...what.
Again? Did people again have to fight? Like this, like, right now and here?
Amanda shook her head.
She could not believe it.
But it was something. Something that meant they'd have something to do. The two of them - Jason and Amanda. They got something like a plan, even if that plan was to hide. More or less effectually.
Something wet made a squelching sound as Amanda shifted her weight around.
She grabbed Jason's hand and pulled him to the side. To safety, or what might be it: a dark corner in the room where the lightning is not as good as elsewhere.
wAtCH thIS giRl gEt SokAiNg wET
PM Me First
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writhe struggle it was pointless and there was nothing she could do
Rachael was grounded into ground, her shoulder her first taste of a shallow grave where her corpse would rot. Above her the nightmare specter of a mysterious man's destroyed, bloodied, grinning skull of a face. Thumbs against the delicate overripe exploding skin of her mortal shell impressed onto her the depths of her pathetic mortality. Rachael screamed but hands around her throat became the bindings of the ancient mummies, tight, dry, desiccated, sequestering away her life into wakeless eternity.
Rachael felt surrender in the faltering of her heartbeat. Surrender in the falling away of her broken hand from defense of her remaining vitality. She was already but a walking corpse.
Still, she cried breathlessly for air.
Is it over yet? This story is dragging on.
Wild writhing like the cornered animal she was. Her remaining hand desperately clawing, sculpting flesh and blood like the passerby millennium did canyons, out of Blaine's skin, out of her own. Her faltering hand finding a second wind.
Her lost gun rejoined the fight with a gamble of a swing and a pull of a trigger.
Rachael was grounded into ground, her shoulder her first taste of a shallow grave where her corpse would rot. Above her the nightmare specter of a mysterious man's destroyed, bloodied, grinning skull of a face. Thumbs against the delicate overripe exploding skin of her mortal shell impressed onto her the depths of her pathetic mortality. Rachael screamed but hands around her throat became the bindings of the ancient mummies, tight, dry, desiccated, sequestering away her life into wakeless eternity.
Rachael felt surrender in the faltering of her heartbeat. Surrender in the falling away of her broken hand from defense of her remaining vitality. She was already but a walking corpse.
Still, she cried breathlessly for air.
Is it over yet? This story is dragging on.
Wild writhing like the cornered animal she was. Her remaining hand desperately clawing, sculpting flesh and blood like the passerby millennium did canyons, out of Blaine's skin, out of her own. Her faltering hand finding a second wind.
Her lost gun rejoined the fight with a gamble of a swing and a pull of a trigger.
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Sh4dE
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It was loud.
He was upset at someone distracting him. As Blaine heard empty clicks he looked to the side and felt caught by Tina. As if he was a hyena who got caught eating his prey.
That apparently gave Rachael enough distraction to grab her gun to shoot it.
Blaine stumbled backwards and ran at the blurry entrance while holding his shoulder where he could see the bone fracture.
It hurt.
((Blaine Eno continued in The Ballad of Lance and Blaine))
He was upset at someone distracting him. As Blaine heard empty clicks he looked to the side and felt caught by Tina. As if he was a hyena who got caught eating his prey.
That apparently gave Rachael enough distraction to grab her gun to shoot it.
Blaine stumbled backwards and ran at the blurry entrance while holding his shoulder where he could see the bone fracture.
It hurt.
((Blaine Eno continued in The Ballad of Lance and Blaine))
I'm so glad to be back !
Amanda took him into the shower, into one of the corners that would eventually slope down to the centre. It gave them a high ground, even if it was only by a few inches. Nothing useful. But tactics was where Jason's head was at now. It's where it needed to be at, all things considered. He wanted to leave these showers with his life, and as things stood right now he wanted to leave with Amanda's life as well.
And it was there they waited. They waited as the screaming continued. It sounded strained, it sounded like it was getting worse every second they waited there in the dark corner of the showers. Jason and Amanda were listening to one of their classmates die. In a few seconds, the sounds would stop, and they'd probably hear someone else start rummaging through her things, or at least they probably would if they were close enough to hear a bag unzip, which come to think of it they probably weren't.
Nothing could have prepared Jason for the gunshot though.
Almost instinctively, Jason's hand went to the gun in his waistband. It pushed aside the shoulder bag hanging lifelessly by, grazing the handle of a weapon with no ammo. But that didn't make it useless. It just meant that he needed to get the jump on someone and then bluff his way into something better. Like if they got the jump on whoever just shot whoever, and took that weapon.
