Justin sat up, propping his upper body at a steep angle on both elbows. He watched yet another one of his many mistakes play out in a short film while Aliya crumpled to the ground. It had only just happened and he wished he could take it back. The universe owed him just one re-do, one shot to retry anything and get a different result. He should have fired wide, or up into the sky. He should not have fired at all. Justin stared at the gun to his side and for just a flash that lasted less than a second, he thought he might have wished to turn it on himself because then at least he wouldn't be fucking anything else up for once.
The time for self-loathing was cut short as he struggled to process Aliya laying on the ground, Aliya moving, Aliya talking and addressing him.
"Nononono..." Justin moaned, trying to sit up the rest of the way. It was too much to bear on his core and he found himself taking the lazy option of rolling onto his side and pushing up that way, scrambling to all fours and clambering to where Aliya lay on the ground, the gun discarded and forgotten where he'd tumbled. He didn't mean it, Justin mentally said and the words drew a sour feeling from his cheeks. His stomach didn't get the memo or he would have surely puked. Those words and any others he tried to summon up all sounded superficial or woefully inadequate, because nothing he could say could ever make this better. So he didn't try, because Aliya deserved more than a half-measure.
She deserved better than him.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Justin rambled frantically. He was close enough to Aliya that he could almost touch her. There was a lot of blood seeping from the wound in her chest from just one well-placed bullet from a semi-random spray. His fault. Warn- no, accident... accident, the word had no meaning. Warning, no. Saving himself, no. Fear, yes. He'd only registered mind-numbing panic and so he recalled no conscious thought attached to what he did, but HE did it. Justin panicked and stuttered and tugged impotently at his collar as he alternately whined or choked on the snot pooling in his nose. He did so for ten seconds, maybe more or less before he turned all around like a dog chasing his tail. He did a full revolution and then part of the way the other way before his darting eyes registered his daypack, also discarded in the fall along with his gun.
He dug through, turning the contents inside out until he found the first-aid kit. "Gunna-gunna-it's gonna k-k-b-be okay, I'll fix you, we t- can- we can talk, talking's fine! Talking's fine!"
Please work.
Please something go right.
you're nobody till somebody kills you
Day 8 Now; Post Announcement; Open
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
It was sad, watching Justin as he tried his best to fix yet another mistake. But much like with Gervais there was nothing that could be done. Aliya knew because she could feel her body growing cold as her blood flowed out onto the dirt and grass. She was running out of time. That was the truth of the situation. Justin was fumbling around with a first aid kit and Aliya winced at the thought of it being used.
He was in a panic and flailing around to find anyway to fix the situation. There was no fixing it though. She was dying and it hurt to know that Justin had shot her by accident more than anything. Aliya felt like she had wasted all of the days she had been given. She hadn’t succeeded at helping anyone. The proof of that was the fact Justin had shot her. After she had stuck by him when they had first woken up. There was still a lingering anger at him despite her attempt to keep it suppressed. Her eyes followed Justin as he moved because her body wouldn’t respond.
“It’s not gonna be.” She managed to say. Her mouth felt dry and she was starting to have trouble focusing. “But it’s alright.”
Aliya blinked a few times, an attempt to clear her vision and stop the tears that had started to fall. She was scared but she kept her face level, tried not to let it show. Several breaths faltered in her throat as she tried to get enough air into her lungs to continue. She wanted to put her hand on Justin’s arm to try and comfort him, because as angry as she was, she could see he needed help too. But her body just wouldn’t listen and her hand merely twitched gently. So she settled for something else.
“I forgive you.”
A beautiful lie.
He was in a panic and flailing around to find anyway to fix the situation. There was no fixing it though. She was dying and it hurt to know that Justin had shot her by accident more than anything. Aliya felt like she had wasted all of the days she had been given. She hadn’t succeeded at helping anyone. The proof of that was the fact Justin had shot her. After she had stuck by him when they had first woken up. There was still a lingering anger at him despite her attempt to keep it suppressed. Her eyes followed Justin as he moved because her body wouldn’t respond.
“It’s not gonna be.” She managed to say. Her mouth felt dry and she was starting to have trouble focusing. “But it’s alright.”
Aliya blinked a few times, an attempt to clear her vision and stop the tears that had started to fall. She was scared but she kept her face level, tried not to let it show. Several breaths faltered in her throat as she tried to get enough air into her lungs to continue. She wanted to put her hand on Justin’s arm to try and comfort him, because as angry as she was, she could see he needed help too. But her body just wouldn’t listen and her hand merely twitched gently. So she settled for something else.
“I forgive you.”
A beautiful lie.
G047 - Aliya Kimia Nemati: Deceased
63 Students Remain
63 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
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin didn't really know what to say to that, other than he desperately wanted to believe her.
If anybody could be that kind of person, to forgive the person who had shot her, it'd be Aliya. Her understanding nature had remained consistent from day one all the way to now. The only people that could handle that kind of consistency were those with enough conviction to remain true to who they were, or those who broke straight away. Both he and Aliya were nothing if not consistent, so they had that in common. Even now, she had faith in him. It would make him cry if Justin weren't already choking back sobs of fear with one hand on the first aid kit that was now halfway out of his bag.
"Aliya?"
Just like that, she'd stopped breathing. Justin stopped crying, leaving the tears staining his cheeks as orphans. There was nothing to be done anymore. Aliya was dead.
