((Taylor Thorne continued from Inland Empire))
By the time they struggled out of the forest and into higher elevation, the cold was taking its toll on Tay. Their lips had gone from chapped to cracked; they tasted blood every now and again when they swiped their tongue over their lips. The edges of their mouth had been rubbed raw from Tay's repeated wiping away of the blood; the skin on their cheekbones was in a similar state from swiping at tears, whether they were from the wind blowing into their face, the raw hurt and upset that kept clawing its way back up in waves, or the sheer overwhelming hopelessness of the situation.
They shouldn't have run off on Dan and Wendy. Shouldn't have looked at Steve. They'd heard what had happened, they'd known what they'd find in the ditch, and still- still-
Taylor's head hurt. Three days without a sip of caffeine, two nights of sleeping barely sheltered from the cold, no appetite. In between the pain, physical and emotional, there were spikes of dizziness that verged on euphoria.
Is this what dying felt like? That thought came and went like the wind. Taylor didn't know what death felt like, only living, for better or worse.
As long as they kept moving they were alive. As long as it hurt, they were alive. If they kept moving, kept the blood flowing, then someone would find them. Daniel or Wendy or someone else. They could see twilight starting to sweep over the island from up here, and God, it was too beautiful for what was happening all around them. Every so often, they had seen spots of color, little moving figures that had to be people down below, and they'd tried to call out to those people, but their voice wasn't strong enough. Too hoarse from crying, or too out of breath, or just carried away by the wind. They were exposed up here, but they felt invisible.
Taylor's trajectory along the mountain path was uneven, weaving around debris and obstacles, and sometimes just veering to one side or the other from dizziness or lack of focus. They kept having to move themselves back from the edge where they could fall, reminded again and again of Steve.
They couldn't stop moving. Couldn't do what Jess had done, whether she meant to or not. Couldn't keep wondering about her, but couldn't stop wondering either. Maybe she'd run off too, just like this, just needed to be alone without thinking about how much she also needed someone, anyone, too.
"I hate this," Tay gasped out loud, voice cracking. "I hate this. Someone help, please-"
Maybe, this time, there would be somebody around to hear.
You're At The Party
Late afternoon on Day 3; private
You're At The Party
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
((And the hunter heeded the call.))
It was not the intended recipient of Taylor's plea, but nonetheless, it answered. Like the creeping cold, it closed in on Taylor, careful footfalls hidden by the howling of the wind around the mountain pass. The cold snapped and bit at its flesh, threatening to gnaw into its bones. Yet it would refused to succumb to the cold. Instead, it loomed over Taylor like the jaws of death, silent and staring holes in their back.
The mind of Katelyn Graves had been a whirlwind of nonstop discourse in the time since she killed Eden. Everything she had tried to build herself up to be was long gone. She could no longer deny that the story that she was trying to pen with her life would never be the same, and would be forever tainted by the blood that stained her clothes. She was four kills deep only three days in, and nobody would ever believe that she was really the victim, because she demonstrably wasn't.
To say she was angry with herself was an understatement, but she didn't want to be. She hated feeling this way, but she didn't feel like she was just allowed to stop, because she should feel bad. Despite that, she couldn't help but feel more and more numb with each subsequent kill. Killing Robin was heartrending. Killing Iliya was distressing. Killing Mitch was merely sad. Killing Eden was only regretful. The violence had become natural, and that was deeply wrong. It went against everything she had been taught and internalized. She was supposed to be good. She was supposed to feel bad about hurting people.
And yet, what had that gotten her?
Nothing more than a bundle full of misery. She always tried to be good, but then she would lose control of her emotions, and then she'd hurt someone, and it'd tear her up inside. She wanted to be better, but she couldn't. Trying to be selfless instead of selfish only ever made her feel worse. She was never good enough, no matter what she did or how she tried, because she would always mess it up in the end, and messing up in this place had lethal consequences.
How she normally dealt with it is that she would yell at and police herself. She'd tell herself that she was failing to live up to the expectations her parents had set. When they were alive, she only wanted them to be proud, to love her. Then they were gone, and became something more than people. They became symbols, and she used them only to tell herself that she wasn't good enough. Except they don't care, because the dead couldn't care. She wouldn't care once she was there with them.
So why did her actions matter, if they weren't done for them or for herself? It had to be for the others, like her friends. No-doubt they wouldn't like what she was doing, and how she was hurting people. Except the rules of this place were different. In this place, hurting people was normal and expected. She still wouldn't hurt her friends, but it'd be unfair for them to complain about her hurting the rest, given the circumstances. Only one of them could leave anyway. At least she could quickly get it over with.
All of that meant that if she wanted to be happy in these last few days of her life, then her best choice was to just follow the new rules, and stop beating herself up over it.
Was that right?
She still didn't know. She wanted to believe it was, yet she still hesitated. That was why Taylor was still alive, despite how easy it would've been to kill them, and Katelyn's personal vendetta against them. Taylor was one of the few people that Katelyn outright couldn't stand. They were friendly and people liked them, but Katelyn knew their kindness was fake. They took Robin's side after the breakup, and said he had no responsibility for what happened between them. As if him acting like Katelyn didn't exist and was an embarrassment was innocent behavior, easily brushed aside. At least she still held some affection for him in the end, given the few small moments of genuine tenderness they had shared. She had no similar love for Taylor.
But did they really deserve to die over that?