They. Jason looked at his friend. He remembered how he was going to have to get off this island alone. That meant Amanda was going to die. That also meant he needed to stop pretending they could work together or team up, because he couldn't risk her taking him out. But that in itself meant he had to give up the state of relief he'd let himself be overcome by from the moment he saw that she was okay.
It was something he could think about later.
For now, Jason's hand rested on the empty gun, and his mind rested on the silence following the gunshot.
And it was there they waited. They waited as the screaming continued. It sounded strained, it sounded like it was getting worse every second they waited there in the dark corner of the showers. Jason and Amanda were listening to one of their classmates die. In a few seconds, the sounds would stop, and they'd probably hear someone else start rummaging through her things, or at least they probably would if they were close enough to hear a bag unzip, which come to think of it they probably weren't.
Nothing could have prepared Jason for the gunshot though.
Almost instinctively, Jason's hand went to the gun in his waistband. It pushed aside the shoulder bag hanging lifelessly by, grazing the handle of a weapon with no ammo. But that didn't make it useless. It just meant that he needed to get the jump on someone and then bluff his way into something better. Like if they got the jump on whoever just shot whoever, and took that weapon.
They. Jason looked at his friend. He remembered how he was going to have to get off this island alone. That meant Amanda was going to die. That also meant he needed to stop pretending they could work together or team up, because he couldn't risk her taking him out. But that in itself meant he had to give up the state of relief he'd let himself be overcome by from the moment he saw that she was okay.
It was something he could think about later.
For now, Jason's hand rested on the empty gun, and his mind rested on the silence following the gunshot.
Amanda suspected that, whatever happened, was bad. Of course, there was a gunshot, and it wasn't often that Amanda heard gunshots. But the one thing in the end, that made Amanda tense up, was how Jason reacted.
Just as tense.
Actually, there was something else. Something else to the tension of Jason. Amanda didn't know what to think about that. Figured it was the thing people had when they were trapped on murder island, but it really felt as if there was more to Jason. She didn't know. Not really. She'd had to think about that at a later point of time. Somewhere else, somewhen else.
Because as it stood as it was now, Amanda and Jason were somewhat trapped. They didn't know what was going on, except that it was dangerous. In a way, they were naked.
Amanda looked at Jason's hands.
"Sorry." she muttered almost absent-minded. "The only thing I got is a wooden dildo."
Just as tense.
Actually, there was something else. Something else to the tension of Jason. Amanda didn't know what to think about that. Figured it was the thing people had when they were trapped on murder island, but it really felt as if there was more to Jason. She didn't know. Not really. She'd had to think about that at a later point of time. Somewhere else, somewhen else.
Because as it stood as it was now, Amanda and Jason were somewhat trapped. They didn't know what was going on, except that it was dangerous. In a way, they were naked.
Amanda looked at Jason's hands.
"Sorry." she muttered almost absent-minded. "The only thing I got is a wooden dildo."
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Gunshot.
Tina assumed the fight was over. The winner had stumbled their way to their gun and shot their rival, ending their life. She hoped it was Blaine that killed someone, nobody would be blame her for killing the killing of someone else. Plus he had been brutalizing people so Tina wouldn't feel bad and she may earned herself some respect slash allies slash truce with that were hurt by him.
It was with surprise and shock when she saw Blaine run away, bleeding from his shoulder. It had been shot, probably not self-inflicted. This meant the girl had a gun and she knew how to use it and Tina could probably be her next target if Tina decided to fire at her.
Blaine and Tina locked eyes for a second, and Blaine sprinted off. He was gone and Tina had a gunslinging girl that was probably both injured and angry. Tina forced herself not to fire at Blaine. If she did, it would have probably only resulted in her detection and being the next victim of the girl's aim. She let Blaine get away to live another hour so she could find him another time and kill him for good.
Unless he bled out from his wounds, he did look quite hurt from the quick glance Tina was able to catch. He had it coming and she was happy someone else did it. He wasn't the only one with a grudge. The other girl would probably shoot her on sight if Tina were to pop up and run after Blaine.
She bit her tongue, feeling these precious seconds run away as Blaine did. It was the safe bet, letting Blaine go but it annoyed her. She wanted it over already. Get that kill and the cigarettes, hide somewhere until it was over. That's the only thing she wanted. Even then, she restrained herself.
