For a moment, Aurelien felt a sudden twinge - no, not a twinge, a sharp, sudden stabbing pang in his heart - at Henry’s words. Yes, Lizzie had people with her, people who were caring for her and making sure she was as comfortable and at ease as possible. But more importantly, she had the person she loved, and the boy who loved her, by her side. Even if the worst case scenario happened, and this was as far as they could help her, she could at least… go with her hand in his. With some form of warmth.
Dante hadn’t had that.
All Dante had been given had been a bullet to the head by someone he trusted, someone he cared for deeply, who had never ever reciprocated that care in the fucking slightest. There had been no warmth in his passing. Just betrayal.
Aurelien’s hands clenched into fists, and he closed his eyes, feeling himself zoning away once more, not outwards but inwards, inside his head with all the pain and anger that came with it. He let himself, for a moment. Then he opened his eyes once more, and forced himself to listen to the heartbroken conversation coming from the other room. He couldn’t let himself get consumed by anger, and certainly not by this. Who was he to hate Lizzie and Morgan for being fortunate enough to find each other before it was too late? Neither of them was to blame for it. Neither of them had chosen to have what Aurelien hadn’t gotten. And with this came the slow, aching agony of watching your loved one disappear in front of your very eyes.
From what he could tell down the hall and through the walls, they both seemed to understand how final this all was.
He kept staring at the wall as Henry went into the room, gaze boring twin holes in the wood, not moving except to blink. He stayed that way, even as Henry moved past him, Morgan in tow, right up until the two were at the entrance to the house. He looked at Henry. Nodded.
“Of course.”
His gaze shifted to Morgan, looking into the other boy’s eyes. There was bravery there, a fire through the tears. Maybe it was performative, maybe it was real. Did it matter anymore? Was there a difference? No matter how brave Morgan was feeling, he didn’t deserve this. Not one second of it.
“Don’t worry. You can trust me. I’ll keep an eye on them both.”
He turned, as the footsteps grew faint and disappeared, to see Michael looking at him, standing shakily against the wall, looking so much smaller than he had the previous day. He spoke, as Aurelien stared down at him, then moved to close the door, sealing himself and Lizzie inside the room.
Aurelien could have stopped him. It would have been effortless. He could have stuck his foot out or jammed the mace in the gap as the door was swinging shut, or forced himself inside, twice the size and strength of Michael even with his injuries.
Michael walked into the room. The door swung closed and clicked shut. Aurelien stared at the wood paneling for a moment.
“Fine,” he whispered.
He pressed his back against the wall and slid down, sitting in the dust, ears pricked. Morgan trusted Michael. So Aurelien guessed he could as well.
You Give Love a Bad Name
Day 8 Post-Announcement; Private
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Lizzie’s hand fell flat as Morgan left her for the last time. He sounded like be believed her when she said she just needed a few minutes. She was glad for that. It was good to be able to remember him smiling.
She stared up at the familiar ceiling again as people moved around outside the room. Morgan and Henry’s footsteps faded away, Michael and Aurelien’s conversation grew closer. The door closed behind the former. A confirmation of his presence.
She pulled her eyes away from the ceiling, to look at his face.
“You’re…”
She scowled.
“You’re a piece of shit. You know that?”
Oh, how she hated his face. His face was responsible for the terrible pain she was dying through. His face was behind all the worry she’d had to hold Morgan through for the last few days. His face was responsible for no less than three corpses, and she was about to be the forth. Oh, what a miserable, disgusting, worthless face it was.
“You feel happy? I’m going…going to be your fourth. It worth it? You like seeing this?” She had never wanted to be able to yell so much, but her body was failing her. It hurt to speak so much, but it had to be said. “You keep this up, you’ll just- just be that. You’ll be a piece of shit…until you die.”
She looked back up at the ceiling. She couldn’t look at him anymore. She had enough pain in her life.
“If you don’t- don’t want that…give me your gun.”
She stared up at the familiar ceiling again as people moved around outside the room. Morgan and Henry’s footsteps faded away, Michael and Aurelien’s conversation grew closer. The door closed behind the former. A confirmation of his presence.
She pulled her eyes away from the ceiling, to look at his face.
“You’re…”
She scowled.
“You’re a piece of shit. You know that?”
