((Rebekah Hayes continued from My Father Told Me))
The trek to the trapping camp had taken a while, and dusk was already falling by the time they got there. In the low light, it had taken even longer to scope out the cabin and make sure that there wasn't anybody lurking in there.
When they'd actually gotten inside, they hadn't bothered to explore the interior much - the roof was sagging and the floorboards creaked with every movement, so it didn't feel particularly safe to wander around. To make matters worse, one window was broken, and any lingering heat had leeched out of the cabin long ago. There was nothing for it but to hunker down in the corner and wait out the night. Rebekah had offered up her Snuggie to the group, figuring that it made more sense to huddle together for warmth like Emperor penguins did. Beatrice's large frame made for a tight fit with the blanket, and it took a bit of awkward jostling to get comfortable, but after a while Rebekah found her eyelids getting heavy. Despite the stressful situation, the weird interpersonal dynamics, and the cold, she fell into a deep sleep. If it hadn't been for the morning announcements she'd probably have slept until noon.
"Good morning kids! I hope you're not too chilly out there and all managed to find a warm place to spend the night. If you're hoping things are about to warm up then I have bad news about the weather forecast, but we'll get to that..."
Rebekah yawned, her head still muzzy. She didn't want to get up yet. It was nice like this. She had seen a picture in a nature book once, three little raccoons curled up in a tree with their mama. Beatrice made for a fantastic mother racoon. But it'd probably be super awkward to tell her that, huh?
The terrorist man started talking about murders. Rebekah's eyes crept open. She should probably listen to this. It was important.
The sun wasn't up, and it was still dark in the cabin. But her eyes had adjusted now, and she could see well enough. There was a chair, and a table, and... a very large, very dark stain on the floor. She'd thought it was a shadow last night, but it was too irregular, too splotchy...
Rebekah's heart started to race, drowning out the announcements. Her throat felt bone dry. She pointed at the stain.
"U-Um..."
All The Flowers Are Gone
Morning of Day 3, open
All The Flowers Are Gone
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
((Micah Flanagan continued from One Room))
Micah didn't remain in the correctional office much longer after Lara left. After bandaging his hand, he had found the place too claustrophobic. What he thought he could make a fortress for the majority of the game somehow felt smaller than before, and he didn't want to be trapped like before with Lara. Plus, people would naturally come there and he'd have to do the whole song-and-dance again. He simply took a nap and left in mid afternoon.
After that, he had walked around for a bit. By the time the sun went down, he was near the trapping camp. It was too dark for him to make out most of the area, but once he managed to find an empty tent, he had sealed himself in and settled in for a cold night huddled inwards.
Soon, however, the announcements woke him up. Lara and Danielle were still alive, although numerous others weren't. Micah sighed as he listened to everything. Once it was done, he knew he needed to move on. The tent had worked for the evening, but he wasn't up for another cold night outside.
He stepped out of the tent, and with daylight he could now see more tents and what appeared to be a cabin. Micah groaned as he realized how close he was to better shelter.
"Figures..." he muttered.
He decided to check it out. There were likely people in there, but it had to be better than nothing.
Micah didn't remain in the correctional office much longer after Lara left. After bandaging his hand, he had found the place too claustrophobic. What he thought he could make a fortress for the majority of the game somehow felt smaller than before, and he didn't want to be trapped like before with Lara. Plus, people would naturally come there and he'd have to do the whole song-and-dance again. He simply took a nap and left in mid afternoon.
After that, he had walked around for a bit. By the time the sun went down, he was near the trapping camp. It was too dark for him to make out most of the area, but once he managed to find an empty tent, he had sealed himself in and settled in for a cold night huddled inwards.
Soon, however, the announcements woke him up. Lara and Danielle were still alive, although numerous others weren't. Micah sighed as he listened to everything. Once it was done, he knew he needed to move on. The tent had worked for the evening, but he wasn't up for another cold night outside.
He stepped out of the tent, and with daylight he could now see more tents and what appeared to be a cabin. Micah groaned as he realized how close he was to better shelter.
"Figures..." he muttered.
He decided to check it out. There were likely people in there, but it had to be better than nothing.
((Beatrice Briggs continued from My Father Told Me))
Rebekah had been the one to initially suggest that they all huddle up together in her Snuggie, all the better to keep warm and remain close to one another. And while she had been the one to pose the idea first, Beatrice had been more than happy to go along with it.
