I Love Death

[AtomicWaffle†]

((Will Continued from This is How I Disappear))

Back here again? Will sighed as he stumbled back into the Northern Coast once again. Then he coughed, and paused for a moment to spit a hunk of blood and phelgm at one of the bodies that lay beside him. He couldn't remember who it was, but at this point he'd just taken the carnage around him for granted; just a part of his life at this point.

He sat upon a rock jutting out over the beach, pulling his duffel bag over his lap and opening it up... Three water bottles, the guide to the island, a box of .357 rounds... no... two boxes. What was he looking for again? Oh, yeah... A small pack beckoned out to him, and he opened it up. Inside, a few bottles of medicine. Extra-Strength Advil, some caffeine pills, anti-psychotics. Whatever. He opened up the Advil and swallowed... three.

"Fuck... I don't want to fall asleep on this fucking island."

Will wasn't about to let anyone slit his throat as he fell asleep. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, a better one than just sitting there and doing nothing about this sickness... whatever it was. With considerable effort he opened the bottle of caffeine pills and swallowed three of them, taking yet another swig of water as he did so. Ooh... now he felt a bit more awake. A bit? No, a lot more awake. Maybe a bit anxious, but who wouldn't be in this situation?

"Oh, shit."

He'd been perscribed some pills to deal with a form of psychotic depression Will had developed after his parents died, and he'd more or less neglected to take them on the island... his concept of time was somewhat gone thanks to the extremely irregular sleeping patterns one had to develop to avoid being hacked to death or strangled. Will realized he really should be taking these lest he lose his motivation to continue.. though his motivation at this point was somewhat fuzzy.

Why was he doing this? Lying to people about who he really was, trying desperately to catch them with their guards down and kill them? What was the point? He could tell himself that he was just trying to survive, but wouldn't the ideal method of survival be to lay low and let people just kill each other until the very end, and then clean up whoever's left?

It didn't make sense to him anymore. Maybe it never would. He cracked his neck and gathered everything into the duffel bag. The vibrant blur that was the world had now returned to it's dull grey self. Will had no way of knowing what it was that had incapacitated him before, or if it would return. The past few minutes were blurry... he couldn't remember much though Danya's announcement was still relatively fresh in his mind. A lot of people dead. Not much else of substance. Greeeaaaat. Will retreated further down the coast into the underbrush, and leaned against a tree. His sudden vigilance to the world around him was jarring - everything seemed to clear once again, both in the physical and metaphorical sense. He brought out the revolver and played with the cylinder, spinning it lazily.


"I'm not going to stop, am I?"


Ahh, clarity. On that thought Will strode briskly from the coast.

((Will Sigurbjornsson continued elsewhere))