No more than anyone deserved anything that happened to them. The universe was indifferent to all, and maybe that indifference was an ideal she should aspire to. Taylor was going to die anyway. At least she could quickly get it over with. More importantly, maybe by throwing herself into the deep end and killing someone who in no way deserved it, she could force herself to stop feeling so bad about all the rest, and simply let what happens from now on, happen.
Behind Taylor, there was a faint—almost inaudible, under the wind—shnk of metal against plastic.
It was not the intended recipient of Taylor's plea, but nonetheless, it answered. Like the creeping cold, it closed in on Taylor, careful footfalls hidden by the howling of the wind around the mountain pass. The cold snapped and bit at its flesh, threatening to gnaw into its bones. Yet it would refused to succumb to the cold. Instead, it loomed over Taylor like the jaws of death, silent and staring holes in their back.
The mind of Katelyn Graves had been a whirlwind of nonstop discourse in the time since she killed Eden. Everything she had tried to build herself up to be was long gone. She could no longer deny that the story that she was trying to pen with her life would never be the same, and would be forever tainted by the blood that stained her clothes. She was four kills deep only three days in, and nobody would ever believe that she was really the victim, because she demonstrably wasn't.
To say she was angry with herself was an understatement, but she didn't want to be. She hated feeling this way, but she didn't feel like she was just allowed to stop, because she should feel bad. Despite that, she couldn't help but feel more and more numb with each subsequent kill. Killing Robin was heartrending. Killing Iliya was distressing. Killing Mitch was merely sad. Killing Eden was only regretful. The violence had become natural, and that was deeply wrong. It went against everything she had been taught and internalized. She was supposed to be good. She was supposed to feel bad about hurting people.
And yet, what had that gotten her?
Nothing more than a bundle full of misery. She always tried to be good, but then she would lose control of her emotions, and then she'd hurt someone, and it'd tear her up inside. She wanted to be better, but she couldn't. Trying to be selfless instead of selfish only ever made her feel worse. She was never good enough, no matter what she did or how she tried, because she would always mess it up in the end, and messing up in this place had lethal consequences.
How she normally dealt with it is that she would yell at and police herself. She'd tell herself that she was failing to live up to the expectations her parents had set. When they were alive, she only wanted them to be proud, to love her. Then they were gone, and became something more than people. They became symbols, and she used them only to tell herself that she wasn't good enough. Except they don't care, because the dead couldn't care. She wouldn't care once she was there with them.
So why did her actions matter, if they weren't done for them or for herself? It had to be for the others, like her friends. No-doubt they wouldn't like what she was doing, and how she was hurting people. Except the rules of this place were different. In this place, hurting people was normal and expected. She still wouldn't hurt her friends, but it'd be unfair for them to complain about her hurting the rest, given the circumstances. Only one of them could leave anyway. At least she could quickly get it over with.
All of that meant that if she wanted to be happy in these last few days of her life, then her best choice was to just follow the new rules, and stop beating herself up over it.
Was that right?
She still didn't know. She wanted to believe it was, yet she still hesitated. That was why Taylor was still alive, despite how easy it would've been to kill them, and Katelyn's personal vendetta against them. Taylor was one of the few people that Katelyn outright couldn't stand. They were friendly and people liked them, but Katelyn knew their kindness was fake. They took Robin's side after the breakup, and said he had no responsibility for what happened between them. As if him acting like Katelyn didn't exist and was an embarrassment was innocent behavior, easily brushed aside. At least she still held some affection for him in the end, given the few small moments of genuine tenderness they had shared. She had no similar love for Taylor.
But did they really deserve to die over that?
No more than anyone deserved anything that happened to them. The universe was indifferent to all, and maybe that indifference was an ideal she should aspire to. Taylor was going to die anyway. At least she could quickly get it over with. More importantly, maybe by throwing herself into the deep end and killing someone who in no way deserved it, she could force herself to stop feeling so bad about all the rest, and simply let what happens from now on, happen.
Behind Taylor, there was a faint—almost inaudible, under the wind—shnk of metal against plastic.
Taylor stumbled. The ghost of a swear word left their stinging lips, inaudible even to them, as they caught themselves against a rock. A bit more velocity, and they would have gone over the edge. They'd been ironically saved by their own exhaustion and inability to do anything but trudge along at a snail's pace.
"G-God-" Their teeth started chattering uncontrollably if they stopped clenching their jaw and tried to speak for more than a few seconds. Tay bowed their head for a few moments, leaning heavily on the arm braced against the rock. They were so fucking tired. This path felt endless. It felt like a shitty dream that just kept going and going.
Maybe it was. Maybe they could convince themselves of that. Taylor's body was laying somewhere back there in the snow, or was still curled up in a tent with Daniel and Wendy, or hell, the real them was even back at home, warm and safe in their own bed, sleeping in late on a Sunday morning. Maybe that could be true if they believed in it hard enough.
You were supposed to be in control of lucid dreams. Tay had never quite managed to reach that stage of things, thanks to their irregular sleep schedule and general lack of discipline, but they'd read plenty of stories. A lot of them were fun. Some were nightmares. Stories about sleep paralysis terrified them; it was the opposite of lucid dreaming to them, laying helpless and frozen while you hallucinated things happening all around you. The past few days felt like a strange mingling of those two extremes.
When Taylor lifted their head again, movement to the side caught their eye. Something, someone stained red.
They spun around jerkily, flattening themselves back against the rock. "Shit-!"
There was some kind of ironic humor in the worst boogeyman of all being a crazy girl with a big-ass knife.
"G-God-" Their teeth started chattering uncontrollably if they stopped clenching their jaw and tried to speak for more than a few seconds. Tay bowed their head for a few moments, leaning heavily on the arm braced against the rock. They were so fucking tired. This path felt endless. It felt like a shitty dream that just kept going and going.
