Laughter was common. Laughter existed for jokes and punchlines, for social lubricant. Laughter was solidarity and agreement, between friends, between lovers, the varying forms of humans, bundled, stewed, served up.
was the common refrain. The detestable tone of somebody reducing their disagreement and their incredulity into a giggling monosyllable. Offering not even the courtesy of a thought-out reply or response, merely presumptive, merely dismissal, suppressing ideas and mutual understanding and locking out the possibility of evolution, of finding common purpose and assent because their single-lobe brains could not handle truths that Kelly Nguyen offered them such that they had to protect their pathetic skins and skulls from her and they had to oust her and to reject her and to undo everything that she had ever worked for and sacrificed and sweated and she could still feel the pierce of the ridicule, the laughter, laughter echoed, echoes and warbles and static in her ears because she was always shunted aside and treated like a cute little doll that couldn't bite back
Nothing in their eyes. No signs of life. Already dead, as wasted away as Roxy had been, without the courtesy even of laying down their arms and chopping off their arms and laying down to spoil on the ground like the compost their arrogance, their complacency reduced themselves to.
"Don't you understand, Diego? We already mentioned" that we are better, that we have done the work
Kelly Nguyen's words tumbling out onto one another, tossed off the back of a moving vehicle, splattering where they hit as a light rabid foam began to paint the inside of her mask.
"no apologies, we owe them nothing, no? They don't understand, you understand, that is why they died and we lived and why we will continue to live and why we owe it to them to show them the error of their ways" that their way of thinking is wrong, that they have been manipulated and that they must seize upon the glory they have yet to realize, the truths that have been obscured from them by television screens and lying smiling expectations of belonging and understanding when nobody EVER takes the time to UNDERSTAND you and CARE about you they USE you they make you their puppet and one breath, she spoke with only one breath, because food and oxygen were lies, they were distractions from purification of the body, the promise of a new self, a better self that would scream into the heavens until the heavens had to fall to earth and smite the FUCKING WHITE PEOPLE WHO DARED INSTIGATE SYSTEMS OF OPPRESSION OF THE TRUTH, THEIR NAMES WERE LUCAS AND MARCELINE AND TONYA AND
her body trembling with her efforts, as if the remaining pieces of her would break off
"this is what they failed to realize" who had preceded them, 'winners' of Survival of the Fittest, WEAK, who did not evolve, who cowed to the society that sought to keep them from claiming the fruits of their violence "everyone, everyone who has come back from this game has failed, they are shunned, they do not belong, so why the fuck? Why, why why why do they try to integrate again when they are superior to those they prostrate themselves before, because they have tasted the truth of brutality, that it cleanses us, that it breaks to pieces, itty bitty pieces"
Kelly saw nothing when she saw two human shape silhouettes painted onto the backdrop of an island that happened to be in front of her, look at them, they were just vague pieces stitched together, they needed to be shattered apart, to be reassembled, as Kelly had been, all her sacrifices, all the break down of her form, just the first step, just the beginnings of being proven as the only one, THE ONLY ONE, who had EVER been right, who had EVER UNDERSTOOD
"tiny shattered bits, we are broken, we can never be unbroken" she tasted blood. Sweat, she felt heat, she tasted the lactic acid, the agony of living, of putting each foot in front of the other when one refused to move but she made it move when it refused to.
"and that is our truth. We wear the outward destruction, but everyone else, they are as broken inside, they try to hide it and to disguise it, we must break that illusion, and show people that society is a lie, it is cruel, it holds us back from our true potential."
she still didn't remember taking a breath. the lightness in her head, the way the world spun around her as she screamed shamelessly, as she DEFIED all the people watching, FEARING that she would ever be unleashed onto them and make them all pay for stiffing the Kelly's of the world
"We are better. We owe it to them. They need us."
To purge them, to purge the unworthy who perpetrated injustice, who dared to turnabout and judge those who had always been the superior being. The willingness to fight, and to bleed, and to break, and to come out on the other side, cowardice had to be punished, it had to be removed
this heathen ecstasy, her triumph, her rising above the expectations and standards of beauty and niceness and pretending to have ever given a fuck, god it was utterly orgasmic, Lucas' hose dick could never have thrilled her like this, that bitch who masturbated with pink hair dye could never have satisfied Juliette the way Kelly would have, when she lived up to Juliette's legacy, when she brought change to the entire world
"Every corpse that has been left to rot on this island is just a gift to the world. A scream, to wake up, to understand the truth of justice" of how it was violent, of how it was brutal and inelegant, of how it would break you "these corpses under my feet" kick kick, it was like meat how the girl seemed to be ready for the kiss of knives "they would have failed, if they had been the ones to survive. You understand?"
she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, it felt too fucking good
"Erika, Diego, everything, everything that has ever oppressed us"
can be destroyed, can be annihilated. It is what we have earned.
Kelly Nguyen heaving, after she'd vomited out eighteen years of resentment, of agony nicked into her by everyone she'd ever met, every inch of gently reshaped skin impossible to ignore, for how it had gnawed at her, how it had demanded she never forget the cruelty of people who were so selfish as to never listen, to never understand.
The sweat oozing out of pores, her shirt sticking against the wispy bits that were the remnant of her mortal shell. Heat clung to her, suffocated her, she didn't care, for once she didn't care, it didn't matter how she looked, how the see-through of her dress emphasized the shape of the skin beginning to furrow between each rib cage, the hair like jellyfish tendrils emphasizing each flaw of the shape of her face, image no longer mattered, Kelly could gun down every camera because her point had been proven, she was stronger, she had won.
The mask had finally come off, she'd clawed at her face for inspiration, for some sense of connection to earth. Kelly's smile was wide, mostly because the skin on one cheek was split open, teeth too many showing, she'd once had a pretty face, no longer. Wild eyed, burning, leering, daring someone to tell her she was wrong.
Silence, afterwards. Kelly's breath quickly slowed and stilled, the boil in her heartbeat simmering.
They thought she was weak. They judged her. She was everyone's friend. They needed her. Two standing corpses. She'd give them one last chance.
Her foot right on the gun. Nobody ever thought she was a threat. Nobody ever thought she was worth attention. They didn't even think she was worth a bullet, right? That was really funny, a real gutbuster, hehehahaha, hahahahaha, she was FUCKING LAUGHING NOW, HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA
Madness in the Method
Private.
Be silent.
Wait for someone to make a mistake.
Take advantage.
Walk away.
