A Boring Dystopia

[The Honeless Beard]

You knew it'd all be over eventually. You knew it'd come to this, deep in your bones - a person looking down at you, the life slowly pooling from your body as you began to take your last five breaths. But you didn't anticipate the who, the why, definitely not the where. You'd assumed the person looking at you would be someone... close. Closer than the person you'd murdered with, the person you'd pushed to murder for you.

You knew it'd all be over eventually, but the ride surprised you.

*~*

"You got him," you say to the boy, as the voice calling the names of the dead finally died in your ears, "good work."

[Aster]

“Yeah.”

You were supposed to feel a certain way after killing someone. In Mass, Caleb was told it would be guilt and shame. A different story was told at home, through movies and video games. There, killing someone was a sign of triumph or vindication. Maybe even relief.

Caleb expected to feel one way or another, but in this very moment, he just felt tired. No different than how he felt before he learned the name of the boy he’d shot, and the name of another boy he didn’t even know he’d shot.

Maybe he’d feel something in a different place, at a different time. If their lives had been better, then none of them would’ve ever met. They were strangers. Less than strangers, even—they were shapes in the dark, imagined figures in a building.

All he learned were the names of the bodies. That’s all they were, and that’s all they would ever be.

~*~

Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He wanted to look away, maybe to pick up the gun and bolt back into the woods. But instead, his eyes were fixed on hers, which to his horror, were still staring back at him.

When he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he was going to say something or just let out a ragged breath.

“S-sorry.”

[The Honeless Beard]

The boy apologized, and you feel ice cold at the admission, the direct reference to remorse and guilt. But you'd pushed this on him, and so it buzzes around your head and flies off like a pebble in a windshield. You're aware of your choices, and you can even draw a straight line from the boy on the beach to now, here, with this boy who you bore witness to murdering another human being holding a still freshly fired gun in his dominant hand. This boy who knows you're holding onto the spare rounds in your bag, and killing you is of no consequence. You're aware of the feeling of your feet slowly leaving you, the loss of touch not something you're usually cognizant of but in the moment it feels like a total loss. You're also aware that you're still doing this thing, this mask of paper mache you donned early and kept on despite the rain soaking the glue and newspaper, shredding the disguise instead of forming it to your face. You thought this would make you stronger, but instead it makes these - your final four breaths - filled with thoughts that are jumbled and confused, where you don't have a name, and neither does he.

The boy apologized, and you chortled out a burst of laughter in a single blast, a dark mirror of the gunshot that ended your life.

"Okay," you say.

*~*

"Yeah?" you ask, quirking a brow. "Nothing else? You're one step - one body - closer from leaving this thing. We both are. That's cause for some kind of celebration."

You sit among jagged rocks and remember the boy you stole the bag from, rolling your eyes.

"How many rounds did you fire back there? We probably need to reload."

[Aster]

She was right, in a way. But Caleb wasn't in a particularly celebratory mood. Not until he was finally out of here, at least.

He didn't say any of that, though. Instead, he answered her next question with a shrug.

"Back where? The boy? I, uh, think it was only one. Still probably worth it to reload, though."

~*~

Caleb jumped a bit when she replied. He didn't think the girl would be able to talk. A small part of him wished that he hadn't said anything at all. He knew he couldn't take his apology back, though. Or the gunshot. All he could do was go forward.

He crouched down to pick up the gun, and couldn't help but look back up at the girl. Their eyes met again, and he grimaced.

[The Honeless Beard]

"Oh, fuck," you groan on breath three of five, teeth beginning to chatter as you shiver violently, your arms and legs spasming as the bullet that ripped through you, tore through your flesh and shattered your spine, sings an aria. It reverberates around you, drilling into you and up, up, into your brain in neon lights. You're mixing your metaphors, a jumbled collection of yes and no that squirm their way into the cracks of your dying brain and flash feelings of warmth and cold and thunder and whispers.

You meet his eyes and he bares his teeth - a wounded animal - and that, that fucking pisses you off so much. He's going to get to walk away and you're going to fucking die here, for no reason, with nothing but a stolen bag and an assisted kill, and it's all such a waste.

"Fuck," you say again, "you killed me. Fuck, dude, you fucking killed me."

*~*

"Oh, only one," you say, "it felt like... more than that?"

You wet your lips, unhook your bag, and look down into it. There's a small tremor in your hands that you hope he doesn't notice, a quivering of straps that rasp against each other like tiny zippers on tiny jackets. You feel your heart harden, your fists ache to clench.

"H-hand over the gun," you say, "I'll reload it."

You only need the clip to reload it.

You want the gun.

[Aster]

Caleb heard the girl loud and clear, but for a brief moment he pretended he didn’t. There was a slight edge in her voice that caught him off guard. Maybe it was nothing—after all, he couldn’t really fault anyone for being on-edge in a situation like this—but he didn’t want to make assumptions. Those kinds of assumptions could get him killed. Better safe than sorry.

Well, better he was safe, specifically.

He turned around to face the girl, tilting his head. “Huh? You’ve never asked for the whole gun before. Usually it’d just be the magaz--”

~*~

She was still talking. Caleb’s face twisted, and he barely held back another apology. It was a knee-jerk reaction at this point, but he had to remind himself that he didn’t owe this girl anything. That she probably would’ve done the same, if she were in his shoes.

He averted his gaze, shakily picking up the gun and sticking it into his pocket. For a fleeting moment, he considered shooting her again, just to finish the job. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even point the gun at her.

[The Honeless Beard]

You're tired, as you inhale on your fourth of fifth. So tired of this whole charade. A constant stream of lying to - yourself, mostly, has taken its toll. Your lungs rattle on the exhale as you contemplate-

"I thought," Tarren began, squeaking out a breath, "I was - supposed to go into shock."

Tarren exhaled, her chin hit her chest, and the fifth and final escaped into the atmosphere, floating upwards in the sunlight.

*~*

You're already reaching at the first sight of resistance, hand finding itself around the barrel of the gun to pull it from the boy's grasp, and there's a moment of sound, light, and for a single glorious moment you're not sure what happened.

Then you're very sure what happened, as an invisible rope coils around your neck and tugs you earthward, your hands flying forwards in a free fall, clutching at your chest where a red spot is already beginning to bloom. You inhale, your first of five, and meet the boy's eyes.

You knew it'd all be over eventually.

But the ride surprised you.

[Aster]

One moment, everything was fine. Then the girl lunged at him, and Caleb's seized up, pointer finger accidentally squeezing the trigger. The next moment, she was on the ground, the tiger on her chest obscured by blooming crimson and grasping hands.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. His hand went limp, and the gun fell to the ground.

~*~

Caleb kept his eyes on the ground. He tried to ignore what would end up being the girl's last words, but he couldn't help himself. Then her sputtering stopped, and the only sound he could hear was the gentle lapping of the waves.

He let out a ragged breath he didn't know he was holding in. Then he breathed in, and out, his gaze still cast downwards. When he finally looked up, it was towards the brush. Caleb didn't have the energy to run, but he clambered inland as fast as he could.

He tried not to look back. Thankfully, by the time he'd given into the urge, her body was already out of sight.

((Caleb Policarpio continued elsewhere))