Maybe it was. Maybe they could convince themselves of that. Taylor's body was laying somewhere back there in the snow, or was still curled up in a tent with Daniel and Wendy, or hell, the real them was even back at home, warm and safe in their own bed, sleeping in late on a Sunday morning. Maybe that could be true if they believed in it hard enough.
You were supposed to be in control of lucid dreams. Tay had never quite managed to reach that stage of things, thanks to their irregular sleep schedule and general lack of discipline, but they'd read plenty of stories. A lot of them were fun. Some were nightmares. Stories about sleep paralysis terrified them; it was the opposite of lucid dreaming to them, laying helpless and frozen while you hallucinated things happening all around you. The past few days felt like a strange mingling of those two extremes.
When Taylor lifted their head again, movement to the side caught their eye. Something, someone stained red.
They spun around jerkily, flattening themselves back against the rock. "Shit-!"
There was some kind of ironic humor in the worst boogeyman of all being a crazy girl with a big-ass knife.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
So she was noticed. That complicated the situation, but did not change the core of it. Taylor was, as far as Katelyn could tell, alone and unarmed. Cornered like a rat, staring down the cat. She had been in Taylor's position before, but unlike Ingrid, who mistakenly thought that Katelyn couldn't defend herself, she would approach carefully. Even the smallest, most harmless humans had the capability of great violence when their back was to the wall. Katelyn knew that all too well.
"Taylor," she said, squeezing the handle of her knife. "Long time no see."
Despite it being only three and a half days since the kidnapping, it felt like everyone that was on the bus was a lifetime away. Trauma had a way of doing that to someone, highlighting that the perception of time was just that and no more. Had any of the others experienced anything similar? Katelyn didn't know, but she hoped not. Despite what she was about to do, she'd rather there was less hurt in the world.
Maybe that could be the new identity that she clung to. An angel of death, swooping in to finish off her already doomed victims before something far worse could happen to them. The terrorists had ensured all but one of them were dead already. Better for them to make it fast. Whenever her own time came, she wanted it to be fast.
The duffel bag and digging bar hanging off of her swayed in the wind. She shivered, but not just from the cold. It was harder to do this now that Taylor was looking at her. She couldn't let that stop her. If she couldn't be a good person, then she had to accept being a bad person. The only alternative was curling up and letting herself die, and she wasn't raised to be a quitter.
"Sorry about Robin... and this," she continued, taking a single, shaky step forward, even as the rest of her body screamed at her to go back.
"Taylor," she said, squeezing the handle of her knife. "Long time no see."
Despite it being only three and a half days since the kidnapping, it felt like everyone that was on the bus was a lifetime away. Trauma had a way of doing that to someone, highlighting that the perception of time was just that and no more. Had any of the others experienced anything similar? Katelyn didn't know, but she hoped not. Despite what she was about to do, she'd rather there was less hurt in the world.
Maybe that could be the new identity that she clung to. An angel of death, swooping in to finish off her already doomed victims before something far worse could happen to them. The terrorists had ensured all but one of them were dead already. Better for them to make it fast. Whenever her own time came, she wanted it to be fast.
The duffel bag and digging bar hanging off of her swayed in the wind. She shivered, but not just from the cold. It was harder to do this now that Taylor was looking at her. She couldn't let that stop her. If she couldn't be a good person, then she had to accept being a bad person. The only alternative was curling up and letting herself die, and she wasn't raised to be a quitter.
"Sorry about Robin... and this," she continued, taking a single, shaky step forward, even as the rest of her body screamed at her to go back.
"Wh-what?" It wasn't just the cold that made them stutter. It took Tay a solid few seconds to even parse what Katelyn had said, and by then she'd started to close in.
"Y-you fucking seri-ious?" They blurted out. Even caught between a rock and a sharp place, their mouth ran away with them, but they let it lead where it would. "You're sorry?"
This had to be a dream. No way was Katelyn Graves actually walking towards them with that knife outstretched like some D-movie slasher. Nuh-uh. Who showed up and opened conversations like that? Who just- just said sorry, like she hadn't carved Robin up like a Christmas ham the first chance she got? Like that was something you could make better with your cute little cat girl, I'm-so-sowwy-uwu bit?
Nah bro. If this was a dream, it was Taylor's, and they were going to be in charge.
Tay scrubbed a hand over their face reflexively, only realizing a second later that they probably shouldn't take their eyes off Katelyn. "I d-don't-" Their voice dropped from shrill disbelief back down to that tired bitterness that had been eating them all day. "Don't want any s-sorry from you. I wanna know why."
They figured they knew why. Figured it had been brewing ever since the day she'd crept up to them in the hall at school and asked with huge, sad eyes if Tay knew why Robin was ignoring her. Since they sent him the texts that had probably, in some way, had something to do with the way it all went to hell after, however much they'd managed to not think about that.
Hey dude, Katelyn Kittycat came up to me today and it sounds like she thinks you're dating?
Are you guys a thing?
They hadn't thought twice about it. Robin never said anything else about those texts, never said they had anything to do with anything. Neither had Katelyn. She probably hadn't ever known about them.
Taylor had been shocked and upset, obviously, when they heard she'd tried to kill herself. Mortified when it started going around that it was because Robin had dumped her (even though he'd always stuck to the story that Katelyn was the one who dumped him). He'd never even mentioned her before that brief exchange, and then he'd shrugged it off. Just a little bit of flirting like he did, something that sparked and then fizzled out like 99% of high school romances did. You didn't kill yourself over something stupid like that.