And he was relieved, in a melancholy sort of way. She'd forgiven him and he no longer had to dread their encounter or what would happen come the end of all this. She wasn't in pain anymore, she'd escaped from all of this. That was the only way Justin could think of this, to process this, as he tentatively reached a hand out to her face and pulled it back several inches from contact. After a terrible pain, this didn't feel so bad, even if nothing was okay.
She forgave him. That made one of them.
If anybody could be that kind of person, to forgive the person who had shot her, it'd be Aliya. Her understanding nature had remained consistent from day one all the way to now. The only people that could handle that kind of consistency were those with enough conviction to remain true to who they were, or those who broke straight away. Both he and Aliya were nothing if not consistent, so they had that in common. Even now, she had faith in him. It would make him cry if Justin weren't already choking back sobs of fear with one hand on the first aid kit that was now halfway out of his bag.
"Aliya?"
Just like that, she'd stopped breathing. Justin stopped crying, leaving the tears staining his cheeks as orphans. There was nothing to be done anymore. Aliya was dead.
And he was relieved, in a melancholy sort of way. She'd forgiven him and he no longer had to dread their encounter or what would happen come the end of all this. She wasn't in pain anymore, she'd escaped from all of this. That was the only way Justin could think of this, to process this, as he tentatively reached a hand out to her face and pulled it back several inches from contact. After a terrible pain, this didn't feel so bad, even if nothing was okay.
She forgave him. That made one of them.
“Motherfucker!”, he barked, “Get the fuck away from her!”
It was a voice that sounded like his father’s more so than his own. Deep and guttural. Coming from his core.
The command was punctuated by a gunshot. A shotgun blast in the air. An exclamation point to an order. A message being sent. A language both boys understood.
“Now!”
He had been praying that he wouldn’t be too late—when he had heard the gunshot he knew he had been. Even in his haste, even sprinting towards the sound of gunfire—he wondered what he would do? Would he go in there blazing? What if it had been Aliya who had won? What if it wasn't either of them and he was walking into another situation entirely?
Did this gunshot mean that Justin had killed Tirzah? For the BKA prize? What did that mean and how did he feel about it? The questions were relentless.
And what of the answers? The ones he received when he arrived on the scene said more than enough. Aliya hadn’t won. Justin had killed again. Another friend gone—one moment to the next.
And once more—Justin didn’t look like much. He looked soft, scared…sad. This was the big bad killer. This was the boy who had killed Jackson and attacked Ace and now had murdered Aliya in cold blood. Those were just the ones Ace had been there for. That was just the shit that had happened to him. That was just the shit Ace cared about.
Why had he fired in the air and not at Justin? Why had he let Aliya go alone?
There was so many questions…
His anger, at Justin, at Aliya a little bit and himself a lot—left little room for answers.
“You don’t get to fuckin’ feel bad,” he said, his voice cracking that was much more his own voice than his father’s, “Your feelings don’t fuckin’ count no more, dick—not out here, not when it comes to fuckin’ her.”
His hands fumbled with the mechanism of the SPAS-12, trying his best to get another round in position, the gun now trained and pointed at Justin. His hands still trembling. Probably hadn’t stopped since yesterday.
It was a voice that sounded like his father’s more so than his own. Deep and guttural. Coming from his core.
The command was punctuated by a gunshot. A shotgun blast in the air. An exclamation point to an order. A message being sent. A language both boys understood.
“Now!”
He had been praying that he wouldn’t be too late—when he had heard the gunshot he knew he had been. Even in his haste, even sprinting towards the sound of gunfire—he wondered what he would do? Would he go in there blazing? What if it had been Aliya who had won? What if it wasn't either of them and he was walking into another situation entirely?
Did this gunshot mean that Justin had killed Tirzah? For the BKA prize? What did that mean and how did he feel about it? The questions were relentless.
And what of the answers? The ones he received when he arrived on the scene said more than enough. Aliya hadn’t won. Justin had killed again. Another friend gone—one moment to the next.
And once more—Justin didn’t look like much. He looked soft, scared…sad. This was the big bad killer. This was the boy who had killed Jackson and attacked Ace and now had murdered Aliya in cold blood. Those were just the ones Ace had been there for. That was just the shit that had happened to him. That was just the shit Ace cared about.
Why had he fired in the air and not at Justin? Why had he let Aliya go alone?
There was so many questions…
His anger, at Justin, at Aliya a little bit and himself a lot—left little room for answers.
“You don’t get to fuckin’ feel bad,” he said, his voice cracking that was much more his own voice than his father’s, “Your feelings don’t fuckin’ count no more, dick—not out here, not when it comes to fuckin’ her.”
His hands fumbled with the mechanism of the SPAS-12, trying his best to get another round in position, the gun now trained and pointed at Justin. His hands still trembling. Probably hadn’t stopped since yesterday.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin fell back onto his ass and winced; his tailbone still ached from falling just a minute or so before and the impact could be felt with no small degree of potency up his spine. It was more than that, though, that caused him to flinch away. It was bizarre to think of it in such a way, but he felt like his dad had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar and he scuttled back almost sheepishly, half-numb from Aliya staring holes through him with half-lidded eyes.