Oh, how she hated his face. His face was responsible for the terrible pain she was dying through. His face was behind all the worry she’d had to hold Morgan through for the last few days. His face was responsible for no less than three corpses, and she was about to be the forth. Oh, what a miserable, disgusting, worthless face it was.
“You feel happy? I’m going…going to be your fourth. It worth it? You like seeing this?” She had never wanted to be able to yell so much, but her body was failing her. It hurt to speak so much, but it had to be said. “You keep this up, you’ll just- just be that. You’ll be a piece of shit…until you die.”
She looked back up at the ceiling. She couldn’t look at him anymore. She had enough pain in her life.
“If you don’t- don’t want that…give me your gun.”
Michael kept his eyes closed as Lizzie told him all the things he'd been telling himself for the past week. Her voice was weak, hollow, like that of a hospice patient. She said she was going to be his fourth, as if he'd been who shot her. He couldn't correct her. She said if he kept it up, he'd be a piece of shit until he died.
As if stopping would make him any less of a piece of shit. As if it would undo anything.
Then, she said if he wanted redemption, he had to give her his gun. He didn't want redemption. He didn't want to make a difference. He didn't want to matter. He didn't want to bother anyone.
All he'd ever wanted was to feel like he'd found a place he knew he could call home. To feel like he was alone; with nobody watching or judging or caring about him. To have some goddamned privacy. To actually be able to be himself. To feel something other than tired for once in his life.
It dawned on him that when she'd said she'd be his fourth, she'd been saying that he was supposed to euthanize her. A finger on a trigger. The role he would always stumble into playing.
He slowly, shakily exhaled. Opened his eyes. Shuffled to the side of her deathbed. Reached into his pocket. Pulled out the gun. Wordlessly placed it into her hand. Flinched back a bit when his hand accidentally made contact with her pallid, clammy skin.
"Safety's still on, in case you change your mind," he mumbled, taking a step away. "If you're gonna shoot me too, make sure it hits in a place where I'll have time to know I'm dead."
...
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
"I'm sorry I got you killed, and I'm sorry I'm not the person Morgan deserves. I'm sorry about everything," he muttered out, blankly.
He fell back against the wall, barely standing, propping himself upright against the side of a bookshelf.
"But being sorry doesn't take anything back."
He closed his eyes once more, and waited.
As if stopping would make him any less of a piece of shit. As if it would undo anything.
Then, she said if he wanted redemption, he had to give her his gun. He didn't want redemption. He didn't want to make a difference. He didn't want to matter. He didn't want to bother anyone.
All he'd ever wanted was to feel like he'd found a place he knew he could call home. To feel like he was alone; with nobody watching or judging or caring about him. To have some goddamned privacy. To actually be able to be himself. To feel something other than tired for once in his life.
It dawned on him that when she'd said she'd be his fourth, she'd been saying that he was supposed to euthanize her. A finger on a trigger. The role he would always stumble into playing.
He slowly, shakily exhaled. Opened his eyes. Shuffled to the side of her deathbed. Reached into his pocket. Pulled out the gun. Wordlessly placed it into her hand. Flinched back a bit when his hand accidentally made contact with her pallid, clammy skin.
"Safety's still on, in case you change your mind," he mumbled, taking a step away. "If you're gonna shoot me too, make sure it hits in a place where I'll have time to know I'm dead."
...
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
"I'm sorry I got you killed, and I'm sorry I'm not the person Morgan deserves. I'm sorry about everything," he muttered out, blankly.
He fell back against the wall, barely standing, propping himself upright against the side of a bookshelf.
"But being sorry doesn't take anything back."
He closed his eyes once more, and waited.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
“You’re right, it doesn’t.”
Shit, she was going to start thinking about this right now. End of the line, and she was going to have her worst time thrown back in her face. But maybe she could do some good with her former Bitchy Lizzie self. She might as well, there wasn’t going to be another chance. Even if it didn’t work, no-one could say she hadn’t given it the old college try as she was bleeding out.
“If you want…to properly make amends – It takes time. Work on it. Don’t – Don’t expect… an overnight fix. You – might not have long, but, try. Do that much.”
She fumbled with the gun. It hurt even to bring one arm over to the other, and to look down at it. The asshole could’ve at least given it to her in a ready state.