Katelyn was weird in a way that Tay didn't vibe with, and they had always just sort of avoided her if possible because they didn't know how to deal with it, but they hadn't ever thought she deserved to be treated like garbage. It was like passing a homeless person on the street. Taylor would have liked to help if they knew how, but they didn't, so they just kept their head down and kept walking. The people who singled her out for her behavior took it too far. She wasn't hurting anybody (until she was).
But Robin hadn't deserved the way people treated him afterwards either, like he'd held a gun to her head and made her do it. When it came down to it, Katelyn had shown everyone which one out of the two of them was a killer.
"Y-you should at least have a- a- reason."
The air felt thin up here. Taylor had been fighting to breathe for a while.
"Y-you fucking seri-ious?" They blurted out. Even caught between a rock and a sharp place, their mouth ran away with them, but they let it lead where it would. "You're sorry?"
This had to be a dream. No way was Katelyn Graves actually walking towards them with that knife outstretched like some D-movie slasher. Nuh-uh. Who showed up and opened conversations like that? Who just- just said sorry, like she hadn't carved Robin up like a Christmas ham the first chance she got? Like that was something you could make better with your cute little cat girl, I'm-so-sowwy-uwu bit?
Nah bro. If this was a dream, it was Taylor's, and they were going to be in charge.
Tay scrubbed a hand over their face reflexively, only realizing a second later that they probably shouldn't take their eyes off Katelyn. "I d-don't-" Their voice dropped from shrill disbelief back down to that tired bitterness that had been eating them all day. "Don't want any s-sorry from you. I wanna know why."
They figured they knew why. Figured it had been brewing ever since the day she'd crept up to them in the hall at school and asked with huge, sad eyes if Tay knew why Robin was ignoring her. Since they sent him the texts that had probably, in some way, had something to do with the way it all went to hell after, however much they'd managed to not think about that.
Hey dude, Katelyn Kittycat came up to me today and it sounds like she thinks you're dating?
Are you guys a thing?
They hadn't thought twice about it. Robin never said anything else about those texts, never said they had anything to do with anything. Neither had Katelyn. She probably hadn't ever known about them.
Taylor had been shocked and upset, obviously, when they heard she'd tried to kill herself. Mortified when it started going around that it was because Robin had dumped her (even though he'd always stuck to the story that Katelyn was the one who dumped him). He'd never even mentioned her before that brief exchange, and then he'd shrugged it off. Just a little bit of flirting like he did, something that sparked and then fizzled out like 99% of high school romances did. You didn't kill yourself over something stupid like that.
Katelyn was weird in a way that Tay didn't vibe with, and they had always just sort of avoided her if possible because they didn't know how to deal with it, but they hadn't ever thought she deserved to be treated like garbage. It was like passing a homeless person on the street. Taylor would have liked to help if they knew how, but they didn't, so they just kept their head down and kept walking. The people who singled her out for her behavior took it too far. She wasn't hurting anybody (until she was).
But Robin hadn't deserved the way people treated him afterwards either, like he'd held a gun to her head and made her do it. When it came down to it, Katelyn had shown everyone which one out of the two of them was a killer.
"Y-you should at least have a- a- reason."
The air felt thin up here. Taylor had been fighting to breathe for a while.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
"Because I'm a monster."
Katelyn's reply came out unusually fast for her. Normally she deliberated over her words, chose them carefully so as not to provoke anyone. That was what she had been taught she had to do, just to survive in a world surrounded by people she couldn't understand. What did provocation matter now, with someone she didn't intend to live much longer than a few minutes?
She took another step forward. Her calves burned, and her vision swam, brain deprived of much-needed oxygen. How high up were they, really? How much higher could they go?
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" she said, stutter free, surprising even herself. "Does that make you feel better about what happened?"
She had reasons, real reasons, for everything that happened, and what she was about to do. Reasons that nobody else would ever understand, except for her. Taylor didn't deserve this, and she knew that, but how would she explain that that was the point? If she was going to embrace the new role that the universe had foisted upon her, then she needed to test her resolve, and acclimate to this most unpleasant task. Taylor was simply a victim of circumstance, the first person Katelyn hated that she stumbled upon.
"You wouldn't understand, even if I tried to explain," she continued, tone almost as cold as the air. "So let's both pretend instead that R- Robin deserved what- what he got."
Another step forward. She could see the clouds of vapor coming out of Taylor's mouth and nose. Her legs were stiff, but she had to keep going, because what else was there? All she could see was what was right in front of her, and all she could do was keep moving forward, straight into the darkest depths of her soul.
Katelyn's reply came out unusually fast for her. Normally she deliberated over her words, chose them carefully so as not to provoke anyone. That was what she had been taught she had to do, just to survive in a world surrounded by people she couldn't understand. What did provocation matter now, with someone she didn't intend to live much longer than a few minutes?
She took another step forward. Her calves burned, and her vision swam, brain deprived of much-needed oxygen. How high up were they, really? How much higher could they go?
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" she said, stutter free, surprising even herself. "Does that make you feel better about what happened?"
She had reasons, real reasons, for everything that happened, and what she was about to do. Reasons that nobody else would ever understand, except for her. Taylor didn't deserve this, and she knew that, but how would she explain that that was the point? If she was going to embrace the new role that the universe had foisted upon her, then she needed to test her resolve, and acclimate to this most unpleasant task. Taylor was simply a victim of circumstance, the first person Katelyn hated that she stumbled upon.
