Chris exhaled and tossed his gun to one side. He wasn't going to need it. It looked like his death had arrived a lot sooner than he had been predicting.
Hansel wanted him to turn around so he could shoot him in the back, Chris didn't know much about getting shot or dying, but he knew getting shot in the back meant you were a coward.
"No." Chris said, managing to somehow keep his voice level. He'd had a chance to kill Hansel and he hadn't taken it. That was clearly a mistake. There was no point dwelling on it though. It was in the past and he was about to die in the present. As for the future? Fuck it. He just hoped Maddie managed to get away. "You can look me in the eyes and shoot me."
I Was Once Alive
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
-
NotAFlyingToy
- Posts: 323
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:49 am
- Location: Burlington, Canada
- Contact:
Hansel shrugged, though the words rooted deeper than he'd have cared to admit. Chris wanted to see the bullet coming. He wanted to die with some sort of honor or something, and project that onto him. That was fine. Hansel wasn't the one about to bite it.
So he shrugged again, lifted the barrel of the gun until it pressed against Chris' forehead, pushed until Chris' mohawk pressed against the back wall of the alcove. Until a little white ring of skin appeared around the barrel.
He cocked the Saiga, watched Chris' eyes - light brown on darker chocolate - memorized the detail in them.
Then, he squeezed the trigger.
So he shrugged again, lifted the barrel of the gun until it pressed against Chris' forehead, pushed until Chris' mohawk pressed against the back wall of the alcove. Until a little white ring of skin appeared around the barrel.
He cocked the Saiga, watched Chris' eyes - light brown on darker chocolate - memorized the detail in them.
Then, he squeezed the trigger.
The cold barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead and the cold wall of the alcove pressed against the back of his head. Chris was about to die but at the same time he felt comfortable dying the way he was. He was dying to his own mistake. There was no random chance or act of god. If he had shot Hansel when he had the chance he would have survived the trip to the mall.
He stared into Hansel's eyes, they were almost the same as his.
The colour was nice actually.
He stared into Hansel's eyes, they were almost the same as his.
The colour was nice actually.
B080: Christopher Harlin - Deceased
28 students remain
28 students remain
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Maddie watched Chris as he walked away from her.
He had told her that he was going to look for Michael, and she didn't object, Michael had been gone for awhile. She couldn't stand the thought of Michael getting hurt, he was too nice to deserve that. She told Chris good luck as he went and kept sitting next to the wall. She closed her eyes as she leaned back, assuring herself that Michael was okay and that Chris was going to be okay looking for him, since something could have easily happened to Michael and that thing could still be around.
Then, she heard the crack of gunfire.
Maddie's eyes bolted open and she was on her feet quickly. She turned her head to the source of the noise, but saw nothing. The sound must have come from somewhere outside of where Maddie could see. She quickly went over what she should do. Perhaps it was Chris who fired that shot, which meant that he had gotten into a fight with someone. Maddie listened for another noise, any other noise, but no noise came. If there was a fight, she figured she would have heard something more, a scream for help, more gunfire, anything. The fact that there was only a singular gunshot probably meant that a fight had ended just as quickly as it started.
She didn't know what to think. Was Chris okay? There was always the possibility that he was hurt, or worse, dead. Were they actually still fighting and she just wasn't aware of it? And what of Michael? Did that noise mean that he had been caught and killed earlier, and that's why he wasn't coming back? So many questions, so few answers.
Regardless, sitting out in the open likely wasn't the best course of action. Maddie moved all of their bags into the nearby store and poked her head out, watching. Waiting. Hoping that Chris or Michael would show up from around the corner, no worse for wear.
One minute, nothing.
Two minutes, still nothing.
Three minutes, all she could hear was the faint ringing from the blood running through her veins.
Four minutes and she had almost given up hope.
Five minutes and she was convinced that they were dead.
She picked up her own bag and slung it over her shoulder. She couldn't afford to stay any longer. If they were dead, that meant that whoever killed them was still in the mall, probably looking for her. If that was the case, she needed to get out, and soon. She considered taking Chris's and Michael's bags, they wouldn't need them if they were dead, but she still clung to the idea that they were alive. She decided that she would leave their bags, hidden just inside the store, just in case they were still alive so they could get them and go on without her.
She poked her head out of the store once again, half hoping to see one of them, but still she saw nothing. She turned away from the sound of the noise, towards one of the exits to the mall, and made her way out as quickly and quietly as she possibly could.
((Madeline Wilcox continued in Too Cold To Shiver))
He had told her that he was going to look for Michael, and she didn't object, Michael had been gone for awhile. She couldn't stand the thought of Michael getting hurt, he was too nice to deserve that. She told Chris good luck as he went and kept sitting next to the wall. She closed her eyes as she leaned back, assuring herself that Michael was okay and that Chris was going to be okay looking for him, since something could have easily happened to Michael and that thing could still be around.
Then, she heard the crack of gunfire.