She looked back at him, as the safety latch clicked off. Before he’d opened his mouth, she was going to point it at him. She was going to demand a reason not to shoot him, and probably make a lot of people happy. It would have given her a sense of catharsis, if nothing else.
But there was no point. Michael Froese was a pathetic creature. She could see that clear as day, as she looked at him on the other side of the room. She didn’t feel like putting him down. There would be no sense of vengeance, no claim to having had the last laugh. All she’d do is die a murderer, and it wasn’t worth it. Morgan wanted him to live too, so at least one of them should have. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t convinced Michael would keep on killing anymore.
It didn’t matter anymore. She hurt too much to be playing judge, jury AND executioner. Maybe one or two of them, but all three?
The jokes were getting really old.
“Listen…” she started, though she actually had to pause to think, rather than to breathe.
“Just, stop being a dick, yeah? I think…” maybe “I think you can.”
Whether that was true or not, and it probably wasn't, maybe it would help. If it didn't, well, she was going to be one pissed off ghost.
Shit, she was going to start thinking about this right now. End of the line, and she was going to have her worst time thrown back in her face. But maybe she could do some good with her former Bitchy Lizzie self. She might as well, there wasn’t going to be another chance. Even if it didn’t work, no-one could say she hadn’t given it the old college try as she was bleeding out.
“If you want…to properly make amends – It takes time. Work on it. Don’t – Don’t expect… an overnight fix. You – might not have long, but, try. Do that much.”
She fumbled with the gun. It hurt even to bring one arm over to the other, and to look down at it. The asshole could’ve at least given it to her in a ready state.
She looked back at him, as the safety latch clicked off. Before he’d opened his mouth, she was going to point it at him. She was going to demand a reason not to shoot him, and probably make a lot of people happy. It would have given her a sense of catharsis, if nothing else.
But there was no point. Michael Froese was a pathetic creature. She could see that clear as day, as she looked at him on the other side of the room. She didn’t feel like putting him down. There would be no sense of vengeance, no claim to having had the last laugh. All she’d do is die a murderer, and it wasn’t worth it. Morgan wanted him to live too, so at least one of them should have. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t convinced Michael would keep on killing anymore.
It didn’t matter anymore. She hurt too much to be playing judge, jury AND executioner. Maybe one or two of them, but all three?
The jokes were getting really old.
“Listen…” she started, though she actually had to pause to think, rather than to breathe.
“Just, stop being a dick, yeah? I think…” maybe “I think you can.”
Whether that was true or not, and it probably wasn't, maybe it would help. If it didn't, well, she was going to be one pissed off ghost.
"I can - I can try."
He let his legs give out from underneath him, and slowly slumped to the ground.
A ragged, thin exhalation.
"For Morgan. I'll try."
He let his legs give out from underneath him, and slowly slumped to the ground.
A ragged, thin exhalation.
"For Morgan. I'll try."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Try. Hah. She would’ve facepalmed, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength to do even that much anymore. No, she knew she didn't. “Don’t try. Do.”
She’d heard that line somewhere. A movie, or TV. She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. She thought about the room for a moment. Michael was on the wall, she was lying in bed. Maybe the bedsheets were turning red that very moment; she couldn’t keep track anymore of whether she was bleeding or not. He’d probably remember what she was about to do next until he died.
If he didn’t die, she’d get to live being remembered like that. But for that to happen, Morgan would have to die instead. And he’d remember her better.
So she still hoped Michael would die. But she hoped he’d die just a little bit better, so that her words had meant something.
She was so tired.
“Three things.” She finished. “Don’t…don’t kill anyone else. Look after Morgan.”
She moved the gun, so that the barrel was placed square under her jaw. She only had the strength left in one little finger. It brushed the trigger gently, flicking at it the way you would a loose nail.
“Don’t let him….see me.”
Happy thoughts. Home. Family. Germany. Friends. Town. New York. Morgan. Books. Comedy. Fun times. Better times. That dog she always wanted. Her eyes not being so damn wet. A good movie. Her favourite ice cream. Her cousins. That time she cut her foot in the field. When she was at the mall. The school trip. The hotel. Peace. No terrorists. Going to school. Her uncle callin
She’d heard that line somewhere. A movie, or TV. She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. She thought about the room for a moment. Michael was on the wall, she was lying in bed. Maybe the bedsheets were turning red that very moment; she couldn’t keep track anymore of whether she was bleeding or not. He’d probably remember what she was about to do next until he died.
