Ya Gotta Make That Play
Posted: Tue Jan 22, 2019 6:50 am
((Rutherford "R.J" Roger Jr.: B032 -V5- Continued From Don't Know How To Have Fun))
--- Day 2 ---
R.J. wouldn't be able to explain it, but this exercise room felt safe, deciding to take a break from walking for the moment. Maybe because it seemed like the walls muffled the noise. Not like it mattered much, as the announcements that had come on earlier let fear fulfill him. He had already certified that there was nowhere to be safe since he left the house he woke up in, but now the idea of there being nobody to be safe from was creeping in, and it slowly progressed when he remembered the familiar names.
"Fuckers."
A baseball teammate committed suicide, people he had gone to church with had murdered. This was all kinds of shit. He grabbed the instruction manual of his MAT-49, which he had neglected reading until this point. Read it's history, read about it's mechanics, read it's basics. It didn't make a lot of sense, but it was a WW2 gun that shot bullets really really fast, so hey. Although he already guessed that part, having it in print made R.J. put some confidence in his weapon.
"Good for scares at least..."
He ate some food, which was effectively just half a bottle of water and another of those ration bars. He read the instruction manual a bit more, but was getting antsy staying in this exercise room. Perhaps there was something else to kill his time. With a final fold and a clack of metal. R.J. ventured off to explore this building some more. He saw some classrooms, and it was made obvious that this place was a school. The dead body also made it obvious that this was gonna be a shit evening.
Burying it would take too much time, and there wasn't much that would fix anyway. Dead was dead, 6 feet under or not. But, he didn't want to keep looking at this scene and maybe he could leave the body in a much less...distorted state. He could do that much at least. Taking a few deep breaths and debating whether this was a good thing or not, he dragged the body by the collar of the shirt and led it to the nearest classroom on the first floor. Saying some very awkward ashes-to-ashes words for Francis' corpse, he walked up the stairs and went inside the nearest classroom.
Flustered, he sat down in a chair and pulled on his hair and scalp. There was a dead classmate in the room below him. He needed to ignore that for now. It wasn't healthy to keep that on the mind. He checked the desks and drawers and everything else to find something to preoccupy him. Post-it notes and semi-dry highlighters. That was something. He took 3 post-it notes and the orange highlighter and decided to doodle.
He sneezed. He thought about the corpse. He began flipping the flip-book over and over and over, trying to force all the frustration out of his thoughts. No dice. He crumpled the flip-book away in a huff and kicked the chair next to him far, frustrated at everything. He grasped his hair again and was on the verge of making himself bald, banging his head against the table. R.J. sneezed again and looked down at the floor. He saw the gun and stared at it. He zipped the bag all the way closed.
"Not tonight."
--- Day 2 ---
R.J. wouldn't be able to explain it, but this exercise room felt safe, deciding to take a break from walking for the moment. Maybe because it seemed like the walls muffled the noise. Not like it mattered much, as the announcements that had come on earlier let fear fulfill him. He had already certified that there was nowhere to be safe since he left the house he woke up in, but now the idea of there being nobody to be safe from was creeping in, and it slowly progressed when he remembered the familiar names.
"Fuckers."
A baseball teammate committed suicide, people he had gone to church with had murdered. This was all kinds of shit. He grabbed the instruction manual of his MAT-49, which he had neglected reading until this point. Read it's history, read about it's mechanics, read it's basics. It didn't make a lot of sense, but it was a WW2 gun that shot bullets really really fast, so hey. Although he already guessed that part, having it in print made R.J. put some confidence in his weapon.
"Good for scares at least..."
He ate some food, which was effectively just half a bottle of water and another of those ration bars. He read the instruction manual a bit more, but was getting antsy staying in this exercise room. Perhaps there was something else to kill his time. With a final fold and a clack of metal. R.J. ventured off to explore this building some more. He saw some classrooms, and it was made obvious that this place was a school. The dead body also made it obvious that this was gonna be a shit evening.
Burying it would take too much time, and there wasn't much that would fix anyway. Dead was dead, 6 feet under or not. But, he didn't want to keep looking at this scene and maybe he could leave the body in a much less...distorted state. He could do that much at least. Taking a few deep breaths and debating whether this was a good thing or not, he dragged the body by the collar of the shirt and led it to the nearest classroom on the first floor. Saying some very awkward ashes-to-ashes words for Francis' corpse, he walked up the stairs and went inside the nearest classroom.
Flustered, he sat down in a chair and pulled on his hair and scalp. There was a dead classmate in the room below him. He needed to ignore that for now. It wasn't healthy to keep that on the mind. He checked the desks and drawers and everything else to find something to preoccupy him. Post-it notes and semi-dry highlighters. That was something. He took 3 post-it notes and the orange highlighter and decided to doodle.
He sneezed. He thought about the corpse. He began flipping the flip-book over and over and over, trying to force all the frustration out of his thoughts. No dice. He crumpled the flip-book away in a huff and kicked the chair next to him far, frustrated at everything. He grasped his hair again and was on the verge of making himself bald, banging his head against the table. R.J. sneezed again and looked down at the floor. He saw the gun and stared at it. He zipped the bag all the way closed.
"Not tonight."