"You wouldn't understand, even if I tried to explain," she continued, tone almost as cold as the air. "So let's both pretend instead that R- Robin deserved what- what he got."
Another step forward. She could see the clouds of vapor coming out of Taylor's mouth and nose. Her legs were stiff, but she had to keep going, because what else was there? All she could see was what was right in front of her, and all she could do was keep moving forward, straight into the darkest depths of her soul.
Katelyn's answer got one incredulous syllable in response. "No?"
Taylor could only look at her aghast, hand still pressed against their face, fingertips almost digging into their eye so that white spots danced in the darkness on that side. "I-if I-" They gritted their teeth against the shivers wracking their whole body. "If I wanted you to be a monster, then I'd s-see a monster."
That was really it, huh. Either this was really, really happening, or Tay's imagination was just that lame. They'd halfway convinced themselves of the latter, or at least they were convincing themselves that they were convincing themselves. Inception. Vintage meme shit. It was only as bad a joke as the one Katelyn had just told.
The light was fading rapidly up here, draping everything in shadow except for the glint of the knife. Tay rubbed their face again, hard, just to get some warmth in it. The swirling colors the pressure left behind in their vision warped the figure of Katelyn in front of them. Forget being two-faced, this bitch had ten, and none of them suited her.
"I w-wouldn't understand, hu-uh? Y'know- you know what you and me have in common right now?" Taylor gave it a few seconds to properly build up the punchline, then spread their arms wide, grimacing as the wind caught their body anew. In the dim light, the stains were invisible on Taylor's dark clothes, but the smell of stale copper was there.
"We're both covered in Robin's blood."
They let their arms drop, bracing back against the rock. A quick glance to the side only confirmed what they already knew; there was nothing but a sharp drop. No escape route. Taylor wasted a few seconds thinking about an escape route so hard it made their head hurt more. When they looked back at Katelyn, it seemed for a moment that her eyes were backlit, just like a real cat.
"You're not a monster. Just- just-" They couldn't come up with any word that fit. Just a dumb bitch with a knife. Too mundane, too normal, to be anything like a nightmare. Maybe that was the proof that it really was Tay's dream after all.
"Just- hurry up and stab me, huh? If you wanna f-fight, I'm not gonna." What, were they going to fend off a knife that had already killed three people with the sex handcuffs in their bag? Their hands felt frozen to the rock anyway, and they didn't think they could even have pushed Katelyn over if they tried. More than that, if she wanted some kind of justification, some way to spin this so that Tay brought it on themselves, they weren't going to give it to her.
Maybe they should jump off the edge. You always woke up before you hit the ground.
Taylor could only look at her aghast, hand still pressed against their face, fingertips almost digging into their eye so that white spots danced in the darkness on that side. "I-if I-" They gritted their teeth against the shivers wracking their whole body. "If I wanted you to be a monster, then I'd s-see a monster."
That was really it, huh. Either this was really, really happening, or Tay's imagination was just that lame. They'd halfway convinced themselves of the latter, or at least they were convincing themselves that they were convincing themselves. Inception. Vintage meme shit. It was only as bad a joke as the one Katelyn had just told.
The light was fading rapidly up here, draping everything in shadow except for the glint of the knife. Tay rubbed their face again, hard, just to get some warmth in it. The swirling colors the pressure left behind in their vision warped the figure of Katelyn in front of them. Forget being two-faced, this bitch had ten, and none of them suited her.
"I w-wouldn't understand, hu-uh? Y'know- you know what you and me have in common right now?" Taylor gave it a few seconds to properly build up the punchline, then spread their arms wide, grimacing as the wind caught their body anew. In the dim light, the stains were invisible on Taylor's dark clothes, but the smell of stale copper was there.
"We're both covered in Robin's blood."
They let their arms drop, bracing back against the rock. A quick glance to the side only confirmed what they already knew; there was nothing but a sharp drop. No escape route. Taylor wasted a few seconds thinking about an escape route so hard it made their head hurt more. When they looked back at Katelyn, it seemed for a moment that her eyes were backlit, just like a real cat.
"You're not a monster. Just- just-" They couldn't come up with any word that fit. Just a dumb bitch with a knife. Too mundane, too normal, to be anything like a nightmare. Maybe that was the proof that it really was Tay's dream after all.
"Just- hurry up and stab me, huh? If you wanna f-fight, I'm not gonna." What, were they going to fend off a knife that had already killed three people with the sex handcuffs in their bag? Their hands felt frozen to the rock anyway, and they didn't think they could even have pushed Katelyn over if they tried. More than that, if she wanted some kind of justification, some way to spin this so that Tay brought it on themselves, they weren't going to give it to her.
Maybe they should jump off the edge. You always woke up before you hit the ground.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Katelyn took one last step forward, gripping the knife with both her hands to control her trembling. She was within stabbing distance of Taylor now, but her nerves were fraying at their ends, anxiety overwhelming her. Her legs wanted to carry her back, her arms wanted to lock up, her body wanted to refuse each and every command she was giving it.
This was wrong and she knew it, but never once in her life did she seem to do anything right. Even the art she made, the purest expression of what it was like to be in her own head, wasn't good enough. Violence came somewhat naturally to her, but even here, on murder island, she couldn't seem to embrace it. So much uncertainty, despite how much she wanted to let go.
It was too late to back out now. What would she even say or do? Apologize for threatening to stab them and walk away as if it was a normal mistake to make? Then what, afterwards? Accept that she didn't have the guts to be the monster she needed to be, and then simply lie down and die?