If he didn’t die, she’d get to live being remembered like that. But for that to happen, Morgan would have to die instead. And he’d remember her better.
So she still hoped Michael would die. But she hoped he’d die just a little bit better, so that her words had meant something.
She was so tired.
“Three things.” She finished. “Don’t…don’t kill anyone else. Look after Morgan.”
She moved the gun, so that the barrel was placed square under her jaw. She only had the strength left in one little finger. It brushed the trigger gently, flicking at it the way you would a loose nail.
“Don’t let him….see me.”
Happy thoughts. Home. Family. Germany. Friends. Town. New York. Morgan. Books. Comedy. Fun times. Better times. That dog she always wanted. Her eyes not being so damn wet. A good movie. Her favourite ice cream. Her cousins. That time she cut her foot in the field. When she was at the mall. The school trip. The hotel. Peace. No terrorists. Going to school. Her uncle callin
G002: ELISABETH ‘LIZZIE’ LEBOWSKI - DECEASED
62 STUDENTS REMAINING
62 STUDENTS REMAINING
Palliative lies. Landmine talk.
There was an explosion, and Michael felt a light spray of something hitting his face. After that, silence. The feeling drained away.
He was afraid to open his eyes. He wasn't sure why, considering everything he'd seen. Still, he kept them closed. Placed his hands on the back of his head, like there was a cop pointing a gun at him.
"Aurelien? There's, uh, that cult robe I was wearing - it's in the corner - uh, could you bring it in here? We need to move her somewhere where Morgan won't find her."
One out of three was enough, probably. It was the only one he figured even had a chance of being possible.
People moved through Michael like they were his breath. When he gave his word, he was giving nothing.
There was an explosion, and Michael felt a light spray of something hitting his face. After that, silence. The feeling drained away.
He was afraid to open his eyes. He wasn't sure why, considering everything he'd seen. Still, he kept them closed. Placed his hands on the back of his head, like there was a cop pointing a gun at him.
"Aurelien? There's, uh, that cult robe I was wearing - it's in the corner - uh, could you bring it in here? We need to move her somewhere where Morgan won't find her."
One out of three was enough, probably. It was the only one he figured even had a chance of being possible.
People moved through Michael like they were his breath. When he gave his word, he was giving nothing.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
The entrance to the house was wide open. It was bright and sunny outside, too sunny for the bomber jacket in truth. Aurelien could feel sweat coating every inch of his back, trickling down his spine every time he shifted. It was uncomfortable, and heavy, and weighing him down almost as much as his injuries. But he wasn’t about to let it go. It was a remnant of the past he couldn’t bear to cast aside yet. He had so few of those left.
And he could just leave the house right now. Breathe in air that wasn’t stale and clogged with dust and blood. Stand outside and feel sunshine on his skin, because who was to say when he’d next be able to do so? There was only one pre-established way in and out of the house, and if Michael tried to break a window to flee the scene, then he’d know immediately.
But Aurelien remained seated, slumped against the wall, listening intently to every word that filtered through the door sealing Michael and Lizzie inside the room. He had to. He had to make sure that Morgan’s trust - his own trust, now - was well founded. The end result, he was sure, would be the same, and only one person would be looking at him when the door re-opened. But there were so many differences between having control of when the trigger was pulled.
And not.
He closed his eyes as he listened. There was no struggle, no scuffling or scrambling for the weapon. No raised tones. No arguing. Just requests. Promises left in the air, ready to be broken. A denouement.
Aurelien flinched when the gunshot went off.
He stood up, breathing heavily, body shaking, ears ringing. Michael’s voice slowly swam back into existence, the latter half of his sentence hitting home. He nodded once, twice, then his brain caught back up with the rest of him and he realised the door was still closed.
“Yeah, sure… sure thing. Gimme a sec.”