Justin was still scooting along the ground when Ace yelled, followed by a roaring blast from the shotgun in the boy's hands. The ringing returned to Justin's ears with yet another explosion in such a short period of time and he had a quick underlying thought that when he made it out of all of this, he'd really have to see a doctor about his ears.
The danger of the gun was the primary thing driving him; the gun he'd shot wildly in his panic and... did what he did to Aliya, he'd let it fall to the ground around the same place he'd fallen, at least twenty feet away from Aliya's body. That was too far to go if Ace wanted him dead, and Justin had no reason to assume he didn't. He didn't understand why he wasn't being shot at right away, beyond the possibility that Ace was every bit as shocked as he was at what had happened.
But as Justin snatched at the longest strap of his daypack and dragged it with him, he listened to Ace's words with clenched teeth. Indignation at being told how to feel or more specifically how he was not allowed to feel bounced off of the insides of his skull. What gripped his heart and tied it into a knot was a different but closely related feeling: the understanding that Ace was pretty much right. Aliya might have forgiven him but nobody else would, and sitting there feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to keep anybody from putting a bullet right back into him.
"I didn't do-" Justin started to say. A slip of the tongue. He wasn't denying he did it, he only meant to deny that he MEANT to do it, but his brain had skipped that important modifier. He tried again, and got as far as 'I' before deciding talking was a waste of time.
He had Nia's gun in his waistband ever since before picking up his new weapon at the paddies, and it was time to see how reliable that thing could be. Still in a crouched position that only barely separated his butt from the ground, Justin fumbled his hand into his general crotch area and pulled the gun out, raising it.
Ace was right. He didn't have the right to feel sorry about anything he did any more.
Justin just barely remembered to slap the safety off before he pulled the trigger.
Justin was still scooting along the ground when Ace yelled, followed by a roaring blast from the shotgun in the boy's hands. The ringing returned to Justin's ears with yet another explosion in such a short period of time and he had a quick underlying thought that when he made it out of all of this, he'd really have to see a doctor about his ears.
The danger of the gun was the primary thing driving him; the gun he'd shot wildly in his panic and... did what he did to Aliya, he'd let it fall to the ground around the same place he'd fallen, at least twenty feet away from Aliya's body. That was too far to go if Ace wanted him dead, and Justin had no reason to assume he didn't. He didn't understand why he wasn't being shot at right away, beyond the possibility that Ace was every bit as shocked as he was at what had happened.
But as Justin snatched at the longest strap of his daypack and dragged it with him, he listened to Ace's words with clenched teeth. Indignation at being told how to feel or more specifically how he was not allowed to feel bounced off of the insides of his skull. What gripped his heart and tied it into a knot was a different but closely related feeling: the understanding that Ace was pretty much right. Aliya might have forgiven him but nobody else would, and sitting there feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to keep anybody from putting a bullet right back into him.
"I didn't do-" Justin started to say. A slip of the tongue. He wasn't denying he did it, he only meant to deny that he MEANT to do it, but his brain had skipped that important modifier. He tried again, and got as far as 'I' before deciding talking was a waste of time.
He had Nia's gun in his waistband ever since before picking up his new weapon at the paddies, and it was time to see how reliable that thing could be. Still in a crouched position that only barely separated his butt from the ground, Justin fumbled his hand into his general crotch area and pulled the gun out, raising it.
Ace was right. He didn't have the right to feel sorry about anything he did any more.
Justin just barely remembered to slap the safety off before he pulled the trigger.
Having a gun pulled on him, having a gun fired at him—it was old news at this point.
A week ago when Declyn had walked into that room with the gun pointed at him—Ace had felt scared. Now? It was hard to say. He felt nervous, maybe. Anxious, definitely. His adrenaline pumped and his mind began working in that slow motion it kept on reserve until the fourth quarter. A week ago, Declyn with a gun had scared him--but now Declyn was dead and Ace was still there, so what was being scared worth? Not much where he stood.
Ace fumbled with the shotgun—Justin stumbled and fumbled and mumbled his way into firing his 9mm at the George Hunter High running back.
Aceito hit the muthafuckin’ ‘B’ button, spinning to the side and feeling the wind whiz by along with hearing the now familiar sound of gunfire. He spun and just as quickly he found himself about a yard or so to his left with the gun now ready to be fired and pointed in Justin’s direction.
Shit!
It was a pistol vs a shotgun: he could win. It was a division 1 athlete vs a chubby, loser piece of shit--the odds were in his favor. Ace was good, Justin was evil--he had the moral high ground. It wasn't supposed to be like this--Justin killing someone like Aliya. He didn't deserve to have her blood on his hands any more so than she deserved to die in the first place. Justin was a coward--he was desperate and soft and weak. There was no honor in what he did. He was pathetic. Ace felt angry at both himself and the feeling Justin seemed to provoke within him.
I can beat this motherfucker--blow his brains out, fuck him up. I can fuckin' do it. It can be me. This my fuckin ' moment, this my fuckin' time to shine.
He finished his spin move, he pointed and aimed the shotgun—the only thing he had fired prior to the island had been a .22. The only thing he had hunted was squirrel. This wasn't squirrel hunting.
It hadn’t made a difference for Parker.
He doubted Justin had shot much before comin’ out here—it hadn’t made a difference for Aliya.
He dodged the incoming shot with his agility, he got into position and rose the gun again—then he fired. Hoping to either hit Justin or scare him off.
He didn’t know which he wanted more.