She would not cease. She had to keep going, and when her time came to go into the dark, she would have to be dragged down kicking and screaming. And if she meant that, if she really, truly wanted that, then this is what she had to do. Be the bad guy, and kill whoever got in her way. Kill someone who didn't deserve it, and she could spend the rest of her time feeling bad about that, and not everything else that would come after.
Her grip tightened around the knife handle. The self-inflicted wound in her cheek burned like hot coals. Her neck itched under the collar.
Taylor was going to die anyway, she repeated to herself. They were asking for it, they weren't even going to fight for their own life. If it wasn't her that did the deed, it would've been someone else. At least she could make it quick. Just do it, get it over with, and start being evil. A cackling villain was at least having fun, right? At least the bad guy wasn't sad all the time.
She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. Then, without warning, she thrust the blade forward and felt it impact soft flesh, and then ripped it back out.
This was wrong and she knew it, but never once in her life did she seem to do anything right. Even the art she made, the purest expression of what it was like to be in her own head, wasn't good enough. Violence came somewhat naturally to her, but even here, on murder island, she couldn't seem to embrace it. So much uncertainty, despite how much she wanted to let go.
It was too late to back out now. What would she even say or do? Apologize for threatening to stab them and walk away as if it was a normal mistake to make? Then what, afterwards? Accept that she didn't have the guts to be the monster she needed to be, and then simply lie down and die?
She would not cease. She had to keep going, and when her time came to go into the dark, she would have to be dragged down kicking and screaming. And if she meant that, if she really, truly wanted that, then this is what she had to do. Be the bad guy, and kill whoever got in her way. Kill someone who didn't deserve it, and she could spend the rest of her time feeling bad about that, and not everything else that would come after.
Her grip tightened around the knife handle. The self-inflicted wound in her cheek burned like hot coals. Her neck itched under the collar.
Taylor was going to die anyway, she repeated to herself. They were asking for it, they weren't even going to fight for their own life. If it wasn't her that did the deed, it would've been someone else. At least she could make it quick. Just do it, get it over with, and start being evil. A cackling villain was at least having fun, right? At least the bad guy wasn't sad all the time.
She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. Then, without warning, she thrust the blade forward and felt it impact soft flesh, and then ripped it back out.
Kitty closed the final bit of distance between them.
All at once, the haze was ripped away, and there was only sharp, burning reality. The shriek that ripped from Taylor pierced their aching head; the pain that shot through them at that was only edged out by the blade buried in their gut. Their screams echoed off the mountain wall and down the path.
"You-! Y-you actually stabbed me!" They blurted out, not disbelieving that she'd actually gone through with it so much as the fact that it was real, and it hurt. They staggered as the knife ripped out again, clamping both hands over their stomach. It was frigid outside but, as Tay realized with horror, their insides were hot. "You crazy bitch, you actually-!"
Every breath was ice in their lungs and fire in their stomach now. "You- I didn't-" Their fingers were already slippery, frantically trying to hold in what Katelyn had torn open as they gaped at her, wide-eyed.
"I kn-knew you were messed up," they gasped. "But I didn't think- the people calling you psycho were right."
All at once, the haze was ripped away, and there was only sharp, burning reality. The shriek that ripped from Taylor pierced their aching head; the pain that shot through them at that was only edged out by the blade buried in their gut. Their screams echoed off the mountain wall and down the path.
"You-! Y-you actually stabbed me!" They blurted out, not disbelieving that she'd actually gone through with it so much as the fact that it was real, and it hurt. They staggered as the knife ripped out again, clamping both hands over their stomach. It was frigid outside but, as Tay realized with horror, their insides were hot. "You crazy bitch, you actually-!"
Every breath was ice in their lungs and fire in their stomach now. "You- I didn't-" Their fingers were already slippery, frantically trying to hold in what Katelyn had torn open as they gaped at her, wide-eyed.
"I kn-knew you were messed up," they gasped. "But I didn't think- the people calling you psycho were right."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
This was so much worse than Katelyn expected.
She stumbled back, blood dripping off the knife and into the snow. The wound and blood were nothing, but Taylor's cries were like needles jabbing into her heart. The visceral, emotional shock of the pain in their voice tore through her and woke her up, like she had come out of a dream. This had been a mistake. Four people dead, but the fifth was almost as distressing as the first.
"I- sh-shit, I um-" she stammered, her mood instantly changing from murderous to remorseful.
Katelyn started to cry again. Of course she was crying again. She thought the solution to her woes was just to lean into the darkness, and kill more. One after another it'd feel less and less bad, and then she'd get over it. She had wanted to be numb to it all, and indifferent to the blood she spilled. Killing treated with cold pragmatism, like any other fact of life. Then she wouldn't cry about it. Yet this made her feel more guilty than ever, and the tears flowed freely.
"W-Why isn't it any easier?" she whined, under her breath, hoping Taylor couldn't hear.
She was the bad guy now, like she wanted, and it hurt just as much as before. Maybe she really didn't have what it took to be the villain of this story. A real villain didn't hesitate, and didn't consider those they crushed in their path in the aftermath. Yet, looking into Taylor's eyes, she could only see her own pain and fear reflected back at her.
"S-Sorry. I c- can f-fix this. I- I w-will m-make it f-fast," she shuddered, her whole body shaking, unable to look Taylor in the eyes any longer.
She reached into the open zipper of her bag, grabbed the billhook, and pulled the great curved claw out. Taylor would be gone in no time flat. No more pain for them, and less immediate distress for her. She owed them that much now, and she could process her guilt and regret later.