He found the robes easy enough. There was a very limited amount of space in this house, holding an even more limited number of things. Aurelien picked the fabric up, staring at it for a moment. Here it was. The dirty, ragged, stained cult robes that he was gonna use to wrap up the girlfriend of a dude he barely knew anything about. And all he’d done was flinch at the noise.
Goddamn this. Goddamn everything about this bullshit.
Aurelien walked over to the door, turning the handle and pushing it open with his shoulder. He stared at Michael for a while. He kept his face as passive as possible, until the weight pressing down on him grew too heavy, and he looked down at the bundle of rags in his hands.
“Where, uh… where were you thinking? Of…. moving her. I mean.”
And he could just leave the house right now. Breathe in air that wasn’t stale and clogged with dust and blood. Stand outside and feel sunshine on his skin, because who was to say when he’d next be able to do so? There was only one pre-established way in and out of the house, and if Michael tried to break a window to flee the scene, then he’d know immediately.
But Aurelien remained seated, slumped against the wall, listening intently to every word that filtered through the door sealing Michael and Lizzie inside the room. He had to. He had to make sure that Morgan’s trust - his own trust, now - was well founded. The end result, he was sure, would be the same, and only one person would be looking at him when the door re-opened. But there were so many differences between having control of when the trigger was pulled.
And not.
He closed his eyes as he listened. There was no struggle, no scuffling or scrambling for the weapon. No raised tones. No arguing. Just requests. Promises left in the air, ready to be broken. A denouement.
Aurelien flinched when the gunshot went off.
He stood up, breathing heavily, body shaking, ears ringing. Michael’s voice slowly swam back into existence, the latter half of his sentence hitting home. He nodded once, twice, then his brain caught back up with the rest of him and he realised the door was still closed.
“Yeah, sure… sure thing. Gimme a sec.”
He found the robes easy enough. There was a very limited amount of space in this house, holding an even more limited number of things. Aurelien picked the fabric up, staring at it for a moment. Here it was. The dirty, ragged, stained cult robes that he was gonna use to wrap up the girlfriend of a dude he barely knew anything about. And all he’d done was flinch at the noise.
Goddamn this. Goddamn everything about this bullshit.
Aurelien walked over to the door, turning the handle and pushing it open with his shoulder. He stared at Michael for a while. He kept his face as passive as possible, until the weight pressing down on him grew too heavy, and he looked down at the bundle of rags in his hands.
“Where, uh… where were you thinking? Of…. moving her. I mean.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
There was blood in his mouth. He could taste it when he talked. Lizzie's blood was in his mouth. Lizzie's blood was Jackson Pollock'd all across his face. He snatched for the robe in Aurelien's hands. Pressed the gross, dirty fabric into his face. Wiped the blood off. Tried, at least. Pulled it away. Eyes were accidentally open. Accidentally looked at Lizzie's vaguely-warped face. Choked on his own saliva. Coughed for a few seconds.
"S-Sorry -" he coughed for a few more. "I'm sorry. I just need a few - a second -"
He felt like he was going to vomit. Caught his breath.
"Few houses down, opposite direction of the way Morgan went. That should be enough."
He moved from his stare at the ground to glance up at Aurelien. "Is - is it okay if I -" he broke eye contact and directed his gaze to the wall on the other side of Aurelien's shoulder, "- her gun - my - the gun, I guess. Would it be okay if I held onto it?"
He looked back down at the floor, his vision focusing on the blood smeared across the lenses of his glasses. Absentmindedly, he adjusted their position, half-expecting the blood to go away. It didn't.
"S-Sorry -" he coughed for a few more. "I'm sorry. I just need a few - a second -"
He felt like he was going to vomit. Caught his breath.
"Few houses down, opposite direction of the way Morgan went. That should be enough."
He moved from his stare at the ground to glance up at Aurelien. "Is - is it okay if I -" he broke eye contact and directed his gaze to the wall on the other side of Aurelien's shoulder, "- her gun - my - the gun, I guess. Would it be okay if I held onto it?"
He looked back down at the floor, his vision focusing on the blood smeared across the lenses of his glasses. Absentmindedly, he adjusted their position, half-expecting the blood to go away. It didn't.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
He stared, for a long time, at Michael.
Nothing about this felt right. Nothing about this was right in the goddamn slightest. Michael had killed multiple people, he’d been standing over his most recent victim when Aurelien had ran into him, he had… he’d… It had been easy, at the very least, to believe he was to blame for Lizzie’s passing. He knew how shitty his actions had been, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to show any remorse.