Maddie's eyes bolted open and she was on her feet quickly. She turned her head to the source of the noise, but saw nothing. The sound must have come from somewhere outside of where Maddie could see. She quickly went over what she should do. Perhaps it was Chris who fired that shot, which meant that he had gotten into a fight with someone. Maddie listened for another noise, any other noise, but no noise came. If there was a fight, she figured she would have heard something more, a scream for help, more gunfire, anything. The fact that there was only a singular gunshot probably meant that a fight had ended just as quickly as it started.
She didn't know what to think. Was Chris okay? There was always the possibility that he was hurt, or worse, dead. Were they actually still fighting and she just wasn't aware of it? And what of Michael? Did that noise mean that he had been caught and killed earlier, and that's why he wasn't coming back? So many questions, so few answers.
Regardless, sitting out in the open likely wasn't the best course of action. Maddie moved all of their bags into the nearby store and poked her head out, watching. Waiting. Hoping that Chris or Michael would show up from around the corner, no worse for wear.
One minute, nothing.
Two minutes, still nothing.
Three minutes, all she could hear was the faint ringing from the blood running through her veins.
Four minutes and she had almost given up hope.
Five minutes and she was convinced that they were dead.
She picked up her own bag and slung it over her shoulder. She couldn't afford to stay any longer. If they were dead, that meant that whoever killed them was still in the mall, probably looking for her. If that was the case, she needed to get out, and soon. She considered taking Chris's and Michael's bags, they wouldn't need them if they were dead, but she still clung to the idea that they were alive. She decided that she would leave their bags, hidden just inside the store, just in case they were still alive so they could get them and go on without her.
She poked her head out of the store once again, half hoping to see one of them, but still she saw nothing. She turned away from the sound of the noise, towards one of the exits to the mall, and made her way out as quickly and quietly as she possibly could.
((Madeline Wilcox continued in Too Cold To Shiver))
-
NotAFlyingToy
- Posts: 323
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:49 am
- Location: Burlington, Canada
- Contact:
As the last echoes of the gunshot faded, and Chris fell to the floor - sans hair, face, and most of his head - Hansel slammed his back into the wall of the alcove, listening. He didn't look at Chris' gun, or stoop to pick it up. He just watched.
Waited.
When enough time passed by his judgement - when the dim glow of the sun through the windows began to fade, shadows began to shift, his hand became less visible - he figured it safe.
He laid down his bag, his shotgun, his winchester. He gripped Chris' body by the armpits, turned his face from the smell, and dragged him into the hallway, the remainder of his brain leaving a large, wet red trail from the alcove to the hallway.
He stooped down, picking up the nine millimeter handgun, clicking the safety on and studying it. Small, and rounded out his arsenal. Long range, short range, mobility. He had all he needed, now - all he could ever want to beat this thing. His resolve, his mind, food, water, a full med kit, and three guns.
Hansel couldn't explain why the back of his eyes were burning as he slid the gun into the front of his jeans, so that only the handle showed beneath his shirt.
Couldn't explain why he slid down the wall, just to the left of the trail of blood that oozed down and reflected the rapidly diminishing light.
Had no reason to pull his knees up to his chest, the cold metal of the pistol pressing into his stomach, wrap his arms around himself, and bury his head in his forearms.
He let the sudden tears come. He let them mount into wracking sobs that rattled his frame, announced his weakness, to the entire world. It didn't matter that he was judged, that he was measured, that he wouldn't ever live up to a man he kept reaching for but just wasn't able to touch.
All that mattered was that he'd murdered three people today.
All that mattered was that, tomorrow, he'd murder more.
So he allowed himself this moment of weakness to let nine days of hell come pouring out, emptying himself before he had to fill back up.
It was what he had to do.
((Hansel Williams, The Society of the Spectacle))
Waited.
When enough time passed by his judgement - when the dim glow of the sun through the windows began to fade, shadows began to shift, his hand became less visible - he figured it safe.
He laid down his bag, his shotgun, his winchester. He gripped Chris' body by the armpits, turned his face from the smell, and dragged him into the hallway, the remainder of his brain leaving a large, wet red trail from the alcove to the hallway.
He stooped down, picking up the nine millimeter handgun, clicking the safety on and studying it. Small, and rounded out his arsenal. Long range, short range, mobility. He had all he needed, now - all he could ever want to beat this thing. His resolve, his mind, food, water, a full med kit, and three guns.
Hansel couldn't explain why the back of his eyes were burning as he slid the gun into the front of his jeans, so that only the handle showed beneath his shirt.
Couldn't explain why he slid down the wall, just to the left of the trail of blood that oozed down and reflected the rapidly diminishing light.
Had no reason to pull his knees up to his chest, the cold metal of the pistol pressing into his stomach, wrap his arms around himself, and bury his head in his forearms.
He let the sudden tears come. He let them mount into wracking sobs that rattled his frame, announced his weakness, to the entire world. It didn't matter that he was judged, that he was measured, that he wouldn't ever live up to a man he kept reaching for but just wasn't able to touch.
All that mattered was that he'd murdered three people today.
All that mattered was that, tomorrow, he'd murder more.
So he allowed himself this moment of weakness to let nine days of hell come pouring out, emptying himself before he had to fill back up.
It was what he had to do.
((Hansel Williams, The Society of the Spectacle))