It was a simple set of instructions playing over and over in Erika’s mind, something she desperately tried to focus on over the deranged rambling sputtering out of Kelly’s mouth. Now that she'd peeled off the surgical mask, it was clear how little there seemed to be left of it. Erika wished she hadn't been given context to the wet noises underscoring each syllable Kelly spoke.
Erika kept staring at Diego, watching how he’d reacted to every word. Every mad plea to buy into Kelly’s worldview. Like she knew where things were headed for her, and she desperately wanted someone else to believe it, to carry the torch. He was the one holding the grenade launcher, holding the three of them at a standstill. If anyone got to decide where things went for all of them here, it was him.
With nothing else to really focus on, it was hard to keep Kelly’s words from finding their way in. It was Erika’s own contention that she’d been living in some cruel state of nature, having to embrace brutality and inhumanity in order to survive. That the only difference between herself and the people who weren’t killing was that she saw a truth that they didn’t.
Except, it wasn’t enough to think that. It had never been enough. She knew what she believed, and that wasn’t it.
Erika met Diego’s eyes for a moment. He looked resigned. Sad, even. Like he was still trying to process it, even as it became clear to them that Kelly had every single screw loose. Like he almost wanted to find something in there worth listening to. Erika knew what that felt like.
They had nowhere to go, not like this.
Silence couldn’t be enough.
“No. You’re the one that doesn’t understand. This place is anything but natural. The terrorists created this situation, they put the gun to our heads, and we do what we do ‘cause of it. Bomb collars, weapons, rewards for killing people. Everyone here was a highschool kid with a future to lose. There’s only one winner? Real world’s nothing like that! It’s all artificial, every part of this is tuned just to bring out the worst in us. Everyone reacted differently, sure, but we all reacted. They had to put collars around our necks, so we’d go against our own nature.”
Erika shook her head, continuing on as no one seemed inclined to interrupt. The pistol wavered, now pointing at Diego’s chest instead of his face. Not like it made much of a difference.
“We’re not selfish and cruel on our own, not without help. Most of the time we just hope things work out for everybody. We wanna be ourselves, be left well enough alone, maybe. Not this. I never looked at you in the hallways and thought we’d ever be pointing guns at one another, Diego. I was afraid of people trying to hurt me, sure; but only because I’m trans and kind of a weirdo otherwise. Our town fucking sucked. I thought I’d just have to ride it out, plan my escape to somewhere better. Even that was scary. I don’t enjoy fighting for my life. I don’t want to be like this.”
Shrugging, she offered a sardonic smile. It was hard not to want to point out how absurd this all was.
“...but here I am! Having a fucking ideological debate with a one armed lunatic, in a garden full of corpses, with a grenade launcher pointed at my head. I was gonna shoot you. Number eighteen, after Darlene there. Figures, I was about to murder one of those nifty gardening kids, in a garden! Why?
“Not ‘cause I deserve to live. No one I killed deserved it any less than me. Not ‘cause I think that my life is gonna be meaningful or fulfilled when I get out of here, or that my future’s somehow more important than yours. Anyone who survives is just gonna do their best. I know we all would. The thing that makes me special is that I can make myself do horrible things; I’m almost numb to it. I’m good at killing people. Hooray for me! Everyone’s gonna think I’m a monster, and they should. I am one! And worse for it, not better. Doesn’t matter, though. I don’t care about the message, that’s not why I’m doing it.”
Those words were for Diego. Maybe they’d change the outcome of this, maybe they wouldn’t. Erika saw few clean ways out of the situation, but as long as someone was talking no one was dying. Besides, an expletive-laden tirade seemed like it qualified as far as raging against the dying of the light was concerned. She turned to Kelly, still holding her gun out at arm’s length to Diego but otherwise facing the shambling remains of the overachiever.
“You think what I do makes me strong? Fuck all the way off. I don’t wanna die, Kelly. That’s it. Anyone still breathing is keeping me here. I kill people because eventually I’ll have no one left to kill, and I’ll get to leave. Could’ve stopped after the first. Didn’t. Doing this is all I’ve got. Makes me feel like I’ve got a shred of control. Doesn’t make me better. Or happy. It’s all I’ve got, but I don’t enjoy it. I’m afraid all the time. I hate what I made myself into, hate that I even could go this far.”
Wild-eyed, Erika motioned with a finger gun to the side of her own head, dropping the thumb-hammer in a way she never was able to with the real one.
“My next best plan was to put a bullet in my head, ‘cause I’ve started to look at parts of this world and see shapes and colours but no form, no meaning, like it’s a fucking dream! Been thinking maybe there’s another way out, like this couldn’t possibly be real. Thinking maybe living like this isn’t really living at all. All that sound like strength to you?”
Kelly didn’t respond. Didn’t interrupt. It was still not enough. Erika motioned for her to continue, to work through the hacking and wretching to spit out some more. She wasn’t sure to keep calling her Kelly anymore. She seemed like so much less.
“Come on, sputter out some more nihilistic bullshit, if you think it makes a difference. You didn’t sound like you were done. Come on übermensch, we’ve got all day, least ‘till somebody breaks this up! Where’s all that menace gone? You killed two people and what - you think that means you get it, now? Think you’re speaking from experience or something? What the hell is wrong with you?
“Someone could bury you under the bodies of all of the people I killed. No one would even know you were there. And I can still see the world’s better than this. There’s still some good in it, just not here, not from any of us. I refuse to forget it. I’m not like you.”
Wait for someone to make a mistake.
Take advantage.
Walk away.
It was a simple set of instructions playing over and over in Erika’s mind, something she desperately tried to focus on over the deranged rambling sputtering out of Kelly’s mouth. Now that she'd peeled off the surgical mask, it was clear how little there seemed to be left of it. Erika wished she hadn't been given context to the wet noises underscoring each syllable Kelly spoke.
Erika kept staring at Diego, watching how he’d reacted to every word. Every mad plea to buy into Kelly’s worldview. Like she knew where things were headed for her, and she desperately wanted someone else to believe it, to carry the torch. He was the one holding the grenade launcher, holding the three of them at a standstill. If anyone got to decide where things went for all of them here, it was him.
With nothing else to really focus on, it was hard to keep Kelly’s words from finding their way in. It was Erika’s own contention that she’d been living in some cruel state of nature, having to embrace brutality and inhumanity in order to survive. That the only difference between herself and the people who weren’t killing was that she saw a truth that they didn’t.
Except, it wasn’t enough to think that. It had never been enough. She knew what she believed, and that wasn’t it.