He seemed very small, now. Fumbling, stumbling over his own words, choking on thin air. His gaze was everywhere at once, everywhere except for Lizzie, seemingly unable to even glance at her body. He didn’t look like a killer anymore. He looked like a kid. A scared kid, caught in the crossfire, desperate to keep hold of something to keep himself safe.
Goddamnit, why did it have to be impossible to hate someone who should have been thoroughly loathsome?
Aurelien breathed in heavily, air thick in his nostrils, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them as he exhaled. Instinct told him no. Instinct told him to scoop up the gun and pocket it, keep it as far away from Michael as he possibly could. He was inches away from doing so, as well, as he picked the gun up and turned it over in his hand.
Morgan would have given him the gun, though. Even after everything. Even now.
“Okay.”
He held the gun out for Michael to take.
“No sudden movements. Nothing out of the ordinary. Henry told me to keep an eye on you, so…”
So what? He’d move faster than Michael would pull the trigger? He was battered and bruised and his reflexes were shot. He’d be lucky if he could take two steps before falling if Michael decided to turn the gun around on him. He had to keep the faith, the belief that Morgan somehow found so effortlessly. Aurelien could have shot Michael as soon as he picked the gun up. Maybe that would help. Maybe that would mean something to him.
“Come on. Let’s… Let’s get this over with.”
He didn’t know. Once more, he didn’t fucking know.
Nothing about this felt right. Nothing about this was right in the goddamn slightest. Michael had killed multiple people, he’d been standing over his most recent victim when Aurelien had ran into him, he had… he’d… It had been easy, at the very least, to believe he was to blame for Lizzie’s passing. He knew how shitty his actions had been, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to show any remorse.
He seemed very small, now. Fumbling, stumbling over his own words, choking on thin air. His gaze was everywhere at once, everywhere except for Lizzie, seemingly unable to even glance at her body. He didn’t look like a killer anymore. He looked like a kid. A scared kid, caught in the crossfire, desperate to keep hold of something to keep himself safe.
Goddamnit, why did it have to be impossible to hate someone who should have been thoroughly loathsome?
Aurelien breathed in heavily, air thick in his nostrils, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them as he exhaled. Instinct told him no. Instinct told him to scoop up the gun and pocket it, keep it as far away from Michael as he possibly could. He was inches away from doing so, as well, as he picked the gun up and turned it over in his hand.
Morgan would have given him the gun, though. Even after everything. Even now.
“Okay.”
He held the gun out for Michael to take.
“No sudden movements. Nothing out of the ordinary. Henry told me to keep an eye on you, so…”
So what? He’d move faster than Michael would pull the trigger? He was battered and bruised and his reflexes were shot. He’d be lucky if he could take two steps before falling if Michael decided to turn the gun around on him. He had to keep the faith, the belief that Morgan somehow found so effortlessly. Aurelien could have shot Michael as soon as he picked the gun up. Maybe that would help. Maybe that would mean something to him.
“Come on. Let’s… Let’s get this over with.”
He didn’t know. Once more, he didn’t fucking know.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Gradually, Michael raised himself from the ground, onto his feet. Hugged himself. Shuffled towards Aurelien. Wrapped his hand around the gun. Felt the soft skin of his palm press against Aurelien's rough hand. Looked away from the ground, and into the boy's eyes. He knew the look.
His voice shook, thin and breathless as it left his mouth.
"I know how much you're hurting right now, but - don't keep - you can't keep letting it burn you up inside," he mumbled, feeling tears start to clear paths through the blood smeared on his face, "because i-if you do, it's gonna - that pain - it'll become you, a-and then it'll be the only thing you have left to lose."
He let his grip on Aurelien's hand loosen, and slid the safety on with his palm.
"A-And then you'll do anything to keep feeling it, b-because without it, you'll be nothing."
He pulled the gun away, and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Looked down at the ground.
"You and Henry and Morgan - if you don't get your shit together soon, you'll end up like me. You gotta rebound while you still can."
He scratched the back of his neck, sniffled, and wordlessly moved over to the side of Lizzie's deathbed, snatching the robe from off the ground on his way. He wasn't as bothered now, when he looked at the tunnel blown through her head.