Slow and steady won the race while fast and careless lost it. Was that the saying? Tina wasn't so sure but she knew what she meant. In other words, take your time Tina, take it slow and win.
No need to rush.
Tina made the safe decision to sneak away, following the wall of the building. She had her gun pointed on the corner, both hoping the girl would and wouldn't appear. When she reached the other side, she ran after him.
Tina assumed the fight was over. The winner had stumbled their way to their gun and shot their rival, ending their life. She hoped it was Blaine that killed someone, nobody would be blame her for killing the killing of someone else. Plus he had been brutalizing people so Tina wouldn't feel bad and she may earned herself some respect slash allies slash truce with that were hurt by him.
It was with surprise and shock when she saw Blaine run away, bleeding from his shoulder. It had been shot, probably not self-inflicted. This meant the girl had a gun and she knew how to use it and Tina could probably be her next target if Tina decided to fire at her.
Blaine and Tina locked eyes for a second, and Blaine sprinted off. He was gone and Tina had a gunslinging girl that was probably both injured and angry. Tina forced herself not to fire at Blaine. If she did, it would have probably only resulted in her detection and being the next victim of the girl's aim. She let Blaine get away to live another hour so she could find him another time and kill him for good.
Unless he bled out from his wounds, he did look quite hurt from the quick glance Tina was able to catch. He had it coming and she was happy someone else did it. He wasn't the only one with a grudge. The other girl would probably shoot her on sight if Tina were to pop up and run after Blaine.
She bit her tongue, feeling these precious seconds run away as Blaine did. It was the safe bet, letting Blaine go but it annoyed her. She wanted it over already. Get that kill and the cigarettes, hide somewhere until it was over. That's the only thing she wanted. Even then, she restrained herself.
Slow and steady won the race while fast and careless lost it. Was that the saying? Tina wasn't so sure but she knew what she meant. In other words, take your time Tina, take it slow and win.
No need to rush.
Tina made the safe decision to sneak away, following the wall of the building. She had her gun pointed on the corner, both hoping the girl would and wouldn't appear. When she reached the other side, she ran after him.
Rachael lay there, body stiff from pain. Quiet, only because the pain of her lungs heaving to full her sobs was too great. She owed herself some sort of long-form groveling apology for putting herself through this much so far. Maybe it would have been easier if she'd never fought back.
Anyone could find you like this, and kill you.
Rachael stay still. Slowly the pains ebbed away and uncovered what they had drowned out in tides of adrenaline. More pain. The return of the dull and insistent throb of everywhere behind her eyes. Her pains worked together in harmony. Rachael herself worked to keep the nothing in her stomach down and out of sight.
Eventually she dragged herself up. She was alone, and mutely grateful for that. Nothing else had changed in her surroundings.
... I don't have my supplies anymore.
Somehow that didn't bother her. Rachael cradled her head like it was her own first born, wrapping her forehead in a blanket of a disturbingly clammy forearm. She stumbled for the nearby building's entrance, lame arm swinging pathetically beside. Then she stopped before that yawning maw of an unknown creature buried by concrete into the earth. Foreboding, a sense of profoundly inexplicable concern about what lay beyond the threshold.
A sense far too normalized, it had been her companion from waking. She stepped through, but slowly, silently, eyes darting back and forth and seeing monsters in the outlines poking through the dark corners and hearing them in her footsteps echoing cracks of bone over concrete.
Anyone could find you like this, and kill you.
Rachael stay still. Slowly the pains ebbed away and uncovered what they had drowned out in tides of adrenaline. More pain. The return of the dull and insistent throb of everywhere behind her eyes. Her pains worked together in harmony. Rachael herself worked to keep the nothing in her stomach down and out of sight.
Eventually she dragged herself up. She was alone, and mutely grateful for that. Nothing else had changed in her surroundings.
... I don't have my supplies anymore.
Somehow that didn't bother her. Rachael cradled her head like it was her own first born, wrapping her forehead in a blanket of a disturbingly clammy forearm. She stumbled for the nearby building's entrance, lame arm swinging pathetically beside. Then she stopped before that yawning maw of an unknown creature buried by concrete into the earth. Foreboding, a sense of profoundly inexplicable concern about what lay beyond the threshold.
A sense far too normalized, it had been her companion from waking. She stepped through, but slowly, silently, eyes darting back and forth and seeing monsters in the outlines poking through the dark corners and hearing them in her footsteps echoing cracks of bone over concrete.