She stumbled back, blood dripping off the knife and into the snow. The wound and blood were nothing, but Taylor's cries were like needles jabbing into her heart. The visceral, emotional shock of the pain in their voice tore through her and woke her up, like she had come out of a dream. This had been a mistake. Four people dead, but the fifth was almost as distressing as the first.
"I- sh-shit, I um-" she stammered, her mood instantly changing from murderous to remorseful.
Katelyn started to cry again. Of course she was crying again. She thought the solution to her woes was just to lean into the darkness, and kill more. One after another it'd feel less and less bad, and then she'd get over it. She had wanted to be numb to it all, and indifferent to the blood she spilled. Killing treated with cold pragmatism, like any other fact of life. Then she wouldn't cry about it. Yet this made her feel more guilty than ever, and the tears flowed freely.
"W-Why isn't it any easier?" she whined, under her breath, hoping Taylor couldn't hear.
She was the bad guy now, like she wanted, and it hurt just as much as before. Maybe she really didn't have what it took to be the villain of this story. A real villain didn't hesitate, and didn't consider those they crushed in their path in the aftermath. Yet, looking into Taylor's eyes, she could only see her own pain and fear reflected back at her.
"S-Sorry. I c- can f-fix this. I- I w-will m-make it f-fast," she shuddered, her whole body shaking, unable to look Taylor in the eyes any longer.
She reached into the open zipper of her bag, grabbed the billhook, and pulled the great curved claw out. Taylor would be gone in no time flat. No more pain for them, and less immediate distress for her. She owed them that much now, and she could process her guilt and regret later.
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BlizzardeyeWonder
- Posts: 1086
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:41 pm
- Location: the shadow realm
Thank god for the round he kept in his pocket. Fuck god for the cold making the process of loading the damn gun so much worse in the cold, while climbing a mountain pass, actually no while running up the pass. When he could run, anyway - but he still tried to speed up at every turn. He wasn't thinking about slipping and falling, because he wasn't thinking at all.
In the best case scenario, he'd scare Taylor into a panic attack yet again. The worst case scenario,
was right ahead of him, echoing across the mountains.
[Daniel Ozanne continued from Inland Empire]
It was so, so much worse when he got there, but he could only briefly accept the presence of blood and blades and Kitty before he raised the gun. The safety bolt moving out of the way made a faintly audible shnk, quickly drowned out by,
"Get AWAY!"
In the best case scenario, he'd scare Taylor into a panic attack yet again. The worst case scenario,
was right ahead of him, echoing across the mountains.
[Daniel Ozanne continued from Inland Empire]
It was so, so much worse when he got there, but he could only briefly accept the presence of blood and blades and Kitty before he raised the gun. The safety bolt moving out of the way made a faintly audible shnk, quickly drowned out by,
"Get AWAY!"
Get away!! Taylor wished they could have said it with half the thunder that Daniel did, screaming it at both Katelyn and themselves. When Katelyn paused to draw another weapon, this one even nastier-looking than the knife, they threw themselves to the side, not knowing if they'd made it to the path or wheeled over the ledge until they hit the ground. It was agony, but it wasn't that hard, definitive splat they might have feared; a fall of a couple feet, not a couple hundred.
And Daniel was here, Dan the man, Daniel had come to save them. Taylor had never been so deliriously happy to see anyone in their life as they scrambled towards him mostly on their knees and one hand, the other still clutching at the wound in their stomach. They reached out to him with bloody fingers, babbling incoherent noises that didn't even make it to being words.
Hot and cold in alternating flashes. Light. Lightheaded. It hurt worse than anything they'd ever imagined. It was an incredible high.
The wind was still, quieted by Daniel's shout. He was wreathed in stars; they'd started to come out just for him. For a few seconds, the only noise came from the wounded, dying animal scuttling towards him, caught somewhere between desperation and maddened euphoria.
And Daniel was here, Dan the man, Daniel had come to save them. Taylor had never been so deliriously happy to see anyone in their life as they scrambled towards him mostly on their knees and one hand, the other still clutching at the wound in their stomach. They reached out to him with bloody fingers, babbling incoherent noises that didn't even make it to being words.
Hot and cold in alternating flashes. Light. Lightheaded. It hurt worse than anything they'd ever imagined. It was an incredible high.
The wind was still, quieted by Daniel's shout. He was wreathed in stars; they'd started to come out just for him. For a few seconds, the only noise came from the wounded, dying animal scuttling towards him, caught somewhere between desperation and maddened euphoria.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 1551
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Panic shot through Katelyn's chest when she heard the shout from behind her. She twisted towards it, frantic, trying to make sense of what was happening, and her eyes locked on the barrel of the gun pointing directly at her. Wide-eyed, she shrieked in surprise and fear. She had no time to breathe, to think, to try and remember who exactly this new arrival was. All she knew was that someone had come to interrupt her, and they had a gun. That was all she needed.
"Sorry!" she shouted, shielding her face with her arms as she contorted to run away. "Sorry! Sorry!"
Without wasting a second, Katelyn bolted further up the pass, kicking up gravel in her wake. As she went, she continued shouting hollow apologies until she was well out of sight and earshot. Then, she kept running, lungs, calves, and thighs alike burning, until the sun had sunk well below the horizon. Then she kept going, and going, and going, until she had no idea where on the mountain she was. By the time her legs finally gave out, and she collapsed into the snowdrifts, Taylor and their savior were long gone.
((And so was she.))
"Sorry!" she shouted, shielding her face with her arms as she contorted to run away. "Sorry! Sorry!"