Erika met Diego’s eyes for a moment. He looked resigned. Sad, even. Like he was still trying to process it, even as it became clear to them that Kelly had every single screw loose. Like he almost wanted to find something in there worth listening to. Erika knew what that felt like.
They had nowhere to go, not like this.
Silence couldn’t be enough.
“No. You’re the one that doesn’t understand. This place is anything but natural. The terrorists created this situation, they put the gun to our heads, and we do what we do ‘cause of it. Bomb collars, weapons, rewards for killing people. Everyone here was a highschool kid with a future to lose. There’s only one winner? Real world’s nothing like that! It’s all artificial, every part of this is tuned just to bring out the worst in us. Everyone reacted differently, sure, but we all reacted. They had to put collars around our necks, so we’d go against our own nature.”
Erika shook her head, continuing on as no one seemed inclined to interrupt. The pistol wavered, now pointing at Diego’s chest instead of his face. Not like it made much of a difference.
“We’re not selfish and cruel on our own, not without help. Most of the time we just hope things work out for everybody. We wanna be ourselves, be left well enough alone, maybe. Not this. I never looked at you in the hallways and thought we’d ever be pointing guns at one another, Diego. I was afraid of people trying to hurt me, sure; but only because I’m trans and kind of a weirdo otherwise. Our town fucking sucked. I thought I’d just have to ride it out, plan my escape to somewhere better. Even that was scary. I don’t enjoy fighting for my life. I don’t want to be like this.”
Shrugging, she offered a sardonic smile. It was hard not to want to point out how absurd this all was.
“...but here I am! Having a fucking ideological debate with a one armed lunatic, in a garden full of corpses, with a grenade launcher pointed at my head. I was gonna shoot you. Number eighteen, after Darlene there. Figures, I was about to murder one of those nifty gardening kids, in a garden! Why?
“Not ‘cause I deserve to live. No one I killed deserved it any less than me. Not ‘cause I think that my life is gonna be meaningful or fulfilled when I get out of here, or that my future’s somehow more important than yours. Anyone who survives is just gonna do their best. I know we all would. The thing that makes me special is that I can make myself do horrible things; I’m almost numb to it. I’m good at killing people. Hooray for me! Everyone’s gonna think I’m a monster, and they should. I am one! And worse for it, not better. Doesn’t matter, though. I don’t care about the message, that’s not why I’m doing it.”
Those words were for Diego. Maybe they’d change the outcome of this, maybe they wouldn’t. Erika saw few clean ways out of the situation, but as long as someone was talking no one was dying. Besides, an expletive-laden tirade seemed like it qualified as far as raging against the dying of the light was concerned. She turned to Kelly, still holding her gun out at arm’s length to Diego but otherwise facing the shambling remains of the overachiever.
“You think what I do makes me strong? Fuck all the way off. I don’t wanna die, Kelly. That’s it. Anyone still breathing is keeping me here. I kill people because eventually I’ll have no one left to kill, and I’ll get to leave. Could’ve stopped after the first. Didn’t. Doing this is all I’ve got. Makes me feel like I’ve got a shred of control. Doesn’t make me better. Or happy. It’s all I’ve got, but I don’t enjoy it. I’m afraid all the time. I hate what I made myself into, hate that I even could go this far.”
Wild-eyed, Erika motioned with a finger gun to the side of her own head, dropping the thumb-hammer in a way she never was able to with the real one.
“My next best plan was to put a bullet in my head, ‘cause I’ve started to look at parts of this world and see shapes and colours but no form, no meaning, like it’s a fucking dream! Been thinking maybe there’s another way out, like this couldn’t possibly be real. Thinking maybe living like this isn’t really living at all. All that sound like strength to you?”
Kelly didn’t respond. Didn’t interrupt. It was still not enough. Erika motioned for her to continue, to work through the hacking and wretching to spit out some more. She wasn’t sure to keep calling her Kelly anymore. She seemed like so much less.
“Come on, sputter out some more nihilistic bullshit, if you think it makes a difference. You didn’t sound like you were done. Come on übermensch, we’ve got all day, least ‘till somebody breaks this up! Where’s all that menace gone? You killed two people and what - you think that means you get it, now? Think you’re speaking from experience or something? What the hell is wrong with you?
“Someone could bury you under the bodies of all of the people I killed. No one would even know you were there. And I can still see the world’s better than this. There’s still some good in it, just not here, not from any of us. I refuse to forget it. I’m not like you.”
Kelly ranted half-coherently about evolution and superiority and vengeance, and as she did so, as her words ran into each other and over each other, his eyes followed her, tracked her as she moved away from him, closer to the corpse, closer to Erika. And, as she screamed and rambled and kicked at the corpse, a sort of tiredness settled into Diego's eyes.
Diego had followed Kelly because he wanted to be like her. He followed her because, if he became as monstrous as her, then maybe everything would stop hurting. Kelly wore her wounds, her trauma like medals. She displayed them proudly, beamed with them.
What he hadn't realized until now, what should've been immediately obvious to him was that once he followed her all the way down, there would be no climbing out.
The mask came off.
It was one thing to feel the number of teeth in your mouth. It was another thing to see.
Bile clogged Diego's throat. He swallowed it. He couldn't turn his head to vomit. Erika would take the opportunity and shoot him, maybe.
Erika responded to Kelly, and, she got it. She got him. All of it was a means to an end, all of it was out of necessity, all of it was terrible.
There was something deeply sickening about how strongly he related to the most prolific killer on the island, but he should've accepted it by now. Same team, Ty had told him. And, Erika aspired to something other than the violence, at least. There was a future with Erika's path, at least.
When silence crept back in after Kelly's, Erika's words, Diego locked eyes with Erika.
"...yeah. I just—"
Diego had followed Kelly because he wanted to be like her. He followed her because, if he became as monstrous as her, then maybe everything would stop hurting. Kelly wore her wounds, her trauma like medals. She displayed them proudly, beamed with them.
What he hadn't realized until now, what should've been immediately obvious to him was that once he followed her all the way down, there would be no climbing out.
The mask came off.
It was one thing to feel the number of teeth in your mouth. It was another thing to see.
Bile clogged Diego's throat. He swallowed it. He couldn't turn his head to vomit. Erika would take the opportunity and shoot him, maybe.
Erika responded to Kelly, and, she got it. She got him. All of it was a means to an end, all of it was out of necessity, all of it was terrible.
There was something deeply sickening about how strongly he related to the most prolific killer on the island, but he should've accepted it by now. Same team, Ty had told him. And, Erika aspired to something other than the violence, at least. There was a future with Erika's path, at least.