It was a matter of trust and security, primarily. If she could make herself forget that the entirety of her miserable first day on this island had ever happened, then she would do so, but it simply refused to leave her mind, no matter what. People talked about how emotional trauma could leave them ‘scarred for life’, and that was one metaphor she understood perfectly; she had felt it, physically, right in her heart, when the three girls in the office had treated her with fear and suspicion for reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
And she knew that she hadn’t been completely free from doubt back in the forest, either. Neither Jessica nor Rebekah had said as much in as many words, but she recognised the way they had looked at her. It had been the same look that people who’d met her for the first time gave, casting a wary eye over her height and solid form. But nothing had happened on the long walk to the camp, aside from some light conversation and discussion of the day’s events. All weapons had been kept with their respective parties. The feeling of unease had slowly dissipated.
If the two girls had been planning something, they’d had an ample window of time to do so. If they had wanted Beatrice to sleep on the floor to prove that she could be trusted, then she would have done so. Inviting her to share a blanket together with them both, that showed an implicit level of faith in her, that she would do everything she could to reciprocate. That was how she saw it, at least.
It helped to keep the cold out too, of course. The cabin was a rather depressing place to be in, with moonlight pouring in through holes in the roof and the shattered window, illuminating dust hanging in the air. Whatever had happened to this island that had forced the previous residents to abandon it, this area had clearly been hit a lot harder than the town had. Beatrice had still been managing the cold okay, and she had been fully prepared to use her own clothes and belongings as a makeshift blanket, but she had noticed the other two visibly trembling as they approached the building. It had been an unusual method of helping out. But whatever it took to be of use, she was happy to do it.
There had been something else, too. Something that she hadn’t even considered until she had grown too tired to care about the uncomfortable sensation of sleeping in her clothes, and she realised that one of the other girls, a mystery in the pitch darkness, was resting their head against her chest, body pressed close against hers.
Beatrice had never felt the grip of romance take hold of her and tug on her heartstrings. She’d never felt the way about a single person that her parents did to one another. She liked plenty of people, she loved many of them, in fact. She had an endless amount of love for all of her friends, and she would have done near anything for all of them, but that was all that she could ever see herself being with any of them; friends, and nothing different. It was a wonderful thing. She didn’t see any benefit to changing that label to something else.
She had always known exactly who she was attracted to, though. There had never been any traction in that regard, either. She didn’t go to parties. She had never spent long hours in someone else’s company, out of sight of the world, no matter how often it had just been her and one other girl in the locker room, the last two to finish changing after practice, and she had been forced to excuse herself as her mind worked itself into a frenzy. She had daydreamed about this sort of scenario before. She had conjured up thoughts that had lulled her into a pleasant, blissful slumber.
Her eyes had been wide open, tucked up in the Snuggie with Rebekah and Jessica. She stared up at the sagging ceiling. Her hands twitched, but remained still, pressed tightly against her sides.
The lull of exhaustion prevented her from unpacking all of her thoughts. And as dawn rose, and bodies stirred and shifted, they were all momentarily forgotten about.
Beatrice covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. She stretched, doing her very best to avoid jostling the other two. She blinked, trying to grow accustomed to the gloom that still permeated the entire cabin, filling each corner.
She gasped, let out a small cry of alarm, and pressed her hands tight to the sides of her head once again, as the vicious shriek of static blared across the entire island. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pressing her face into the fabric of the Snuggie. She couldn’t see the bloodstain just a few feet away from them. She didn’t hear a single word regarding the living or the dead. She just willed the crackling, crunching, nails-on-chalkboard noise to stop.
Rebekah had been the one to initially suggest that they all huddle up together in her Snuggie, all the better to keep warm and remain close to one another. And while she had been the one to pose the idea first, Beatrice had been more than happy to go along with it.
It was a matter of trust and security, primarily. If she could make herself forget that the entirety of her miserable first day on this island had ever happened, then she would do so, but it simply refused to leave her mind, no matter what. People talked about how emotional trauma could leave them ‘scarred for life’, and that was one metaphor she understood perfectly; she had felt it, physically, right in her heart, when the three girls in the office had treated her with fear and suspicion for reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
And she knew that she hadn’t been completely free from doubt back in the forest, either. Neither Jessica nor Rebekah had said as much in as many words, but she recognised the way they had looked at her. It had been the same look that people who’d met her for the first time gave, casting a wary eye over her height and solid form. But nothing had happened on the long walk to the camp, aside from some light conversation and discussion of the day’s events. All weapons had been kept with their respective parties. The feeling of unease had slowly dissipated.