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"It's fine," Jason replied quietly.
It could have been better if she had a gun, he guessed. It'd make them safer, especially considering they had no idea what was going on outside.
But for a while, nothing followed the gunshot, except the echo of the gunshot. It was enough for Jason to finally remove his hand from the waistband gun and unlock his stance. His breathing was silent, but it had been ragged and quick. It was slowing back down now.
Until the footsteps. With them, Jason snaked his hand back towards the gun and retrieved it - it hung there heavy in the silence, despite its lack of ammo. Without even thinking, he moved his opposite hand down to the blade of his sword and held the hilt out to his friend.
"Take this. Stay behind me," he whispered.
It could have been better if she had a gun, he guessed. It'd make them safer, especially considering they had no idea what was going on outside.
But for a while, nothing followed the gunshot, except the echo of the gunshot. It was enough for Jason to finally remove his hand from the waistband gun and unlock his stance. His breathing was silent, but it had been ragged and quick. It was slowing back down now.
Until the footsteps. With them, Jason snaked his hand back towards the gun and retrieved it - it hung there heavy in the silence, despite its lack of ammo. Without even thinking, he moved his opposite hand down to the blade of his sword and held the hilt out to his friend.
"Take this. Stay behind me," he whispered.
It was dangerous to go alone. She took it.
That was the first time she had held a sword, Amanda noted. Not that it was anything like a cause to celebrate. She would not mark it red on a calendar - had she one available right now. In fact, it was more like she could see herself sitting somewhere years down the road, reading a book, when suddenly she looks up and notes 'oh, this is the anniversary of that time where I held my first sword. or maybe that was tomorrow' and then she'd turn to the book again and forget about it until years later.
Oh yeah, Survival of the Fittest.
Almost forgot that one fact.
Amanda put on her determined face, and stayed close to Jason.
That was the first time she had held a sword, Amanda noted. Not that it was anything like a cause to celebrate. She would not mark it red on a calendar - had she one available right now. In fact, it was more like she could see herself sitting somewhere years down the road, reading a book, when suddenly she looks up and notes 'oh, this is the anniversary of that time where I held my first sword. or maybe that was tomorrow' and then she'd turn to the book again and forget about it until years later.
Oh yeah, Survival of the Fittest.
Almost forgot that one fact.
Amanda put on her determined face, and stayed close to Jason.
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((Permission granted by Bikriki))
Her determined face counted down the moments.
Until they were gone, and her forcibly silent breathing came out antsy.
Instinctively she began to stalk forward, and she didn't quite know why she did that. Danger sense, that odd feeling drop in the stomach thing, stopped her before rounding the corner.
Amanda saw a hand peeking around the corner, clutching at the stone that pressed in glass jagged edges into the flesh of her palm, her fingers trying to brace, as she staggered drunkenly in place. Rachael stared almost sullenly at the camera that shrugged noncommittally at her from across the room. She meditated upon pain through half shut eyes, pain within : the ceaseless churning of her stomach, the crunchy throb under her shoulder, the maddening numb between her temples. Pain without, the sickly sweet scent of freshly fetid water, the most distant of sounds rustling miles away that echoed into her ears as gunshots and the stories of another friend lost.
As if it even cares about friends anymore.
Rachael's camera-wards gaze carried a certain longing, smoldering and almost seductive with sheer desperation. Her mouth weakly lolled open and shut like the most naive of deep sea fish torn from their home and tossed onto harsh beach-lit suns, her dry lips already well past cracking.
She contemplated, for so long, what she wanted to say. Or, what she possibly could ever say again. The camera waited for her soliloquy.
That thing watched by the camera was certainly no longer familiar to her parent's embrace.
She lifted her gun and it weakly trembled, her arms now too ravaged by adrenaline to manage more than a pathetic angle away from her corpse of a body. More fingers to the wreckage, all hands on deck. She fumbled with the release for her gun's cartridge, her last and most mortal of possessions.
But she kept the cartridge in,
the last of her bullets prepared.
"..."
No last words. Not for a lack of trying. She would have cried if she'd had the energy left for tears.
She left without knowing why she'd come or where she was going.
It shambled on. Unknown footsteps receded until swallowed by the ambiance of distant death.
Amanda signaled the all clear to Jason.
Her determined face counted down the moments.
Until they were gone, and her forcibly silent breathing came out antsy.