When silence crept back in after Kelly's, Erika's words, Diego locked eyes with Erika.
"...yeah. I just—"
justice was just another illusion, another lie perpetrated by those who were too weak and too cowardly, the administrative milquetoast collared masses who were scared of the truth, who silenced those who saw the world differently, who saw the world correctly, there was a value far greater to the broken piles of corpses called their classmates than the two stringless puppets understood, they who dared speak to her, they who dared to talk to her as if she would listen, as if she had time, or care for their weak and unevolved perspective and how it spread over the earth like a pestilence, one that had to be purged by lead and steel and now was the time, now was the reckoning for those who had been as innocent as they had been abused, kelly's trust, kelly's strength, all exploited by the cruelty of those who would be so arrogant as to think she could ever be anything less than perfect for all her years of putting up with their bullshit, she was better and she was stronger and she had proven it all this time all along she was nothing less than the necessary punctuation, the end of these wasted, wasteful lives that dared to draw oxygen before her, to offend her with their mere presence
Kelly Nguyen's mouthful of teeth came together. A purposeful clench, an expression of pure hatred that radiated from dead, lifeless eyes as Kelly Nguyen dropped. She hit the ground with force, a low squat with no other hand for support, her knees scraping and bleeding and becoming another piece of her that was irrelevant as all she needed was the dead girl's gun. In her hands as she took one shot at Diego
and she had WON she was VICTORIOUS she would turn the gun towards Erika and fire it and Erika would die because she wasn't expecting it she didn't understand only Kelly knew the TRUTH she would be known FOREVER she was IMMORTAL and THEIR ideas would DIE and be GROUND TO DUST
The first bullet cracked straight through Kelly Nguyen's spine. Ripped a grisly hole right through her collarbone.
Pure disbelief. As if Kelly could stop time and stop death, just through the sheer outrage that consumed the remnants of her ugly face.
The screaming started. Refusing to stop.
Kelly Nguyen's mouthful of teeth came together. A purposeful clench, an expression of pure hatred that radiated from dead, lifeless eyes as Kelly Nguyen dropped. She hit the ground with force, a low squat with no other hand for support, her knees scraping and bleeding and becoming another piece of her that was irrelevant as all she needed was the dead girl's gun. In her hands as she took one shot at Diego
and she had WON she was VICTORIOUS she would turn the gun towards Erika and fire it and Erika would die because she wasn't expecting it she didn't understand only Kelly knew the TRUTH she would be known FOREVER she was IMMORTAL and THEIR ideas would DIE and be GROUND TO DUST
The first bullet cracked straight through Kelly Nguyen's spine. Ripped a grisly hole right through her collarbone.
Pure disbelief. As if Kelly could stop time and stop death, just through the sheer outrage that consumed the remnants of her ugly face.
The screaming started. Refusing to stop.
She dropped to the ground—He reached for his gun—She picked something up by the corpse—His hands fumbled—She pointed it towards him—
His face burned.
He fell backwards.
His face burned.
He fell backwards.
It seemed like it had worked. Diego wasn’t on her side, but he wasn’t on Kelly’s anymore. Whatever alliance between them had brought them both into the Gardens, it was now broken. All Erika had to do was to figure out how to break the stalemate, find a way to walk out of here in one piece.
Erika didn’t look away from Diego; he was the greater threat, after all. He was the first to speak, after her lengthy tirade. She could see it in his eyes; he understood. For a second, the relief of knowing that made her forget why they even had time to look at one another in the first place.
That is, until the air next to Diego briefly lit up with a fantastic flash of light. The grenade launcher left his hands, and he collapsed to the ground. The stalemate was broken, and he hadn’t pulled the trigger. Now the threat came from elsewhere.
Erika whirled around, to find Kelly holding the garish Desert Eagle that Darlene had been holding earlier. There had only been one round in the chamber, nothing in the magazine; the gun was locked open, as were Kelly’s eyes. She paid no mind to the rage and disbelief on the other girl’s face.
Two in the chest, one in the head. That was the efficient way to do it.
All she thought of was the look of understanding on Diego’s face.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Erika shot Kelly three times in the torso. She kept standing, and so Erika kept firing.
Erika didn’t look away from Diego; he was the greater threat, after all. He was the first to speak, after her lengthy tirade. She could see it in his eyes; he understood. For a second, the relief of knowing that made her forget why they even had time to look at one another in the first place.
That is, until the air next to Diego briefly lit up with a fantastic flash of light. The grenade launcher left his hands, and he collapsed to the ground. The stalemate was broken, and he hadn’t pulled the trigger. Now the threat came from elsewhere.
Erika whirled around, to find Kelly holding the garish Desert Eagle that Darlene had been holding earlier. There had only been one round in the chamber, nothing in the magazine; the gun was locked open, as were Kelly’s eyes. She paid no mind to the rage and disbelief on the other girl’s face.
Two in the chest, one in the head. That was the efficient way to do it.
All she thought of was the look of understanding on Diego’s face.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Erika shot Kelly three times in the torso. She kept standing, and so Erika kept firing.
If she could scream loud enough, they would have to hear her. If she cried ugly enough, they would have to understand her. Was she not everybody's friend, after all? She'd had them. She'd had them. Victory was all that she'd ever asked for. It hadn't been too much.
She'd ripped herself shreds for this moment.
they could all hear her but they didn't LISTEN she was the only one who had ever LEARNED what it took to break free of the cycle of disrespect and distrust she would not be denied her moment of glory this pain was nothing it was temporary she would scream louder and fight harder and eventually they would all have to understand that Kelly Nguyen did not die she was immortal because she lived to inflict justice onto the unworthy this was her air and her water she didn't need lungs she could discard those too she could be but ash on the wind and she would still be eternally righteous, a shining star fallen onto this cruel and ugly abyss of fleshy things called humans she deserved MORE she deserved BETTER
One of Erika's bullets put a violent end to her windpipe, but some animal rage was still leaking out in an octave higher, grimier than any human could ever have made.
