It Doesn't Matter if We All Die

#1

((Enter Jewel Evans))

There was this strange pounding going in her head, she thought, this loud banging screaming wailing that blocked out everything else. It had started that morning—or was it the morning before?—when she learned what was coming. She'd smiled when they'd called her name. She'd smiled. They told her she was going to go and be on TV and she'd smiled. She hadn't really thought about dying. She hadn't thought about her family. She'd walked with the men down the halls of her school, shoes plopping against the floor, and she'd though about Zachariah Johnston. It was hard not to. He'd been a big part of her life for the past few months, and now, in this crazy way, their paths were converging.

So she'd smiled as the gas whirred and her vision blurred. She'd smiled as the lights came up. She'd sort of wanted to applaud when Patrick Buckley came on stage, but her hands were secured so she couldn't. She'd listened real close to the instructions.

Never once had the reality of it all set in. It was a daydream. She'd had them before. And if it wasn't, well, it's not like she'd never wondered. So maybe it was right and proper that it came to pass, and not ironic in the slightest. Who all else was here? She hadn't looked to either side in the opening ceremonies. Too preoccupied with her front row seat. Too busy thinking. Same question as always: You're in SOTF, what do you do?

So now there's an answer to that question, and it's not the one she's spent so long fantasizing about and telling her friends. She's not ready to rock and roll. She's not trying to figure out the angles. She hasn't even opened her bag.

Jewel sat on the floor and smiled. She held the dark grey backpack in her lap, cradled it. She looked with blank eyes at the world around her. She took in the scenery, the interior of the beauty parlor. There was another girl sleeping behind her still. She recognized Nina from school, but didn't feel any emotional connection to that. She was just another part of the scenery, something for Jewel's eyes to slide over. Nothing made an impression until the miniscule movement, the flash of shiny orange.

Goldfish. It was the goldfish that drew her attention first, a few goldfish swimming around in a tank by the entryway.

She watched for a long time, or maybe not that long at all, and then she got up and swung the backpack onto her back and walked over to the tank. There was a device attached, and when she leaned in close she saw that it was a food dispenser. It said it was good for three weeks. She looked at the tank and laughed, and then, real quick, she shot her right hand down into the icy water, fingers stretched, grasping like a cat. The shock of the chill almost made her cry out, and it finally shattered that horrible pounding wailing in her head, but it was all so much that her movements slowed and she didn't make contact at first. The fish scattered, seeking refuge in a small stand of plastic plants and within a little loose heap of rocks. She rooted through the plants, though, and when one fish was flushed, she was able to scoop it up, bringing her left hand in to close around it as well, holding the fish cradled between her fingers.

She lifted it free of the tank. The excess water trickled free, dribbling across her shirt. Her jacket was wool, so its sleeves would take a long time to dry. She didn't give a shit.

The fish flopped between her hands, its movements jerky, erratic, increasingly frantic. She pressed her hands closer, so it couldn't really move, and felt its little muscles straining against her grasp.

She could crush it. She could just continue to hold it, and it would suffocate. She could set it on the floor and let it flip itself around until exhaustion overtook it. All of these things held their appeal.

Three weeks.

In three weeks, between zero and six of the people here would remain alive. And yet, all these fish would be fine. They would only begin to realize their situation if nobody came around to refill the food, and it would be a slow process. Goldfish turned to cannibalism if there was no other option, didn't they?

Who had cared enough about these fish to set them up with food, anyways? But as soon as that thought brushed into her mind, she laughed again, because the answer was nobody gave half a fuck about a bunch of goldfish or they'd've taken them along when the place was cleaned out. They were part of the scenery, here to provide a nice shot or an entrancing explosion. Jewel was probably right now giving them more of a moment in the spotlight than they'd've ever otherwise received. And maybe they'd still be alive in three weeks and maybe somebody would shatter the tank in some fight and they'd all die, and the odds were good nobody would care or even notice either way.

The fish in her hands was still struggling, too stupid or desperate to realize the futility. She moved her hands back above the tank, slowly let her fingers part again. The little orange fish slipped between them, still thrashing about, and landed in the water with a barely-perceptible splash. It took it half a second to regain its bearings enough to head straight back to the false safety of the plastic plants. She could probably reach right back and snatch it up again if she changed her mind.

Jewel took two steps back and wiped her hands against her thighs, drying them on her skirt.

Then she glanced back at Nina, who was maybe starting to stir. She could wait and talk, but found she didn't want to. Not yet. The wrong sort of meeting.

Instead, she slipped out the door, into the chilly air.

((Jewel Evans continued in We All Look So Perfect))