Instinctively she began to stalk forward, and she didn't quite know why she did that. Danger sense, that odd feeling drop in the stomach thing, stopped her before rounding the corner.
Amanda saw a hand peeking around the corner, clutching at the stone that pressed in glass jagged edges into the flesh of her palm, her fingers trying to brace, as she staggered drunkenly in place. Rachael stared almost sullenly at the camera that shrugged noncommittally at her from across the room. She meditated upon pain through half shut eyes, pain within : the ceaseless churning of her stomach, the crunchy throb under her shoulder, the maddening numb between her temples. Pain without, the sickly sweet scent of freshly fetid water, the most distant of sounds rustling miles away that echoed into her ears as gunshots and the stories of another friend lost.
As if it even cares about friends anymore.
Rachael's camera-wards gaze carried a certain longing, smoldering and almost seductive with sheer desperation. Her mouth weakly lolled open and shut like the most naive of deep sea fish torn from their home and tossed onto harsh beach-lit suns, her dry lips already well past cracking.
She contemplated, for so long, what she wanted to say. Or, what she possibly could ever say again. The camera waited for her soliloquy.
That thing watched by the camera was certainly no longer familiar to her parent's embrace.
She lifted her gun and it weakly trembled, her arms now too ravaged by adrenaline to manage more than a pathetic angle away from her corpse of a body. More fingers to the wreckage, all hands on deck. She fumbled with the release for her gun's cartridge, her last and most mortal of possessions.
But she kept the cartridge in,
the last of her bullets prepared.
"..."
No last words. Not for a lack of trying. She would have cried if she'd had the energy left for tears.
She left without knowing why she'd come or where she was going.
It shambled on. Unknown footsteps receded until swallowed by the ambiance of distant death.
Amanda signaled the all clear to Jason.
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Jason probably should have remembered one thing he knew about Amanda.
No matter what you threw at her, she could take care of herself.
He was silent when she stepped forward with his sword, seemingly intent on confronting the echoes. She'd been off-kilter ever since they'd met, but this was a return to familiarity - he was trying to find it himself, but she was there too. She held his sword with purpose, with conviction, like she knew what she was doing and she could fend for herself. Amanda wasn't going to let anyone take her down.
Which is why he couldn't be with her any longer.
It was tactics, but it wasn't the obvious - clearly, if it came down to it, they would probably turn on each other at the eleventh hour, or at least that's what he knew he'd have to do. But if he wanted to survive, he couldn't think of her. He had to think of himself, think of what he'd be going through, think of how he was going to make it through the days. Apart from the name that would appear in his obituary, she and Kyran would be his last connecting nerves to P.J. Hobbs - nerves he was going to have to sever.
As she signaled the all-clear, he started breathing again. Shut his eyes, just for a moment.
"Too close, way too close," he muttered to nobody in particular. Jason stepped out into the hallway, looking around at the empty halls. Mimicking his actions of before, dropped his bag to the ground again, but did not follow in its stead. He leaned against the stone wall, wordlessly running his fingers through his hair, trying to think of something, just anything, to say to the friend he was going to have to abandon.
Jason looked to her. He wanted this to be easier, he wanted to get the strength to say it. He wanted to be able to tell her they'd have to split up, or at the very least for her to give him a reason. Instead-
"...fucking hell."
He was playing the same old hits.
No matter what you threw at her, she could take care of herself.
He was silent when she stepped forward with his sword, seemingly intent on confronting the echoes. She'd been off-kilter ever since they'd met, but this was a return to familiarity - he was trying to find it himself, but she was there too. She held his sword with purpose, with conviction, like she knew what she was doing and she could fend for herself. Amanda wasn't going to let anyone take her down.
Which is why he couldn't be with her any longer.
It was tactics, but it wasn't the obvious - clearly, if it came down to it, they would probably turn on each other at the eleventh hour, or at least that's what he knew he'd have to do. But if he wanted to survive, he couldn't think of her. He had to think of himself, think of what he'd be going through, think of how he was going to make it through the days. Apart from the name that would appear in his obituary, she and Kyran would be his last connecting nerves to P.J. Hobbs - nerves he was going to have to sever.
As she signaled the all-clear, he started breathing again. Shut his eyes, just for a moment.
"Too close, way too close," he muttered to nobody in particular. Jason stepped out into the hallway, looking around at the empty halls. Mimicking his actions of before, dropped his bag to the ground again, but did not follow in its stead. He leaned against the stone wall, wordlessly running his fingers through his hair, trying to think of something, just anything, to say to the friend he was going to have to abandon.