Without wasting a second, Katelyn bolted further up the pass, kicking up gravel in her wake. As she went, she continued shouting hollow apologies until she was well out of sight and earshot. Then, she kept running, lungs, calves, and thighs alike burning, until the sun had sunk well below the horizon. Then she kept going, and going, and going, until she had no idea where on the mountain she was. By the time her legs finally gave out, and she collapsed into the snowdrifts, Taylor and their savior were long gone.
((And so was she.))
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BlizzardeyeWonder
- Posts: 1086
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:41 pm
- Location: the shadow realm
He didn't want to shoot.
He didn't have to.
Still, Daniel kept the gun at his side, as he carefully knelt by Taylor. The wound was... he didn't actually know how to assess wounds, but it certainly looked bad. There was something about how a knife to this area specifically, the lower abdomen where "the guts" were, was a particularly sucky way to go because, well. Your guts were there. At least, that's what he'd gathered from snippets, whispers heard on the winds of pop culture, so who knows really. It made sense though.
So knowing that, and knowing Daniel knew nothing, and knowing that the medical supplies of his pack wouldn't help much beyond first aid, what could he do? It seemed hopeless and pointless. But then again, so was anything he could try to accomplish here.
That was why, despite knowing all this, Daniel took out rolls of bandages, and spoke softly, as if the two of them were back at the pit, on that first day. "Try... try to stay awake, okay?"
He didn't have to.
Still, Daniel kept the gun at his side, as he carefully knelt by Taylor. The wound was... he didn't actually know how to assess wounds, but it certainly looked bad. There was something about how a knife to this area specifically, the lower abdomen where "the guts" were, was a particularly sucky way to go because, well. Your guts were there. At least, that's what he'd gathered from snippets, whispers heard on the winds of pop culture, so who knows really. It made sense though.
So knowing that, and knowing Daniel knew nothing, and knowing that the medical supplies of his pack wouldn't help much beyond first aid, what could he do? It seemed hopeless and pointless. But then again, so was anything he could try to accomplish here.
That was why, despite knowing all this, Daniel took out rolls of bandages, and spoke softly, as if the two of them were back at the pit, on that first day. "Try... try to stay awake, okay?"
As Daniel knelt down beside them, the realization that the danger had passed sunk in, and Tay stopped trying to hold themselves up. They sank down to the ground, and it was cold underneath them, cold like the skin on their hands underneath the layer of blood. Heat pulsed from the wound in their stomach, a constant tearing pain, but they were relieved. The danger was gone.
"Hey," they said weakly to Daniel, rolling slowly from their side onto their back. Daniel's face intruded in their field of view, his features melted into a mask with just the shadowy indentations of eyes, nose, mouth. The shining trail that Taylor had left along the path led right to the two of them, huddled in the deepening twilight.
"S-sorry. Sorry." He'd spent all afternoon looking for them. It was kind of funny, how they hadn't really been friends before, but he'd done that. Gone running all through space for Taylor. They wanted to think they would have done the same for him, just like they went on the quest for the ladder for Steve.
"I, uh, didn't. D-didn't think." Yeah, no shit. "I wasn't- she wasn't really there. I d-didn't want her there."
Daniel's hands moved over their stab wound, making Tay hiss in pain and cringe back against the ground. Their body didn't feel all connected; their hands were a million miles away from the bleeding wound in their middle. Their head wasn't attached at all.
They were trying to do as he said. They were almost there. Climbing a silk ladder hand over hand over hand over hand.
"It's okay," Taylor said faintly. "Ya don't have to-"
You already saved me, man, don't make it awkward, it's okay. It's okay. They laughed at the disjointed words that didn't make it to their mouth, and then whined in agony as the movement made their whole body spasm, even barely held together as it was. There was music on the wind.
"It's- okay." A hand that might have been theirs floated through the air and found Daniel's arm. It was icy. "This is-"
The sky was endless. Taylor was flying. Burning up and turning to dust like a comet in orbit.
"This is the part where I wake up."
S059 TAYLOR THORNE: DECEASED
"Hey," they said weakly to Daniel, rolling slowly from their side onto their back. Daniel's face intruded in their field of view, his features melted into a mask with just the shadowy indentations of eyes, nose, mouth. The shining trail that Taylor had left along the path led right to the two of them, huddled in the deepening twilight.
"S-sorry. Sorry." He'd spent all afternoon looking for them. It was kind of funny, how they hadn't really been friends before, but he'd done that. Gone running all through space for Taylor. They wanted to think they would have done the same for him, just like they went on the quest for the ladder for Steve.
"I, uh, didn't. D-didn't think." Yeah, no shit. "I wasn't- she wasn't really there. I d-didn't want her there."
Daniel's hands moved over their stab wound, making Tay hiss in pain and cringe back against the ground. Their body didn't feel all connected; their hands were a million miles away from the bleeding wound in their middle. Their head wasn't attached at all.
They were trying to do as he said. They were almost there. Climbing a silk ladder hand over hand over hand over hand.
"It's okay," Taylor said faintly. "Ya don't have to-"
You already saved me, man, don't make it awkward, it's okay. It's okay. They laughed at the disjointed words that didn't make it to their mouth, and then whined in agony as the movement made their whole body spasm, even barely held together as it was. There was music on the wind.
"It's- okay." A hand that might have been theirs floated through the air and found Daniel's arm. It was icy. "This is-"
The sky was endless. Taylor was flying. Burning up and turning to dust like a comet in orbit.
"This is the part where I wake up."
S059 TAYLOR THORNE: DECEASED
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."