Kelly Nguyen's finger mashed against her gun's trigger over and over and this was unfair but she was used to unfairness if she kept firing
it was supposed to work it was supposed to work it was supposed to work please please why wasnt it working she was trying so hard why did it never work when she tried she always tried she was the only one who ever tried
she would overcome it like she had overcome everything else she'd mash her fucking finger into the trigger until the skin slopped off the bone and the bone snapped cleanly in two and she'd keep pulling the trigger and keep firing until bullets came out and smited everything that had ever JUDGED her or MANIPULATED HER SHE'D FUCKING RIP HERSELF OUT OF HER OWN GRAVE AND SHOVE HER SKULL DOWN THEIR THROATS THEY COULD NEVER KILL HER BECAUSE SHE WAS THE MOST RIGHTEOUS, HER CAUSE THE MOST JUST
She'd ripped herself shreds for this moment.
they could all hear her but they didn't LISTEN she was the only one who had ever LEARNED what it took to break free of the cycle of disrespect and distrust she would not be denied her moment of glory this pain was nothing it was temporary she would scream louder and fight harder and eventually they would all have to understand that Kelly Nguyen did not die she was immortal because she lived to inflict justice onto the unworthy this was her air and her water she didn't need lungs she could discard those too she could be but ash on the wind and she would still be eternally righteous, a shining star fallen onto this cruel and ugly abyss of fleshy things called humans she deserved MORE she deserved BETTER
One of Erika's bullets put a violent end to her windpipe, but some animal rage was still leaking out in an octave higher, grimier than any human could ever have made.
Kelly Nguyen's finger mashed against her gun's trigger over and over and this was unfair but she was used to unfairness if she kept firing
it was supposed to work it was supposed to work it was supposed to work please please why wasnt it working she was trying so hard why did it never work when she tried she always tried she was the only one who ever tried
she would overcome it like she had overcome everything else she'd mash her fucking finger into the trigger until the skin slopped off the bone and the bone snapped cleanly in two and she'd keep pulling the trigger and keep firing until bullets came out and smited everything that had ever JUDGED her or MANIPULATED HER SHE'D FUCKING RIP HERSELF OUT OF HER OWN GRAVE AND SHOVE HER SKULL DOWN THEIR THROATS THEY COULD NEVER KILL HER BECAUSE SHE WAS THE MOST RIGHTEOUS, HER CAUSE THE MOST JUST
It took a few seconds for Diego to realize the ringing in his ears was not entirely tinnitus.
His face hurt. It hurt. It felt wet. It burned. It hurt. It hurt.
His ears rang. They exploded. They screeched. He was scared, but he was irritated. Why wouldn't it stop screaming? Why wouldn't it stop shrieking?
It. It felt like he couldn't breathe. His chest was rising up and down, but, it felt like air wasn't getting in properly. But it could. It could. He was fine. He could breathe. He was alive. He could breathe. He could still see. He could still hear the fucking screaming, the fucking explosions. He could still feel the ground against his back. He could still taste the overwhelming copper clogging his thro
He reached for his face, his left cheek, he jerked his hand back, his face felt like it was on fire. His hand came back slick.
She'd shot him. She'd fucking shot his face and
Why did his mouth feel so cold?
Why was there air on his tongue?
Oh god.
Oh god.
She fucking
She fucking disfigured him.
He got up.
He pulled the gun from his waistband.
He glared at Kelly, shot to pieces, and she somehow had the audacity to still be standing.
In one fluid motion, he flicked on the full-auto switch, pulled the trigger.
He screamed, and the wound in his cheek ripped wide open.
His face hurt. It hurt. It felt wet. It burned. It hurt. It hurt.
His ears rang. They exploded. They screeched. He was scared, but he was irritated. Why wouldn't it stop screaming? Why wouldn't it stop shrieking?
It. It felt like he couldn't breathe. His chest was rising up and down, but, it felt like air wasn't getting in properly. But it could. It could. He was fine. He could breathe. He was alive. He could breathe. He could still see. He could still hear the fucking screaming, the fucking explosions. He could still feel the ground against his back. He could still taste the overwhelming copper clogging his thro
He reached for his face, his left cheek, he jerked his hand back, his face felt like it was on fire. His hand came back slick.
She'd shot him. She'd fucking shot his face and
Why did his mouth feel so cold?
Why was there air on his tongue?
Oh god.
Oh god.
She fucking
She fucking disfigured him.
He got up.
He pulled the gun from his waistband.
He glared at Kelly, shot to pieces, and she somehow had the audacity to still be standing.
In one fluid motion, he flicked on the full-auto switch, pulled the trigger.
He screamed, and the wound in his cheek ripped wide open.
Kelly’s mouth was stuck open, appearing to be unnaturally wide given the gaping tear in the side of her face. If she was screaming, Erika couldn’t tell; the sound of gunfire muffled most everything else. It all seemed to fade away as Erika’s sole focus was putting Kelly down.
It wasn’t like she was any more likely to hurt Erika. Even before shooting her she wasn’t exactly much of a physical threat, besides being nauseating inside and out. One shot would’ve shut her up just as well, too.
One didn’t feel like enough though. Not for Kelly. In minutes she’d revealed herself to be the walking incarnation of everything Erika had fought not to see herself as. A creature that lived in moments when she pondered whether what she was doing could be construed as natural. The voice in her head that told her that she’d come to this island with everything she needed to escape it, that it was more than a matter of skill and willpower that she left so many bodies in her wake.
Junk thoughts. The same kind that pushed people to ponder stepping in front of oncoming trains or to fret ceaselessly in front of a mirror. Erika knew what to do with them. It was why she kept shooting.
After the eighth bullet struck Kelly’s chest, the Desert Eagle fell out of her hand. It was hard to miss the tiger-striped gold gleaming in the sun. As Erika continued firing, she twitched as another burst of gunfire erupted from over her left shoulder, alongside what faintly sounded like a scream. The hail of bullets joined Erika’s own in ventilating Kelly’s torso.
A red mist seemed to erupt from her body as the bullets ripped what was left of her to pieces, the sheer number of impacts so numerous they could be scarcely discerned from one another. Erika wasn’t sure where her own shots landed, save for one shot seemed to take out what was left of Kelly’s lower jaw. After no more than a few seconds, their guns went silent and Kelly collapsed in a heap on the ground. That she even stood through the barrage was disconcerting. This was not an end that Erika found herself in envy of.
Turning to face the other assailant, a look of horror fell across Erika’s face. It was Diego, somehow. She thought he’d been killed on the spot by Kelly, but it was clear enough that he’d only been winged by the shot.
In the face.
An uneven gash had been ripped across his cheek by the bullet. If Kelly’s aim had been any better, it would’ve landed true and his skull would’ve been canoe-shaped by now. From what she could tell, he might’ve been missing a few teeth, as well. She could see the gaps. The pain in his eyes was tangible. Erika could feel it.
She liked that she could still feel it.
But they were here, and he was who he was, and she was who she was. Erika looked down at the gun in his hand - some variant of an Uzi. The chamber was locked open, but with no telltale gleam of brass inside. Looking down to her own pistol, she saw it too had locked open - she’d expended all thirteen rounds shooting Kelly.