A week ago when Declyn had walked into that room with the gun pointed at him—Ace had felt scared. Now? It was hard to say. He felt nervous, maybe. Anxious, definitely. His adrenaline pumped and his mind began working in that slow motion it kept on reserve until the fourth quarter. A week ago, Declyn with a gun had scared him--but now Declyn was dead and Ace was still there, so what was being scared worth? Not much where he stood.
Ace fumbled with the shotgun—Justin stumbled and fumbled and mumbled his way into firing his 9mm at the George Hunter High running back.
Aceito hit the muthafuckin’ ‘B’ button, spinning to the side and feeling the wind whiz by along with hearing the now familiar sound of gunfire. He spun and just as quickly he found himself about a yard or so to his left with the gun now ready to be fired and pointed in Justin’s direction.
Shit!
It was a pistol vs a shotgun: he could win. It was a division 1 athlete vs a chubby, loser piece of shit--the odds were in his favor. Ace was good, Justin was evil--he had the moral high ground. It wasn't supposed to be like this--Justin killing someone like Aliya. He didn't deserve to have her blood on his hands any more so than she deserved to die in the first place. Justin was a coward--he was desperate and soft and weak. There was no honor in what he did. He was pathetic. Ace felt angry at both himself and the feeling Justin seemed to provoke within him.
I can beat this motherfucker--blow his brains out, fuck him up. I can fuckin' do it. It can be me. This my fuckin ' moment, this my fuckin' time to shine.
He finished his spin move, he pointed and aimed the shotgun—the only thing he had fired prior to the island had been a .22. The only thing he had hunted was squirrel. This wasn't squirrel hunting.
It hadn’t made a difference for Parker.
He doubted Justin had shot much before comin’ out here—it hadn’t made a difference for Aliya.
He dodged the incoming shot with his agility, he got into position and rose the gun again—then he fired. Hoping to either hit Justin or scare him off.
He didn’t know which he wanted more.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin had a plan B.
Plan A, of course, was 'shoot Ace, hopefully hit him, and get yet another kill added to the long list'. That would require something else going right and apparently two in a row was just too much a gift to ask for from the universe. But it turns out, get fucked over by the world enough times and you'll at least start bringing your own lube to the appointment. Justin was already on his feet; nearly toppling backwards again because of the off-balance fashion in how he stood up, but he was up, and he was moving his feet in a way resembling human footfalls sufficiently enough to throw his body forward in a repeating state of freefall where each time a foot kicked off the ground to delay his landing for another quarter second.
Ace shot again and this time it wasn't a warning to get off his lawn. He wanted to kill Justin and while Justin couldn't really blame him, the urge to live heavily outweighed any desire to make Ace feel better while wallowing in his own guilt. Plan B was going swimmingly, he decided, when the gunshot cracked and faded and he wasn't dead yet. He ran for the nearest house that offered a wall to remove line of sight between himself and Ace and pressed his shoulder to the wall as he stared out from the 'alley' into the open space he'd just come from.
While he'd escaped Ace for the time being, putting himself in a narrow space wouldn't be doing him any favors if Ace lined up to follow him into an environment where he practically could not miss. Outrunning him, like Aliya, wouldn't be an option either so he'd have to either lose him somehow, drive him off... or kill him, of course. He didn't have his daypack or his shiny new gun, as he'd left both out there... he could even see them, right where he left them. "Fuuuuuughhhh..." Justin cursed under his breath, panting.
His ass hurt. It really, REALLY hurt.
Plan A, of course, was 'shoot Ace, hopefully hit him, and get yet another kill added to the long list'. That would require something else going right and apparently two in a row was just too much a gift to ask for from the universe. But it turns out, get fucked over by the world enough times and you'll at least start bringing your own lube to the appointment. Justin was already on his feet; nearly toppling backwards again because of the off-balance fashion in how he stood up, but he was up, and he was moving his feet in a way resembling human footfalls sufficiently enough to throw his body forward in a repeating state of freefall where each time a foot kicked off the ground to delay his landing for another quarter second.
Ace shot again and this time it wasn't a warning to get off his lawn. He wanted to kill Justin and while Justin couldn't really blame him, the urge to live heavily outweighed any desire to make Ace feel better while wallowing in his own guilt. Plan B was going swimmingly, he decided, when the gunshot cracked and faded and he wasn't dead yet. He ran for the nearest house that offered a wall to remove line of sight between himself and Ace and pressed his shoulder to the wall as he stared out from the 'alley' into the open space he'd just come from.
While he'd escaped Ace for the time being, putting himself in a narrow space wouldn't be doing him any favors if Ace lined up to follow him into an environment where he practically could not miss. Outrunning him, like Aliya, wouldn't be an option either so he'd have to either lose him somehow, drive him off... or kill him, of course. He didn't have his daypack or his shiny new gun, as he'd left both out there... he could even see them, right where he left them. "Fuuuuuughhhh..." Justin cursed under his breath, panting.
His ass hurt. It really, REALLY hurt.
And now I’m rollin’ down Rodeo with a shotgun
These people ain’t seen a brown skinned man
Since their grandparents bought one!
Rap lyric for everything...
Though now was not the fuckin' time for that nonsense!
Not like that had ever stopped Ace before.
