood, the look on the girl's face as Megan sat there and watched her die.

Megan sat up and hurled, for a good two minutes, everything she had eaten with Brendon, Brendon and Abby, after Matt had died, back at the pinky promise, rising back up in her throat. It was more unpleasant than any other time Megan had vomited, because this one brought back God-awful memories as well.

She sat there vomiting until there was nothing left in her stomach, and then she was just dry heaving, and still sobbing, all of her energy spent. She sat back up, whimpering, running her fingers through her hair. Slowly, she reached into her bag and grabbed some water, and with shaky fingers she opened the bottle. She put it to her lips and drank as slowly as possible, trying desperately not to let her trembling hand spill any. She was running low.

How much longer would Megan even need water? How close was this game to over?

She capped the bottle, and shook her head. She didn't have time to think about stupid things like that.

Slowly, she pushed herself off the ground, wobbling slightly on her knees. She was certain her feet were bleeding. Pain shot through her with every step. She couldn't stop though. She had something to do. She had something to say.

Megan walked over to her Helmet and hugged it like an old friend. She let out another sob, brushing the dirt off of it's shiny surface. It was everything she had left, now. The only thing that wouldn't try to kill her, that wouldn't get mad at her, that wouldn't judge her. It was Megan and a Football Helmet against the entire world.

She grabbed her bag, trying to sling it over her shoulder. To her dismay, she found the work too exerting, and instead settled for letting it drag behind her. She needed to find something.

It didn't take too long for Megan to spot the camera.

She positioned herself in front of it, dropping her bag to the ground, and clutching onto Helmut Von Slappenstien until her knuckles turned white.

She took one long, deep breath.

"This is the last will and statement of Megan Aidan Jacobson, born August 21st 2010, and died...soon. Ish."

She paused. Another shaky breath. She could do this, she had to do this.

"So...okay, yeah, I kinda fucked up. Like, big time. By which I mean...I think a lot of bad things have happened to people who care about me, and I could say that it's because I'm cursed or something, but maybe it's just because I'm stupid and I've been playing this game like...well, like it's a game. Because when Chris and Wendy died I...shut down. And everything became a movie, and I started trying to play things like a movie and...it's not. I was wrong. And I'm sorry. And...well...there's just some things I've gotta say now, so here goes nothing."

Megan straightened her back and shook her hair out, setting her face straight towards the camera. Tall, proud, professional. This was important. They needed to listen.

"Firstly. Hi Mom, Dad, Marten."

The professional facade crumbled as Megan realized how much she missed her family. She took another shuddering breath.

"I know that throughout this Program I've been...acting oddly. And I know that I haven't done much to make you proud of me, but...well, I still love you. I might swear every other word, and I might break down and cry all the time, and I might cause the deaths of people around me and talk about my ass and make jokes that aren't funny or appropriate, but I still love you, and everything I did...I did it for you guys, you know?

"Mom, Dad I know that it's hard. You're going to have to watch someone else you care about die, and that...well to be frank, that fucking sucks. But I don't want you to sit and sob over me. Because I want you to know that I'm not going to die regretting anything, or thinking about the what if's. I'm only staying long enough to make my amends and then...I'm gonna let someone who deserves it win. So don't be sad. I mean, obviously you're going to be sad, but don't be...angry. Don't let your lives stop. There's still so much to do.

"And Marten? Marten, you stay the fuck away from my stuff."

Megan laughed, genuinely. It felt good. It felt fucking amazing.

"But seriously, Marten...for all the times I called you a douche and a monster and a jerkface, I kinda see things differently now. You were just trying to help. You were a pretty cool big brother, you know? I'm gonna miss your stupidface. I really am."

She ran her hands over her face.

"Okay. Now secondly. To the families of Wendy Fischer, Chris Mitchell, Dominic Brown, Sherilyn Schachter, Matthew Payne, Benjamin Latimer, Kami Steele, Bryant Carver, Luke Mendoza, Alex Tartaglia, and Brendon Arrington. I am so sorry. For everything. Everything that I put your kids through, everything that happened to them because of me, I'm so, so, so sorry."

The tears were back, streaming down Megan's face, but she hardly noticed.

"Your...your kids, grandkids, nieces, nephews, siblings, whatever...they were amazing people. Better than me, every last one of them. And they deserved to be remembered and cheered for. For all of the pain and suffering I caused, I am so terribly sorry. And I know that it doesn't mean much but...maybe I can offer a bit of closure. Because I can't die with this on my back. So I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart, with the last of my strength, I am sorry."

She flicked away the tears.

"And finally. Bryant, Alex, Brendon, Luke...if one of you wins this, and I don't get to see you again...well, thanks. Thanks for everything you've done. Thanks for being there, for being my friend. I love you. All of you. More than almost anything."

One last, shaky breath. And then the closer.

"During this game I...I don't know. I got mature, I guess. A little bit." She let out a small laugh. "Okay, not really. That's the good thing though, isn't it? Getting old, giving in...it sucks. And really, how many people can picture me ever living past 15? I know I never could. Not once. I never saw kids, never saw marriage, never saw military service. Maybe I always knew, huh?

"I think it's easier, almost. Dying young. It's like, the whole world is going to miss you, going to mourn you, because they feel robbed. Robbed of a life that coulda been something. When a six year old drowns in a river, we don't ever mention how they threw things at their parents, how they had fits and tantrums and refused to eat their vegetables. Instead, we frame the finger paintings they made and call them saints."

Megan took a long pause.

"So why do we murder teenagers like they're nothing? I just...don't get it. We're all people, we all have flaws, but none of us would have become the monsters that you see if it hadn't been for this game. Now, viewing audience, I'm not asking you to try and do what I did and rebel against something that can't be fought. I'm just asking you to think about it. To think about how, next year, it might be your kids talking off the ears of America. Next year, it might be people you love.

"Just think for a minute. A minute a day, maybe. That...that might be all it takes to fuck up the system. And then maybe all of these kids won't have died for nothing, yeah?"

Megan picked up her bag, smiling wide. She'd said all she had to say. Now it was time for the action part. It was time for her to go out the way she always wanted too.

It was time for her to die young and in a blaze of dramatic glory.

She looked back up at the camera, one last time.

"This is Megan Aidan Jacobson, wannabe poet, talkative psycho, daughter of Richard and Ellen, sister of Marten, friend of many, enemy of...well probably more, and lover of all things beautiful and insane, signing off."

She laughed, turning around and ignoring the pain in her feet, the burning in her lungs, and the tears in her eyes. She thrust Helmut Von Slappenstien into the air, triumphantly.

"See you in another life, America."

((Megan Jacobson, continued Let's Make Life a Living Hell))