Stupid.
Erika grimaced, her left hand coming to a rest on the pocket she knew contained a fresh magazine. She paused, continuing to stare into his eyes. It was hard to hide the sympathy in her own.
“You’re… You’re empty.”
It wasn’t like she was any more likely to hurt Erika. Even before shooting her she wasn’t exactly much of a physical threat, besides being nauseating inside and out. One shot would’ve shut her up just as well, too.
One didn’t feel like enough though. Not for Kelly. In minutes she’d revealed herself to be the walking incarnation of everything Erika had fought not to see herself as. A creature that lived in moments when she pondered whether what she was doing could be construed as natural. The voice in her head that told her that she’d come to this island with everything she needed to escape it, that it was more than a matter of skill and willpower that she left so many bodies in her wake.
Junk thoughts. The same kind that pushed people to ponder stepping in front of oncoming trains or to fret ceaselessly in front of a mirror. Erika knew what to do with them. It was why she kept shooting.
After the eighth bullet struck Kelly’s chest, the Desert Eagle fell out of her hand. It was hard to miss the tiger-striped gold gleaming in the sun. As Erika continued firing, she twitched as another burst of gunfire erupted from over her left shoulder, alongside what faintly sounded like a scream. The hail of bullets joined Erika’s own in ventilating Kelly’s torso.
A red mist seemed to erupt from her body as the bullets ripped what was left of her to pieces, the sheer number of impacts so numerous they could be scarcely discerned from one another. Erika wasn’t sure where her own shots landed, save for one shot seemed to take out what was left of Kelly’s lower jaw. After no more than a few seconds, their guns went silent and Kelly collapsed in a heap on the ground. That she even stood through the barrage was disconcerting. This was not an end that Erika found herself in envy of.
Turning to face the other assailant, a look of horror fell across Erika’s face. It was Diego, somehow. She thought he’d been killed on the spot by Kelly, but it was clear enough that he’d only been winged by the shot.
In the face.
An uneven gash had been ripped across his cheek by the bullet. If Kelly’s aim had been any better, it would’ve landed true and his skull would’ve been canoe-shaped by now. From what she could tell, he might’ve been missing a few teeth, as well. She could see the gaps. The pain in his eyes was tangible. Erika could feel it.
She liked that she could still feel it.
But they were here, and he was who he was, and she was who she was. Erika looked down at the gun in his hand - some variant of an Uzi. The chamber was locked open, but with no telltale gleam of brass inside. Looking down to her own pistol, she saw it too had locked open - she’d expended all thirteen rounds shooting Kelly.
Stupid.
Erika grimaced, her left hand coming to a rest on the pocket she knew contained a fresh magazine. She paused, continuing to stare into his eyes. It was hard to hide the sympathy in her own.
“You’re… You’re empty.”
Diego's fingers stayed on the trigger long after the gun emptied itself. It vibrated against the trigger long after he ran out of bullets. It wasn't enough. It'd never be enough. She'd hurt him. She'd hurt him. She deserved to hurt. She deserved to hurt. She deser
Erika spoke.
He looked down at himself, at the gun in his hand. It was empty. It was silent.
He looked past the gun. Kelly was eviscerated. She was empty. She was silent.
He looked at Erika. Her gun hung by her, her other hand was near her pocket. There was a rectangular bulge.
He was so tired.
"I have another gun in my bag." He tried to summon an edge in his voice. "It's load- it's. Loaded." He failed.
He looked down, took a few breaths. Air rushed in through the side of his face. It stung. He couldn't even have air without pain now.
"L-look. Can I just"—his voice broke—"can I just..."
He gestured towards his face. Blood streamed freely from it, dripped towards the ground.
"Take care of this? Please?"
Erika spoke.
He looked down at himself, at the gun in his hand. It was empty. It was silent.
He looked past the gun. Kelly was eviscerated. She was empty. She was silent.
He looked at Erika. Her gun hung by her, her other hand was near her pocket. There was a rectangular bulge.
He was so tired.
"I have another gun in my bag." He tried to summon an edge in his voice. "It's load- it's. Loaded." He failed.
He looked down, took a few breaths. Air rushed in through the side of his face. It stung. He couldn't even have air without pain now.
"L-look. Can I just"—his voice broke—"can I just..."
He gestured towards his face. Blood streamed freely from it, dripped towards the ground.
"Take care of this? Please?"
It was hard to look away from the nasty-looking red canyon hewn through his cheek, but Erika did so the moment he mentioned the other gun. Erika eyed the bag. It was zipped closed. If he was trying to utter a threat, it wasn’t a very good one.She could reload and shoot him before he’d have time to draw something else.
Then again, she knew she could do so at that moment. If he saw her try, the best he could do would be to rush her before she’d get the chance. Wrestle the gun away, or do whatever he could to put her down. She vividly imagined pressing her fingers into the gash in his face, clawing at it in an attempt to push him away. The butterfly knife was just in her pocket. It wouldn’t be hard to draw it if she had to. He was wounded, desperate though. Enough to do anything to turn that kind of situation against her.
She blinked black and white spots out of her vision, briefly staring past Diego as she envisioned how things could go. Her arms felt heavy, her head heavier still. Standing wasn’t the easiest thing in the world at that moment. Chancing a fist fight, even with Diego, felt anything but appealing.
Leaning against the nearby concrete planter, Erika pulled the empty magazine out of her pistol and tucked it away into a pocket. She did so slowly, and deliberately, keeping eye contact with Diego and without pulling out the loaded magazine. The gun was now completely empty. Safe, she might say if they were at a range. It was a statement more than anything else. There was no trust here, other than to expect one another to do what they’d set out to do.
She glanced at Kelly. Her words kept echoing in Erika’s mind. Mad, and anything but eloquent. The thirty-odd bullets Kelly was wearing felt like a better retort to her worldview than the little speech Erika had given. The sulphur smell of gunpowder complimented the ambient stench of decay in the worst possible way.
Shrugging, she motioned to the bag.
"Y...yeah. Go ahead. Slowly. I don’t want to see that gun in your bag."
It was another kind of standoff. Erika was tired, too.
Then again, she knew she could do so at that moment. If he saw her try, the best he could do would be to rush her before she’d get the chance. Wrestle the gun away, or do whatever he could to put her down. She vividly imagined pressing her fingers into the gash in his face, clawing at it in an attempt to push him away. The butterfly knife was just in her pocket. It wouldn’t be hard to draw it if she had to. He was wounded, desperate though. Enough to do anything to turn that kind of situation against her.