He had fired a gun before, hell, he had killed a man before at this point—but he had never really gotten the appeal surrounding guns. He had never been so excited by violence or that entranced by power that couldn’t be achieved with the physical. A gun was so mechanical and feeling powerful when firing one so easy.
Because—everybody felt powerful when they fired a gun.
Because: guns were fuckin’ powerful.
The shotgun blast rang in his ears and the weapon shook in his hand. Justin stumbled and ran behind a house, abandoning the corpse of Aliya and his pack and Ace and his dignity in the process.
And Ace felt fuckin’ powerful, victorious—like he had just pulled off a juke or gotten a first down. A small success. A little victory—but it was hard to savor. Aliya’s body still there and fresh and bleeding. The adrenaline still pumping in his mind, fear and doubt beginning to take hold now that the glory of gunfire was fading.
“Yeah! You fuckin’ run! Pussy piece of shit!”
Justin ran and hid behind a house, out of Ace’s sight but still nearby. Ace had his gun trained at the corner, at the structure Justin had hid behind.
One eye at the house, he turned his head to Aliya’s corpse and Justin’s bag, another eye on the scene of the crime.
One eye on the house, his peripheral on the bag and Aliya.
He inched forward, one step at a time.
“Run and fuckin’ hide! On my momma, next time it’s your fuckin’ skull!”
One eye on the house, the other on the bag. One eye on the house, the other on the bag.
His mind racing and his focus darting and switching rapidly between the two.
These people ain’t seen a brown skinned man
Since their grandparents bought one!
Rap lyric for everything...
Though now was not the fuckin' time for that nonsense!
Not like that had ever stopped Ace before.
He had fired a gun before, hell, he had killed a man before at this point—but he had never really gotten the appeal surrounding guns. He had never been so excited by violence or that entranced by power that couldn’t be achieved with the physical. A gun was so mechanical and feeling powerful when firing one so easy.
Because—everybody felt powerful when they fired a gun.
Because: guns were fuckin’ powerful.
The shotgun blast rang in his ears and the weapon shook in his hand. Justin stumbled and ran behind a house, abandoning the corpse of Aliya and his pack and Ace and his dignity in the process.
And Ace felt fuckin’ powerful, victorious—like he had just pulled off a juke or gotten a first down. A small success. A little victory—but it was hard to savor. Aliya’s body still there and fresh and bleeding. The adrenaline still pumping in his mind, fear and doubt beginning to take hold now that the glory of gunfire was fading.
“Yeah! You fuckin’ run! Pussy piece of shit!”
Justin ran and hid behind a house, out of Ace’s sight but still nearby. Ace had his gun trained at the corner, at the structure Justin had hid behind.
One eye at the house, he turned his head to Aliya’s corpse and Justin’s bag, another eye on the scene of the crime.
One eye on the house, his peripheral on the bag and Aliya.
He inched forward, one step at a time.
“Run and fuckin’ hide! On my momma, next time it’s your fuckin’ skull!”
One eye on the house, the other on the bag. One eye on the house, the other on the bag.
His mind racing and his focus darting and switching rapidly between the two.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Ace said something. Justin didn't hear him; his heart was pounding in his ears, the sound of rushing blood overpowering just about everything else. He crept closer to the corner, where he knew Ace would be waiting. If he'd only listened to what Aliya had to say...
Justin stopped thinking about that, because that was a reality that didn't exist. He hadn't listened and panic gripped him just like it had on any other day, and in his wild flailing he had managed to kill again. Those he killed didn't die because he'd somehow overtaken them like he was some kind of fighter. He struck Benny before the guy had probably woken up all the way. Mackenzie was sleeping and trusted her life with him. He almost got Ace by lying and taking him by surprise; Jackson ended up paying for that one with a lucky shot. Nia, Johnny? Probably the closest thing to a fair fight, but if Nia hadn't hesitated, he would have been dead. He only got out of that because Nia did what anybody who wasn't a killer would have done. She panicked too.
Ace had to be scared too. They were all scared of this island and anybody else on it who might have used to be a friend. The friends were probably scarier than the bullies, because they could use trust against you or make you pause out of not wanting to kill them, and that's how they got you. He had to let go of that, and had to stop feeling bad for what happened to Aliya.
If it wasn't her, it would have been me. If it wasn't her it would have been me. If it wasn't her it's me it's me not her it's me not her me her me...
Justin stifled a whine as he thumped his temple against the wall of the house, struggling with what he was about to do. Like smacking an engine to make it run smoothly, he hoped to knock his wandering mind back onto course and sort out his options. The bag still out there was his livelihood, containing the food and water he'd lifted off of the two in the boathouse, as well as his other supplies, including the rifle and the tire iron. Why didn't he have the tire iron with him right now? Even if he couldn't think of something specific to do with it, it had kept him safe so many times before and just being able to grip that rigid shaft and working it in his hands could, at the very least, release some pressure and anxiety. Much more, there was the gun that Tirzah had let him have. He couldn't run. That meant he'd have to try and drive Ace off, or kill him.
Justin held his breath and turned past the corner in a low stance, timidly crouching but ready to leap back like a suspicious stray on the road. The gun and one eye poked out. Firing one-handed was sure to be less than ideally accurate but it could still get the job done. He just needed to force Ace to take cover or back off, even a little bit.
He squeezed the trigger and slackened his knuckle when the gun went off. He squeezed it twice more, just for good measure, his wrist wavering just a little each time.