Jason looked to her. He wanted this to be easier, he wanted to get the strength to say it. He wanted to be able to tell her they'd have to split up, or at the very least for her to give him a reason. Instead-
"...fucking hell."
He was playing the same old hits.
Despite everything, everything else seemed to be normal. In a sense, of course. In an odd sense. There really wasn't anything normal about seeing two of your co-students beat the shit out of each other and whatever that was supposed to be. And honestly, there wasn't even anything normal about meeting your friend after he robbed someone while you were naked.
Yet, it was as it was. Nothing you could do.
Regardless, Amanda took the sword and placed it carefully against the wall, so that it wouldn't clatter on the ground.
Amanda smiled at Jason, but when they went to sleep later, it would be with an uneasy cloud on her mind.
Yet, it was as it was. Nothing you could do.
Regardless, Amanda took the sword and placed it carefully against the wall, so that it wouldn't clatter on the ground.
Amanda smiled at Jason, but when they went to sleep later, it would be with an uneasy cloud on her mind.
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The cloud remained, long until morning. After a night of two teenagers curled up in a closed-off stall, a night where one of them seemed to fall asleep almost immediately, almost inhumanely fast, while the other could barely close their eyes. A night where every noise was cause for alarm, flaring his senses for minutes after the noise had long since passed.
At most, Jason probably got a combined half an hour of sleep until the announcements came on.
His eyes were trained on the door as the man on the bus, who was now the man on the loudspeaker, listed names.
Richard. William. Jeanette. Yasmin. Lyndi. Panya. Vincent. Aaron. None of them were Kyran, which was okay. None of them were Soren or Paris, either. They were all just people Jason once knew, once hated, once wanted to be like, and now they were memories. It was strange, because Jason knew he shouldn't care about it - he wasn't choked up about the deaths, but he still felt weird. He'd never really lost someone in his life before, and now they were probably going to drop by the dozen.
And he hadn't really thought about it as a reality until now. Just a theory.
Once he'd confirmed with a quick cursory glance that he was not in the Isolated Cabin, Jason breathed a long sigh, looking over to his companion. Amanda still hadn't woken up, having slept through the entire thing. Her head was against her bag, one side wedged in between the toilet pipe and the cement wall, the other sticking out and holding her head - her arms were around his chest, her leg draped over his. Jason looked at his friend for a few moments, moments which held in the air like an eternity.
Quickly and quietly, he moved her arms to her own body. He adjusted her leg. He pulled himself from the ground with his bag, feeling aches in places he wasn't used to while also making sure Amanda didn't tumble across the floor of the toilet stall. His hands grasped the wall to keep himself from collapsing from fatigue, as he looked at his friend.
Jason picked up the sword from the corner, tucked it into his bag with the hilt sticking out, double checked to make sure his gun was still lodged in his waistband, and in a few minutes he was gone from the showers, leaving his only friend in the world behind.
((Jason Andrews continues Falling Back To Earth))
At most, Jason probably got a combined half an hour of sleep until the announcements came on.
His eyes were trained on the door as the man on the bus, who was now the man on the loudspeaker, listed names.
Richard. William. Jeanette. Yasmin. Lyndi. Panya. Vincent. Aaron. None of them were Kyran, which was okay. None of them were Soren or Paris, either. They were all just people Jason once knew, once hated, once wanted to be like, and now they were memories. It was strange, because Jason knew he shouldn't care about it - he wasn't choked up about the deaths, but he still felt weird. He'd never really lost someone in his life before, and now they were probably going to drop by the dozen.
And he hadn't really thought about it as a reality until now. Just a theory.
Once he'd confirmed with a quick cursory glance that he was not in the Isolated Cabin, Jason breathed a long sigh, looking over to his companion. Amanda still hadn't woken up, having slept through the entire thing. Her head was against her bag, one side wedged in between the toilet pipe and the cement wall, the other sticking out and holding her head - her arms were around his chest, her leg draped over his. Jason looked at his friend for a few moments, moments which held in the air like an eternity.
Quickly and quietly, he moved her arms to her own body. He adjusted her leg. He pulled himself from the ground with his bag, feeling aches in places he wasn't used to while also making sure Amanda didn't tumble across the floor of the toilet stall. His hands grasped the wall to keep himself from collapsing from fatigue, as he looked at his friend.