"You grab her legs. I'll take the shoulders."
His voice shook, thin and breathless as it left his mouth.
"I know how much you're hurting right now, but - don't keep - you can't keep letting it burn you up inside," he mumbled, feeling tears start to clear paths through the blood smeared on his face, "because i-if you do, it's gonna - that pain - it'll become you, a-and then it'll be the only thing you have left to lose."
He let his grip on Aurelien's hand loosen, and slid the safety on with his palm.
"A-And then you'll do anything to keep feeling it, b-because without it, you'll be nothing."
He pulled the gun away, and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Looked down at the ground.
"You and Henry and Morgan - if you don't get your shit together soon, you'll end up like me. You gotta rebound while you still can."
He scratched the back of his neck, sniffled, and wordlessly moved over to the side of Lizzie's deathbed, snatching the robe from off the ground on his way. He wasn't as bothered now, when he looked at the tunnel blown through her head.
"You grab her legs. I'll take the shoulders."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Second time he’d been tasked with holding the legs of a corpse.
It had been back at the bay, with Sapphire. He’d taken the legs, Jackson had taken the shoulders. He was dead now, too. Jackson. Lying in the infirmary, a few buildings away. The very same building he’d carried Violet’s body, days upon days upon eons ago. He’d held her shoulders then. Ned had been the one to take her legs. He was dead now too. He’d been dead for days. Aurelien couldn’t even remember the last thing he’d said to the boy. Whatever it had been, he deserved better.
He wondered what Michael’s fate would be. He wondered when it would happen. Where it would be, who he’d be with, who would deal the final blow. It was one of those things, like a trainwreck in slow motion, that Aurelien didn’t want to happen and didn’t want to see, but that he couldn’t help but think about. It was impossible not to want to know, he felt. Lingering desperation from wanting this all to be over, their final fates, whatever they might be, to already have happened, just so it didn’t prolong this nightmare.
Aurelien thought, as he looked down at Lizzie’s body in his arms, of Violet again. He hadn’t even been able to look at her, back then, nor to even acknowledge it had been a body in his arms, to think or speak the words that confirmed she was dead. Now, he looked down at the corpse being carried, with a hole in its skull, and his face was a void, silent and unmoving. You had to have adjusted to seeing bodies by now, lifeless figures that had once been friends and enemies and loved ones with a soul and warmth and spirit. Adjust, but not get used to. Never get used to it.
He was doing an awful lot of thinking and very little moving. He knew why. He had to think. He had to think of anything other than the fact that Michael’s words were far, far too late.
He didn’t know what he had without Blaise. He didn’t know what he’d be when they were dead.
“You got her?” he asked. “You steady? If so, let’s move.”
It had been back at the bay, with Sapphire. He’d taken the legs, Jackson had taken the shoulders. He was dead now, too. Jackson. Lying in the infirmary, a few buildings away. The very same building he’d carried Violet’s body, days upon days upon eons ago. He’d held her shoulders then. Ned had been the one to take her legs. He was dead now too. He’d been dead for days. Aurelien couldn’t even remember the last thing he’d said to the boy. Whatever it had been, he deserved better.
He wondered what Michael’s fate would be. He wondered when it would happen. Where it would be, who he’d be with, who would deal the final blow. It was one of those things, like a trainwreck in slow motion, that Aurelien didn’t want to happen and didn’t want to see, but that he couldn’t help but think about. It was impossible not to want to know, he felt. Lingering desperation from wanting this all to be over, their final fates, whatever they might be, to already have happened, just so it didn’t prolong this nightmare.
Aurelien thought, as he looked down at Lizzie’s body in his arms, of Violet again. He hadn’t even been able to look at her, back then, nor to even acknowledge it had been a body in his arms, to think or speak the words that confirmed she was dead. Now, he looked down at the corpse being carried, with a hole in its skull, and his face was a void, silent and unmoving. You had to have adjusted to seeing bodies by now, lifeless figures that had once been friends and enemies and loved ones with a soul and warmth and spirit. Adjust, but not get used to. Never get used to it.
He was doing an awful lot of thinking and very little moving. He knew why. He had to think. He had to think of anything other than the fact that Michael’s words were far, far too late.