Justin stopped thinking about that, because that was a reality that didn't exist. He hadn't listened and panic gripped him just like it had on any other day, and in his wild flailing he had managed to kill again. Those he killed didn't die because he'd somehow overtaken them like he was some kind of fighter. He struck Benny before the guy had probably woken up all the way. Mackenzie was sleeping and trusted her life with him. He almost got Ace by lying and taking him by surprise; Jackson ended up paying for that one with a lucky shot. Nia, Johnny? Probably the closest thing to a fair fight, but if Nia hadn't hesitated, he would have been dead. He only got out of that because Nia did what anybody who wasn't a killer would have done. She panicked too.
Ace had to be scared too. They were all scared of this island and anybody else on it who might have used to be a friend. The friends were probably scarier than the bullies, because they could use trust against you or make you pause out of not wanting to kill them, and that's how they got you. He had to let go of that, and had to stop feeling bad for what happened to Aliya.
If it wasn't her, it would have been me. If it wasn't her it would have been me. If it wasn't her it's me it's me not her it's me not her me her me...
Justin stifled a whine as he thumped his temple against the wall of the house, struggling with what he was about to do. Like smacking an engine to make it run smoothly, he hoped to knock his wandering mind back onto course and sort out his options. The bag still out there was his livelihood, containing the food and water he'd lifted off of the two in the boathouse, as well as his other supplies, including the rifle and the tire iron. Why didn't he have the tire iron with him right now? Even if he couldn't think of something specific to do with it, it had kept him safe so many times before and just being able to grip that rigid shaft and working it in his hands could, at the very least, release some pressure and anxiety. Much more, there was the gun that Tirzah had let him have. He couldn't run. That meant he'd have to try and drive Ace off, or kill him.
Justin held his breath and turned past the corner in a low stance, timidly crouching but ready to leap back like a suspicious stray on the road. The gun and one eye poked out. Firing one-handed was sure to be less than ideally accurate but it could still get the job done. He just needed to force Ace to take cover or back off, even a little bit.
He squeezed the trigger and slackened his knuckle when the gun went off. He squeezed it twice more, just for good measure, his wrist wavering just a little each time.
One step at a time.
Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
Slow and steady. Stay focused. Be present.
One step at a time.
Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
And so it was for a few seconds, him inching towards Aliya and thusly ever so much closer to the bag. His eyes still on the corner where Justin had ducked behind. His finger still on the trigger. He couldn’t hesitate, he had to shoot—on sight. It was no different from war, right? Kill or be called upon. They were soldiers, having no more control of the wars they fought or they people they killed as actual ones.
But, he knew, in his heart of hearts that he wasn’t a soldier. He knew, deep in his core, that he wasn’t built for heroics. Meilin had been—when faced with a killer she didn’t run away, she ran towards. Aliya had been—more concerned with his own safety, determined to catch Justin for whatever reason and armed only with her nature and her reputation.
They were soldiers. He wasn't.
He was just a boy playing one.
Inch by inch, moment by moment, step by step—one foot in front of the other.
Until Justin reappeared, crouched over, finger on the trigger. Gun blazing.
Ace felt the wind whiz by his ear, followed by a sharp, seething, burning pain and a powerful, desperate ringing.
He wanted to shoot. He was trying to shoot.
Two more shots, he jumped and tumbled to the side.
His finger went to his ear instead of the trigger. His finger felt the slickness of blood.
He wanted to shoot. He was trying to shoot.
He ran for cover instead. Ducking and diving towards the nearest house, running with much more quickness than he had been stepping. His pack and his weapon banging about as he scurried.
He got me! He fuckin’ got me!
Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
Slow and steady. Stay focused. Be present.
One step at a time.
Inch by inch, moment by moment—one foot in front of the other.
And so it was for a few seconds, him inching towards Aliya and thusly ever so much closer to the bag. His eyes still on the corner where Justin had ducked behind. His finger still on the trigger. He couldn’t hesitate, he had to shoot—on sight. It was no different from war, right? Kill or be called upon. They were soldiers, having no more control of the wars they fought or they people they killed as actual ones.
But, he knew, in his heart of hearts that he wasn’t a soldier. He knew, deep in his core, that he wasn’t built for heroics. Meilin had been—when faced with a killer she didn’t run away, she ran towards. Aliya had been—more concerned with his own safety, determined to catch Justin for whatever reason and armed only with her nature and her reputation.
They were soldiers. He wasn't.
He was just a boy playing one.
Inch by inch, moment by moment, step by step—one foot in front of the other.
Until Justin reappeared, crouched over, finger on the trigger. Gun blazing.
Ace felt the wind whiz by his ear, followed by a sharp, seething, burning pain and a powerful, desperate ringing.
He wanted to shoot. He was trying to shoot.
Two more shots, he jumped and tumbled to the side.
His finger went to his ear instead of the trigger. His finger felt the slickness of blood.
He wanted to shoot. He was trying to shoot.
He ran for cover instead. Ducking and diving towards the nearest house, running with much more quickness than he had been stepping. His pack and his weapon banging about as he scurried.
He got me! He fuckin’ got me!
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Back off, you fucker! Back off, back off, go away!