Jason picked up the sword from the corner, tucked it into his bag with the hilt sticking out, double checked to make sure his gun was still lodged in his waistband, and in a few minutes he was gone from the showers, leaving his only friend in the world behind.
((Jason Andrews continues Falling Back To Earth))
Waking up alone, huh.
It wasn’t as though Amanda hadn’t half expected it. She didn’t want to die. Jason didn’t want to die. Their mutual interest in living automatically put them at odds, even if they didn’t acknowledge it out loud. Jason slipping away in the night was the best outcome, really.
It still hurt, no matter how much she tried to brush it off. With Jason gone, it was all the more difficult for Amanda to try and pretend that things were normal and okay. It kept occurring to her that she ought to start formulating some kind of long-term plan, and finding herself solo did nothing but reinforce that. Further proof came in the form of her total lack of desire to set foot outside in case she encountered some other fight or somebody else with a gun.
In the end, it was easier to pretend than to face reality.
Amanda had always been good at entertaining herself when the need arose. She amused herself for a couple hours by twirling her weapon like a baton, tossing it in a spin and seeing if she could catch it on the way down. She skated around the still-damp shower floor in her socks and mapped out games of chess in her head. She stumbled and bruised herself a bit thanks to the slippery floor and her wandering thoughts, but the interior of the shower building still felt far more secure than whatever lay beyond.
“Checkmate,” she mumbled to herself, spinning on the ball of one foot. She'd won yet another mental match against herself, her current winning streak a new record.
Every so often the face or name of someone she might have once played against at school surfaced, but she pushed them back down and didn’t wonder whether those former opponents were alive or dead. It was hard not to wonder about Jason especially, but she managed. She had always managed to not think too hard about the things that bothered her.
As evening fell, Amanda retreated to the cubicle she and Jason had previously slept in. She didn’t rest any more easily than she had the previous night, clutching her wooden club tight, but she did rest a bit and she rose early to take advantage of the quiet and to see if she could skate around some more even with the floor dry.
She could, it turned out, and she decided to go a step further and combine her makeshift baton-twirling with the movement. She had never been into drill teams or dance routines really, but she didn’t have anything better to do here, whatever some of her thoughts might have insisted to the contrary.
Amanda had just gotten to a pretty good part of her improvised skating/dancing/twirling routine, if she did say so herself, when a nearby speaker crackled to life again. The sudden noise made her jump in the middle of a turn, sending her off balance. Her socks slipped against the tile, and the next thing she knew she was pitching backwards to the floor.
The back of her head painfully impacted the tile and the fall drove the breath from her lungs, and she was so surprised that once she could breathe again she couldn’t do anything but laugh at how ridiculous she must look, sprawled on the floor of some moldy old shower room. She laughed so long and hard that it started to take on a hysterical edge, but she was able to calm herself before her laughter gave way to tears, and that was a victory of sorts. Didn’t do much for her head, but small victories.
Amanda checked the back of her head for blood as she sat up and was satisfied to find none, but the sudden tumble was enough to put her off the spinning and jumping around for a while. She returned to the cubicle she had claimed, looking to have some food and water and to take a couple painkillers. Maybe she could try to sleep a bit more. She had missed most of the announcement in the confusion after her spill, and slept through the previous one too, leaving gaps in her knowledge of who was still alive and who was dangerous. Jason could be one, both, or none of the above, and she might have missed it. That thought was sobering enough to drive any lingering giggles out of her.
It was as it was, Amanda repeated to herself. She couldn’t do anything about it. The throbbing of her head, the ringing in her ears, and the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach would stay no matter what she did. The best thing to do right now was to keep herself sane by blocking out as much of it as she could.
So that was what she did. She played more mental chess, played around with her weapon, and, above all else, she tried not to think about things outside her little world inside the cubicle. The painkillers didn’t seem to be doing much for her headache, so she took more. How many had she taken in the first place, again?
It didn’t matter. It was as it was. Her head hurting was just making it easier to not think at all, unpleasant as it felt to exert herself with a throbbing skull.
It was okay. It was okay. She would plan in the morning. Given enough time, she could come up with something that would put her a move ahead of anyone who wanted to cause her trouble. She was good at that, when she put her mind to it.
Amanda spent the rest of the day in solitude again, slowly but surely drifting into an easier, more comfortable sleep than she had been allowed the previous two nights. She took more painkillers just in case—didn’t want to wake up in the middle of things because her head was hurting—and she finally closed her eyes at some point in the afternoon. She wouldn’t open them again.