She blinked black and white spots out of her vision, briefly staring past Diego as she envisioned how things could go. Her arms felt heavy, her head heavier still. Standing wasn’t the easiest thing in the world at that moment. Chancing a fist fight, even with Diego, felt anything but appealing.
Leaning against the nearby concrete planter, Erika pulled the empty magazine out of her pistol and tucked it away into a pocket. She did so slowly, and deliberately, keeping eye contact with Diego and without pulling out the loaded magazine. The gun was now completely empty. Safe, she might say if they were at a range. It was a statement more than anything else. There was no trust here, other than to expect one another to do what they’d set out to do.
She glanced at Kelly. Her words kept echoing in Erika’s mind. Mad, and anything but eloquent. The thirty-odd bullets Kelly was wearing felt like a better retort to her worldview than the little speech Erika had given. The sulphur smell of gunpowder complimented the ambient stench of decay in the worst possible way.
Shrugging, she motioned to the bag.
"Y...yeah. Go ahead. Slowly. I don’t want to see that gun in your bag."
It was another kind of standoff. Erika was tired, too.
"Th- thanks."
The gun fell to the ground with a thump. He followed after, lowered himself gingerly, sat cross-legged.
His hands shook, struggled to get hold of the zipper. He'd gotten his blood all over his hands, the bag, the zipper slipped out of his grip a few times. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, it felt like the gun was still firing in his hands.
"God."
At some point, tears leaked from his eyes. Nothing new. It mixed with the blood, formed a slick, sticky mixture he'd never be rid of.
He finally got the zipper. The bag opened. He rummaged through, looked for the first-aid kit, fucking everything was getting stained with blood.
He pulled the kit out, opened it, yanked out the roll of gauze, wrapped it around his hand, neared it towards his face—
"Fuck!"
It stung. It stabbed. It burned. It hurt. Some of the gauze pulled back, the blood soaked through it immediately.
"G-god."
He put the gauze against his face, sobbed into it.
"I fucking hate it here."
The gun fell to the ground with a thump. He followed after, lowered himself gingerly, sat cross-legged.
His hands shook, struggled to get hold of the zipper. He'd gotten his blood all over his hands, the bag, the zipper slipped out of his grip a few times. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, it felt like the gun was still firing in his hands.
"God."
At some point, tears leaked from his eyes. Nothing new. It mixed with the blood, formed a slick, sticky mixture he'd never be rid of.
He finally got the zipper. The bag opened. He rummaged through, looked for the first-aid kit, fucking everything was getting stained with blood.
He pulled the kit out, opened it, yanked out the roll of gauze, wrapped it around his hand, neared it towards his face—
"Fuck!"
It stung. It stabbed. It burned. It hurt. Some of the gauze pulled back, the blood soaked through it immediately.
"G-god."
He put the gauze against his face, sobbed into it.
"I fucking hate it here."
"It'd be really weird if you didn't." Erika bluntly replied.
Thankfully, Diego didn't reach for anything other than medical supplies. Maybe he'd done the arithmetic in his head, maybe he was so preoccupied with the wound in his face he didn't still realize the danger he was in. Either way, he held up to his end of the bargain. Erika winced as he pressed the gauze to his face, watching red dots slowly spread through to the other side. She was surprised he was still in a talking mood, all things considered.
She looked down at her pistol. It had specks of blood on the front of it. Absentmindedly, she wiped them off on the hem of her shirt. As she pulled up on the fabric, her eye caught on the plastic of the collar radar. Taking care to overexaggerate her movements, she withdrew the device and took a brief look at the screen. Still just as many radar signatures as she expected to find. She tucked the device back into her pocket, and continued fidgeting with the empty gun. As she moved, she couldn't help but gasp slightly as her own body reminded her of its litany of ailments. There seemed to be a bit too much visual noise whenever she looked towards the ground, or up at the sky.
He kept working on his face. At least, doing something that must have made it feel a bit better. It wasn't like he could stitch it shut, or really tape gauze on that would stick. It was going to stay with him until - well, it was going to stay painful and bleeding for the foreseeable future.
If he had another set of hands to help, it would be easier. Knowing all he could do was imagine what his face actually looked like, what had been done to him - Erika was glad there wasn't anything resembling a mirror nearby. She could only guess what was going through his mind.
Wanting to make it better, acting on it - these were the wrong feelings. She wouldn't have considered them if there wasn't so much time to contemplate. The thought crossed her mind that now, while he was distracted, would've been the perfect time to strike. Yet as she thought about it, her gaze drifted once again to Kelly. Her mind drifted to thoughts of need and necessity, of how in control she ever had been all of the times she'd held someone at her mercy. It was a relief to have the planter to lean up against. Her legs felt weak.
"My gut tells me to help you, but I won't. You know why. I hate that feeling. I'm... really tired of this, Diego."
Thankfully, Diego didn't reach for anything other than medical supplies. Maybe he'd done the arithmetic in his head, maybe he was so preoccupied with the wound in his face he didn't still realize the danger he was in. Either way, he held up to his end of the bargain. Erika winced as he pressed the gauze to his face, watching red dots slowly spread through to the other side. She was surprised he was still in a talking mood, all things considered.
She looked down at her pistol. It had specks of blood on the front of it. Absentmindedly, she wiped them off on the hem of her shirt. As she pulled up on the fabric, her eye caught on the plastic of the collar radar. Taking care to overexaggerate her movements, she withdrew the device and took a brief look at the screen. Still just as many radar signatures as she expected to find. She tucked the device back into her pocket, and continued fidgeting with the empty gun. As she moved, she couldn't help but gasp slightly as her own body reminded her of its litany of ailments. There seemed to be a bit too much visual noise whenever she looked towards the ground, or up at the sky.
He kept working on his face. At least, doing something that must have made it feel a bit better. It wasn't like he could stitch it shut, or really tape gauze on that would stick. It was going to stay with him until - well, it was going to stay painful and bleeding for the foreseeable future.
If he had another set of hands to help, it would be easier. Knowing all he could do was imagine what his face actually looked like, what had been done to him - Erika was glad there wasn't anything resembling a mirror nearby. She could only guess what was going through his mind.
Wanting to make it better, acting on it - these were the wrong feelings. She wouldn't have considered them if there wasn't so much time to contemplate. The thought crossed her mind that now, while he was distracted, would've been the perfect time to strike. Yet as she thought about it, her gaze drifted once again to Kelly. Her mind drifted to thoughts of need and necessity, of how in control she ever had been all of the times she'd held someone at her mercy. It was a relief to have the planter to lean up against. Her legs felt weak.