Justin mentally screamed that and similar things, either as coherent mental thoughts or just the general idea, visualizing an area without Ace in it. Once again, he recognized the bag as his main livelihood and Ace was definitely making a move for it. If he let his bag be taken, he was basically dead in the water. Ace would have killed him without actually killing him, forcing Justin to either die or make an unsafe move to regain supplies, a move out of yet more panic and desperation, and the follow up to that option was probably die. DIe, or die.
He recognized his being pinned and needed to take a big risk here so he didn't have to take a bigger one later. Justin came barreling out of his corner firing a shot at the corner Ace had gone to. BANG! First shot went wide, it had hit nothing as far as he could tell and went whizzing onward somewhere else on the island, probably to hit a tree or something. Justin waited four, five steps to fire again at the corner, just trying to keep Ace scared and behind the corner.
BANG! This time it hit the corner of the derelict structure, sending chips of wood splintering off. Justin only looked at the aftermath of the gunshot for a moment before turning his attention to the bag, scooping the strap up and yanking it over his neck. He ran for the fallen SMG next...
The strangely familiar sound of tearing canvas was a frigid ice pick to the heart of the desperate-to-flee Justin. He'd heard a sound like it before, when Nia's bag tore in her arms to cause enough hesitation for him to-
Justin instinctively reacted and cradled the bag with both arms, clutching it to his side. He stumbled to his knees, grabbed the gun he'd dropped earlier and picked a direction. He didn't have the means to do anything but run as he juggled all of his belongings, so he simply ran.
Justin mentally screamed that and similar things, either as coherent mental thoughts or just the general idea, visualizing an area without Ace in it. Once again, he recognized the bag as his main livelihood and Ace was definitely making a move for it. If he let his bag be taken, he was basically dead in the water. Ace would have killed him without actually killing him, forcing Justin to either die or make an unsafe move to regain supplies, a move out of yet more panic and desperation, and the follow up to that option was probably die. DIe, or die.
He recognized his being pinned and needed to take a big risk here so he didn't have to take a bigger one later. Justin came barreling out of his corner firing a shot at the corner Ace had gone to. BANG! First shot went wide, it had hit nothing as far as he could tell and went whizzing onward somewhere else on the island, probably to hit a tree or something. Justin waited four, five steps to fire again at the corner, just trying to keep Ace scared and behind the corner.
BANG! This time it hit the corner of the derelict structure, sending chips of wood splintering off. Justin only looked at the aftermath of the gunshot for a moment before turning his attention to the bag, scooping the strap up and yanking it over his neck. He ran for the fallen SMG next...
The strangely familiar sound of tearing canvas was a frigid ice pick to the heart of the desperate-to-flee Justin. He'd heard a sound like it before, when Nia's bag tore in her arms to cause enough hesitation for him to-
Justin instinctively reacted and cradled the bag with both arms, clutching it to his side. He stumbled to his knees, grabbed the gun he'd dropped earlier and picked a direction. He didn't have the means to do anything but run as he juggled all of his belongings, so he simply ran.
“Motherfucker,” he grunted, “Mother-fuckin’-fucker.”
His back was against the wall, literally, shotgun in his lap, pack still slung over his side—blood pouring down his cheek and onto his neck and dripping onto the thin white cotton strap of his tank.
He had been shot. He had been shot in the head. Was it just his ear? The side of his skull? He didn’t know. He felt his heart beat out of his chest. He felt the slickness of blood and his ear sting with a mixture of sweat and dirt and fear. A special blend of salt, made just for rubbing in wounds.
His right side was ringing.
He still heard more gunshots. Chips of wood coming off the wall.
He’s coming for me.
He’s gonna come for me.
I gotta be ready.
I gotta get ‘em.
He breathed in and out and he gripped the shotgun in his lap, pointing it at the corner Justin had shot it. Daring him to come from the other side.
Gotta be ready. Gotta get ‘em. Gotta be ready. Gotta get ‘em. Be ready. Get ‘em. Be ready. Fuckin’ get him!
He breathed in and out. Hyperventilating now. The blood still coming.
He’s gonna get me. I'm gonna die. He's gonna get me. I'm gonna die.
He felt a shiver down his spine.
And a feeling like he was surrounded on all sides.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.
His back was against the wall, literally, shotgun in his lap, pack still slung over his side—blood pouring down his cheek and onto his neck and dripping onto the thin white cotton strap of his tank.
He had been shot. He had been shot in the head. Was it just his ear? The side of his skull? He didn’t know. He felt his heart beat out of his chest. He felt the slickness of blood and his ear sting with a mixture of sweat and dirt and fear. A special blend of salt, made just for rubbing in wounds.
His right side was ringing.
He still heard more gunshots. Chips of wood coming off the wall.
He’s coming for me.
He’s gonna come for me.
I gotta be ready.
I gotta get ‘em.
He breathed in and out and he gripped the shotgun in his lap, pointing it at the corner Justin had shot it. Daring him to come from the other side.
Gotta be ready. Gotta get ‘em. Gotta be ready. Gotta get ‘em. Be ready. Get ‘em. Be ready. Fuckin’ get him!
He breathed in and out. Hyperventilating now. The blood still coming.
He’s gonna get me. I'm gonna die. He's gonna get me. I'm gonna die.
He felt a shiver down his spine.
And a feeling like he was surrounded on all sides.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
He's gonna shoot me.
He's gonna shoot me in the back!
I'm a sitting duck, a target! He's gonna shoot me!