The darkness was comfortable.
It wasn’t as though Amanda hadn’t half expected it. She didn’t want to die. Jason didn’t want to die. Their mutual interest in living automatically put them at odds, even if they didn’t acknowledge it out loud. Jason slipping away in the night was the best outcome, really.
It still hurt, no matter how much she tried to brush it off. With Jason gone, it was all the more difficult for Amanda to try and pretend that things were normal and okay. It kept occurring to her that she ought to start formulating some kind of long-term plan, and finding herself solo did nothing but reinforce that. Further proof came in the form of her total lack of desire to set foot outside in case she encountered some other fight or somebody else with a gun.
In the end, it was easier to pretend than to face reality.
Amanda had always been good at entertaining herself when the need arose. She amused herself for a couple hours by twirling her weapon like a baton, tossing it in a spin and seeing if she could catch it on the way down. She skated around the still-damp shower floor in her socks and mapped out games of chess in her head. She stumbled and bruised herself a bit thanks to the slippery floor and her wandering thoughts, but the interior of the shower building still felt far more secure than whatever lay beyond.
“Checkmate,” she mumbled to herself, spinning on the ball of one foot. She'd won yet another mental match against herself, her current winning streak a new record.
Every so often the face or name of someone she might have once played against at school surfaced, but she pushed them back down and didn’t wonder whether those former opponents were alive or dead. It was hard not to wonder about Jason especially, but she managed. She had always managed to not think too hard about the things that bothered her.
As evening fell, Amanda retreated to the cubicle she and Jason had previously slept in. She didn’t rest any more easily than she had the previous night, clutching her wooden club tight, but she did rest a bit and she rose early to take advantage of the quiet and to see if she could skate around some more even with the floor dry.
She could, it turned out, and she decided to go a step further and combine her makeshift baton-twirling with the movement. She had never been into drill teams or dance routines really, but she didn’t have anything better to do here, whatever some of her thoughts might have insisted to the contrary.
Amanda had just gotten to a pretty good part of her improvised skating/dancing/twirling routine, if she did say so herself, when a nearby speaker crackled to life again. The sudden noise made her jump in the middle of a turn, sending her off balance. Her socks slipped against the tile, and the next thing she knew she was pitching backwards to the floor.
The back of her head painfully impacted the tile and the fall drove the breath from her lungs, and she was so surprised that once she could breathe again she couldn’t do anything but laugh at how ridiculous she must look, sprawled on the floor of some moldy old shower room. She laughed so long and hard that it started to take on a hysterical edge, but she was able to calm herself before her laughter gave way to tears, and that was a victory of sorts. Didn’t do much for her head, but small victories.
Amanda checked the back of her head for blood as she sat up and was satisfied to find none, but the sudden tumble was enough to put her off the spinning and jumping around for a while. She returned to the cubicle she had claimed, looking to have some food and water and to take a couple painkillers. Maybe she could try to sleep a bit more. She had missed most of the announcement in the confusion after her spill, and slept through the previous one too, leaving gaps in her knowledge of who was still alive and who was dangerous. Jason could be one, both, or none of the above, and she might have missed it. That thought was sobering enough to drive any lingering giggles out of her.
It was as it was, Amanda repeated to herself. She couldn’t do anything about it. The throbbing of her head, the ringing in her ears, and the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach would stay no matter what she did. The best thing to do right now was to keep herself sane by blocking out as much of it as she could.
So that was what she did. She played more mental chess, played around with her weapon, and, above all else, she tried not to think about things outside her little world inside the cubicle. The painkillers didn’t seem to be doing much for her headache, so she took more. How many had she taken in the first place, again?
It didn’t matter. It was as it was. Her head hurting was just making it easier to not think at all, unpleasant as it felt to exert herself with a throbbing skull.
It was okay. It was okay. She would plan in the morning. Given enough time, she could come up with something that would put her a move ahead of anyone who wanted to cause her trouble. She was good at that, when she put her mind to it.
Amanda spent the rest of the day in solitude again, slowly but surely drifting into an easier, more comfortable sleep than she had been allowed the previous two nights. She took more painkillers just in case—didn’t want to wake up in the middle of things because her head was hurting—and she finally closed her eyes at some point in the afternoon. She wouldn’t open them again.
The darkness was comfortable.
G08 AMANDA WHITE: DECEASED