If the two girls had been planning something, they’d had an ample window of time to do so. If they had wanted Beatrice to sleep on the floor to prove that she could be trusted, then she would have done so. Inviting her to share a blanket together with them both, that showed an implicit level of faith in her, that she would do everything she could to reciprocate. That was how she saw it, at least.
It helped to keep the cold out too, of course. The cabin was a rather depressing place to be in, with moonlight pouring in through holes in the roof and the shattered window, illuminating dust hanging in the air. Whatever had happened to this island that had forced the previous residents to abandon it, this area had clearly been hit a lot harder than the town had. Beatrice had still been managing the cold okay, and she had been fully prepared to use her own clothes and belongings as a makeshift blanket, but she had noticed the other two visibly trembling as they approached the building. It had been an unusual method of helping out. But whatever it took to be of use, she was happy to do it.
There had been something else, too. Something that she hadn’t even considered until she had grown too tired to care about the uncomfortable sensation of sleeping in her clothes, and she realised that one of the other girls, a mystery in the pitch darkness, was resting their head against her chest, body pressed close against hers.
Beatrice had never felt the grip of romance take hold of her and tug on her heartstrings. She’d never felt the way about a single person that her parents did to one another. She liked plenty of people, she loved many of them, in fact. She had an endless amount of love for all of her friends, and she would have done near anything for all of them, but that was all that she could ever see herself being with any of them; friends, and nothing different. It was a wonderful thing. She didn’t see any benefit to changing that label to something else.
She had always known exactly who she was attracted to, though. There had never been any traction in that regard, either. She didn’t go to parties. She had never spent long hours in someone else’s company, out of sight of the world, no matter how often it had just been her and one other girl in the locker room, the last two to finish changing after practice, and she had been forced to excuse herself as her mind worked itself into a frenzy. She had daydreamed about this sort of scenario before. She had conjured up thoughts that had lulled her into a pleasant, blissful slumber.
Her eyes had been wide open, tucked up in the Snuggie with Rebekah and Jessica. She stared up at the sagging ceiling. Her hands twitched, but remained still, pressed tightly against her sides.
The lull of exhaustion prevented her from unpacking all of her thoughts. And as dawn rose, and bodies stirred and shifted, they were all momentarily forgotten about.
Beatrice covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. She stretched, doing her very best to avoid jostling the other two. She blinked, trying to grow accustomed to the gloom that still permeated the entire cabin, filling each corner.
She gasped, let out a small cry of alarm, and pressed her hands tight to the sides of her head once again, as the vicious shriek of static blared across the entire island. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pressing her face into the fabric of the Snuggie. She couldn’t see the bloodstain just a few feet away from them. She didn’t hear a single word regarding the living or the dead. She just willed the crackling, crunching, nails-on-chalkboard noise to stop.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
((Jessica Romero continued from the forest))
Jessica had hated every second of the night. Her position wedged in the corner of the cabin with only a wooden wall as her pillow had only served to fill her body with aches. Any rest she had gained—which couldn’t have been much—was outweighed by the sudden panic that took over each time she heard a twig break.
At one point Jessica opened her eyes to see a silhouette in the darkness lurking just behind a shaft of silvery moonlight. She knew who it was and they stared at each other for a while before Jessica screwed her eyes shut and tried not to have a panic attack. So despite the cold Jessica still had beads of sweat dotting her hairline when she mercifully heard the others begin to wake.
Once she had received that signal she set about extracting her body from the Snuggie caccoon. It seemed that both Beatrice and Rebekah were awake which suited her fine.
Jessica felt disgusting, while her headache and dizziness had subsided it had been replaced by a layer of dirt and a spectre of sickness dogged her. As if the scrapes, bruises and blood that irregularly marked her facial features weren’t enough.