He didn’t know what he had without Blaise. He didn’t know what he’d be when they were dead.
“You got her?” he asked. “You steady? If so, let’s move.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Felt like talking to a goddamn wall. Felt like he'd just told Camila she wasn't pathetic.
"Mmm."
He wasn't steady. He could barely stand. He could pretend. An approximation of stability.
He could feel the cracks broken through his series of brittle, concentric, emotional shells starting to seal over. Dissociating.
They took her three houses down. Wrapped her in the robe. Then, wrapped her in a sheet. Hid her underneath a bed.
"Okay. I'm gonna go now," he mumbled. "Don't let Morgan look for me."
He took a few steps away. Glanced over his shoulder. Looked Aurelien dead in the eyes.
"I really hope we never meet again. I mean it, in a good way."
He vanished through the doorway.
((Lizzie deserved to get at least two out of her three last requests. Michael couldn't make any promises about the no-killing thing.))
"Mmm."
He wasn't steady. He could barely stand. He could pretend. An approximation of stability.
He could feel the cracks broken through his series of brittle, concentric, emotional shells starting to seal over. Dissociating.
They took her three houses down. Wrapped her in the robe. Then, wrapped her in a sheet. Hid her underneath a bed.
"Okay. I'm gonna go now," he mumbled. "Don't let Morgan look for me."
He took a few steps away. Glanced over his shoulder. Looked Aurelien dead in the eyes.
"I really hope we never meet again. I mean it, in a good way."
He vanished through the doorway.
((Lizzie deserved to get at least two out of her three last requests. Michael couldn't make any promises about the no-killing thing.))
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
She deserved better than this.
Near everyone on this godforsaken island did. But being wrapped in a dirty, ragged cult robe and shoved under a bed like an unwanted Christmas present, left to disappear amongst dust and cobwebs? That wasn’t how anybody deserved to rest. She should have been buried, or cremated, or her body respected in the way she’d want it to be, not that she’d ever had a chance to even tell them, not that she should have had any reason to even think of how she wanted her body dealt with after she was dead for fuck’s sake. She was 18. The thought should never even have crossed her mind.
What else could they do other than this though? Carve out a grave with the mace? Shoot the ground so much it turned into a hole? Start a fucking fire with Michael’s glasses? This was the very best they could do for her, and just thinking about that, about all of this, made Aurelien’s blood boil and his mind to cloud.
So he focused, instead, on Michael’s retreating back, and the words that he’d left him.
“Me neither,” he whispered, long after the other boy had gone.
They both knew, he was sure, that there’d be only reason to run into each other after this. And if such a thing came to pass, Michael wouldn’t be leaving as freely and easily as he had just now.
Aurelien looked at the bed for a while, then a while longer. He rolled his shoulders back, looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes.
Minutes further passed. Then he too left the crypt, door shutting behind him.
((Aurelien Valter continued in Shaka, When the Walls Fell))
Near everyone on this godforsaken island did. But being wrapped in a dirty, ragged cult robe and shoved under a bed like an unwanted Christmas present, left to disappear amongst dust and cobwebs? That wasn’t how anybody deserved to rest. She should have been buried, or cremated, or her body respected in the way she’d want it to be, not that she’d ever had a chance to even tell them, not that she should have had any reason to even think of how she wanted her body dealt with after she was dead for fuck’s sake. She was 18. The thought should never even have crossed her mind.
What else could they do other than this though? Carve out a grave with the mace? Shoot the ground so much it turned into a hole? Start a fucking fire with Michael’s glasses? This was the very best they could do for her, and just thinking about that, about all of this, made Aurelien’s blood boil and his mind to cloud.
So he focused, instead, on Michael’s retreating back, and the words that he’d left him.
“Me neither,” he whispered, long after the other boy had gone.
They both knew, he was sure, that there’d be only reason to run into each other after this. And if such a thing came to pass, Michael wouldn’t be leaving as freely and easily as he had just now.
Aurelien looked at the bed for a while, then a while longer. He rolled his shoulders back, looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes.
Minutes further passed. Then he too left the crypt, door shutting behind him.
((Aurelien Valter continued in Shaka, When the Walls Fell))
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017