Justin couldn't shoot, because his arms were full of all his earthly possessions haphazardly teetering in his grasp, one wrong motion away from tumbling. He couldn't re-situate his belongings because that would require him to slow down. He couldn't slow down, because if he did, he was a dead man. The only option was to run, run straight away and pray. Pray to God, who probably gave up on him a long time ago.
When he couldn't see the houses anymore, he collapsed.
((Justin Greene, continued in France))
He's gonna shoot me in the back!
I'm a sitting duck, a target! He's gonna shoot me!
Justin couldn't shoot, because his arms were full of all his earthly possessions haphazardly teetering in his grasp, one wrong motion away from tumbling. He couldn't re-situate his belongings because that would require him to slow down. He couldn't slow down, because if he did, he was a dead man. The only option was to run, run straight away and pray. Pray to God, who probably gave up on him a long time ago.
When he couldn't see the houses anymore, he collapsed.
((Justin Greene, continued in France))
Moments passed. Seconds. Minutes. It was hard to tell out here—island time was measured in dog years, remember? A day could feel like a month. A week had felt like a thousand years.
It was his second gunfight—like, when he was firing bullets and the other person was firing back and shit. Quinn had never fired back. Jackson and the gang hadn’t retaliated against Justin the first time, not that he remembered (that whole night was fuzzy). Amelia was just tripping—if only more of those situations could be solved with a kiss.
It was his second gunfight and it ended much like the first—him hiding and scared. Waiting and prepared to die.
Eventually, as it was prone to do, his cowardice made way for his curiosity and that in this instance felt like a twisted form of courage. He circled the building, carefully and cautiously, trying his best to outsmart the ghost of an opponent.
When he came around and the only company was Aliya’s corpse…he felt a malformed sort of relief. He went towards his friend—he was immediately reminded of Meilin. Too brave for her own good. Aimlessly and recklessly riding into danger—for who’s sake? Ace’s? With Mei it had made sense—with Aliya it didn’t. Aliya had charged at Justin and told him to stay back. She hadn’t asked for a weapon. She hadn’t asked for help.
Why?
Because she knew what you only just figured out…
You ain’t built for this shit.
The shotgun hanging from his side, his bag hanging on the other—he drug Aliya towards the wall and sat her up against it. He closed her eyes. She almost looked peaceful. A weird sort of dignity as any on the island. He remained knelt in front of her.
“You were a real badass bitch, huh?”, he said to himself, “The chick wrestler. Took it to Wyatt and left a fuckin’ mark. Charged headfirst at a dude who just got an award for murder—kept your shit together in the face of all this bullshit.”
He thought that maybe shit would’ve been different if he had been with her—but likely he would’ve just choked and died. Like he did right here. He thought about Parker—wrong place at the wrong time, but more than that, that inkling thought that remained even going back to that night with Ivy…
What if I had made a different choice? Why do I keep making the wrong ones?
The past was the past, he couldn’t change that.
“I shouldn’t’ve listened to you ‘Liya, goin’ alone and lettin’ you go alone was mad fuckin’ stupid,” he sighed, “Give Wyatt a good slap when you see him. Tell him it’s from me.”
He got up.
He turned around.
He walked away.
[ Ace Beats Continued In: who is the lamb and who is the knife? ]
It was his second gunfight—like, when he was firing bullets and the other person was firing back and shit. Quinn had never fired back. Jackson and the gang hadn’t retaliated against Justin the first time, not that he remembered (that whole night was fuzzy). Amelia was just tripping—if only more of those situations could be solved with a kiss.
It was his second gunfight and it ended much like the first—him hiding and scared. Waiting and prepared to die.
Eventually, as it was prone to do, his cowardice made way for his curiosity and that in this instance felt like a twisted form of courage. He circled the building, carefully and cautiously, trying his best to outsmart the ghost of an opponent.
When he came around and the only company was Aliya’s corpse…he felt a malformed sort of relief. He went towards his friend—he was immediately reminded of Meilin. Too brave for her own good. Aimlessly and recklessly riding into danger—for who’s sake? Ace’s? With Mei it had made sense—with Aliya it didn’t. Aliya had charged at Justin and told him to stay back. She hadn’t asked for a weapon. She hadn’t asked for help.
Why?
Because she knew what you only just figured out…
You ain’t built for this shit.
The shotgun hanging from his side, his bag hanging on the other—he drug Aliya towards the wall and sat her up against it. He closed her eyes. She almost looked peaceful. A weird sort of dignity as any on the island. He remained knelt in front of her.
“You were a real badass bitch, huh?”, he said to himself, “The chick wrestler. Took it to Wyatt and left a fuckin’ mark. Charged headfirst at a dude who just got an award for murder—kept your shit together in the face of all this bullshit.”
He thought that maybe shit would’ve been different if he had been with her—but likely he would’ve just choked and died. Like he did right here. He thought about Parker—wrong place at the wrong time, but more than that, that inkling thought that remained even going back to that night with Ivy…
What if I had made a different choice? Why do I keep making the wrong ones?
The past was the past, he couldn’t change that.
“I shouldn’t’ve listened to you ‘Liya, goin’ alone and lettin’ you go alone was mad fuckin’ stupid,” he sighed, “Give Wyatt a good slap when you see him. Tell him it’s from me.”
He got up.
He turned around.
He walked away.
[ Ace Beats Continued In: who is the lamb and who is the knife? ]
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'