"My gut tells me to help you, but I won't. You know why. I hate that feeling. I'm... really tired of this, Diego."
A muffled voice came from behind the gauze.
"I don't want your help."
Quieter.
"I'm so sick of you people."
He sobbed into the fabric for a few more seconds. No matter how hard he pressed it against himself, the pain wouldn't stop, the blood wouldn't stop.
He uncovered himself eventually, looked at the gauze. It was soaked in red. It was futile. So he put it down.
Erika stood across him, letting the planter hold her weight. She wasn't lying. She really did look tired.
Her name had been announced daily. He'd expected someone more vital, more lively. More terrifying. Her skin was pale, it looked clammy. She looked like she was fading.
Diego's voice floated towards Erika after a while, creaky, weakened.
"I. I followed Kelly because, like. If I became like her, maybe I'd stop being so tired."
He gestured towards the tattered corpse, jaw blown off. His ears still rang, part of him felt like she was still screaming.
"She seemed to like it here."
"I don't want your help."
Quieter.
"I'm so sick of you people."
He sobbed into the fabric for a few more seconds. No matter how hard he pressed it against himself, the pain wouldn't stop, the blood wouldn't stop.
He uncovered himself eventually, looked at the gauze. It was soaked in red. It was futile. So he put it down.
Erika stood across him, letting the planter hold her weight. She wasn't lying. She really did look tired.
Her name had been announced daily. He'd expected someone more vital, more lively. More terrifying. Her skin was pale, it looked clammy. She looked like she was fading.
Diego's voice floated towards Erika after a while, creaky, weakened.
"I. I followed Kelly because, like. If I became like her, maybe I'd stop being so tired."
He gestured towards the tattered corpse, jaw blown off. His ears still rang, part of him felt like she was still screaming.
"She seemed to like it here."
Erika let out a hollow chuckle. You people. The only way she was like anyone else he met, was that she also wasn’t him. She knew where it came from, though: One against all. There wasn’t any point in addressing that. She’d forced herself to see things the same way, after all.
At his explanation for the short-lived alliance, however, she shook her head and interjected.
"Pfft, doubt it. Did you see anything there worth tryin’ to be, actually? I don't think she liked living too much."
Whatever Kelly had believed, it hadn’t come from anywhere good. Another way of coping with all of this, or some deeper pain she’d never shown before. Either way, it was nothing worth emulating.
Erika kept wiping the dirt and specks of blood off of the slide of the pistol. She did have a habit of fidgeting in conversation, if that was all this was. There hadn’t been much reason to care for dirt on the gun before, but Erika didn’t dare let it leave her hands, and so she fidgeted. Diego seemed content not to give her reason to load it, thankfully. There was an odd kind of serenity in how certain she was she would kill him, and choosing not to. It helped offset a few of the more difficult emotions she was holding back.
A living thing that just wanted to continue. Something that could find light in any moment, novelty in any new emotion, any feeling, good or bad. A mind that experienced awe. Matter that knew itself. She’d told herself she was all of these things, for comfort when she dwelled on questions of mortality. Now, surrounded by death, it was easy to see those ideas as white noise and empty rationalizations. Her motivation for unspeakable acts had been that desire to live. A love for her own life. A sense that it had been taken away unfairly.
It hadn't been only a matter of willpower; but by the numbers, that idea had been more effective in motivating Erika to do unspeakable acts than the sorts of misanthropy shared by Kelly and her similarly inclined classmates. The desire to be, to love again, pushed her further than any misplaced hatred ever could. It almost pushed her too far, by her reckoning. The best memories she had felt faint, the dreams she'd once nursed in quiet moments now felt flat and empty. All of the best images in her mind were full of people, and places she knew she could never see again.
If she really thought about it, Erika realized she couldn't remember the face she wanted to see in a mirror anymore. Not so different from Diego, in a way.
After a moment's pause, she spoke up again.
"I did. Enjoy life, I mean. That's why I'm here, I think. Why I did what I did. Had something to fight for. Feels more and more like I'm fighting for a dream than anything real, though. I figure I must’ve known life wasn’t ever gonna be what it used to be, but…”
Erika smiled, sadly.
“...we're real good at lying to ourselves, aren't we?"
At his explanation for the short-lived alliance, however, she shook her head and interjected.
"Pfft, doubt it. Did you see anything there worth tryin’ to be, actually? I don't think she liked living too much."
Whatever Kelly had believed, it hadn’t come from anywhere good. Another way of coping with all of this, or some deeper pain she’d never shown before. Either way, it was nothing worth emulating.
Erika kept wiping the dirt and specks of blood off of the slide of the pistol. She did have a habit of fidgeting in conversation, if that was all this was. There hadn’t been much reason to care for dirt on the gun before, but Erika didn’t dare let it leave her hands, and so she fidgeted. Diego seemed content not to give her reason to load it, thankfully. There was an odd kind of serenity in how certain she was she would kill him, and choosing not to. It helped offset a few of the more difficult emotions she was holding back.
A living thing that just wanted to continue. Something that could find light in any moment, novelty in any new emotion, any feeling, good or bad. A mind that experienced awe. Matter that knew itself. She’d told herself she was all of these things, for comfort when she dwelled on questions of mortality. Now, surrounded by death, it was easy to see those ideas as white noise and empty rationalizations. Her motivation for unspeakable acts had been that desire to live. A love for her own life. A sense that it had been taken away unfairly.
It hadn't been only a matter of willpower; but by the numbers, that idea had been more effective in motivating Erika to do unspeakable acts than the sorts of misanthropy shared by Kelly and her similarly inclined classmates. The desire to be, to love again, pushed her further than any misplaced hatred ever could. It almost pushed her too far, by her reckoning. The best memories she had felt faint, the dreams she'd once nursed in quiet moments now felt flat and empty. All of the best images in her mind were full of people, and places she knew she could never see again.
If she really thought about it, Erika realized she couldn't remember the face she wanted to see in a mirror anymore. Not so different from Diego, in a way.
After a moment's pause, she spoke up again.
"I did. Enjoy life, I mean. That's why I'm here, I think. Why I did what I did. Had something to fight for. Feels more and more like I'm fighting for a dream than anything real, though. I figure I must’ve known life wasn’t ever gonna be what it used to be, but…”
Erika smiled, sadly.
“...we're real good at lying to ourselves, aren't we?"