Once on her feet she took a bottle of water out of her pack moved over to a corner of the room away from the other girls. Facing the wall she poured some of the water into her hand and started rubbing at her face, trying to remove the layer of cave grime and blood that had concealed on it. She saw the deep brown colour of the drops as they fell at her feet. Then she poured a small amount over her head and hair and ran her free hand through the strands, trying to work out any knots. She closed her eyes and imagined she was elsewhere, back in Glacier or in Yosemite under the shadow of El Capitan. As she did so a small smile started to play at the corners of her lips.
But when she heard Rebekah’s tone she spun around, eyes open and alert. Jessica had been around Rebekah every moment since they had woken up, she had started to learn how the other girls voice shifted with her emotions.
“What is…” Jessica started, before slowly trailing off as she saw the large bloodstain in the wood that had soaked the timbers through like a heavy rain, staining them a deep scarlet. “It?” she finished, unnecessarily.
Taking stock of the scene Jessica quickly turned and moved over to the window to ensure they were alone, as she looked out into the early morning light she could make out someone moving around outside the cabin, meanwhile the loud squeal of the speakers started up as well.
“Rebekah!” Jessica hissed, crouching down and signalling for the girl to come over, “Pass me the gun.”
In lieu of a full explanation she merely pointed to wear she could see the silhouette moving by the tent.
Jessica had hated every second of the night. Her position wedged in the corner of the cabin with only a wooden wall as her pillow had only served to fill her body with aches. Any rest she had gained—which couldn’t have been much—was outweighed by the sudden panic that took over each time she heard a twig break.
At one point Jessica opened her eyes to see a silhouette in the darkness lurking just behind a shaft of silvery moonlight. She knew who it was and they stared at each other for a while before Jessica screwed her eyes shut and tried not to have a panic attack. So despite the cold Jessica still had beads of sweat dotting her hairline when she mercifully heard the others begin to wake.
Once she had received that signal she set about extracting her body from the Snuggie caccoon. It seemed that both Beatrice and Rebekah were awake which suited her fine.
Jessica felt disgusting, while her headache and dizziness had subsided it had been replaced by a layer of dirt and a spectre of sickness dogged her. As if the scrapes, bruises and blood that irregularly marked her facial features weren’t enough.
Once on her feet she took a bottle of water out of her pack moved over to a corner of the room away from the other girls. Facing the wall she poured some of the water into her hand and started rubbing at her face, trying to remove the layer of cave grime and blood that had concealed on it. She saw the deep brown colour of the drops as they fell at her feet. Then she poured a small amount over her head and hair and ran her free hand through the strands, trying to work out any knots. She closed her eyes and imagined she was elsewhere, back in Glacier or in Yosemite under the shadow of El Capitan. As she did so a small smile started to play at the corners of her lips.
But when she heard Rebekah’s tone she spun around, eyes open and alert. Jessica had been around Rebekah every moment since they had woken up, she had started to learn how the other girls voice shifted with her emotions.
“What is…” Jessica started, before slowly trailing off as she saw the large bloodstain in the wood that had soaked the timbers through like a heavy rain, staining them a deep scarlet. “It?” she finished, unnecessarily.
Taking stock of the scene Jessica quickly turned and moved over to the window to ensure they were alone, as she looked out into the early morning light she could make out someone moving around outside the cabin, meanwhile the loud squeal of the speakers started up as well.
“Rebekah!” Jessica hissed, crouching down and signalling for the girl to come over, “Pass me the gun.”
In lieu of a full explanation she merely pointed to wear she could see the silhouette moving by the tent.
((Joan Leaven continued from 36 Chambers))
People were still dying. Joan had been able to patch of the shot from Leticia's rifle (nearly dead center in the gut). She'd been able to patch it up with her first aid kit, but she was still forced to take it easy. She hadn't done a very good job of it, given how she wasn't exactly a microsurgeon or anything.
All she knew now was that she'd have to get some help to make sure that she got it right. Luckily for her, she did see someone. While the issue with Letitia had kept her from talking to anyone, it was also clear that any help would be welcome, and the person whom she was looking at seemed like someone she could trust.
"Hey!" Joan yelled as she jumped up a little. "I've been ..." At that moment, pain shot through the left part of her abdomen where she'd been shot. Her hand went over to where she felt the wetness on her right side. Wait a minute, I didn't get shot there.
"Oh, shit." Thud.
People were still dying. Joan had been able to patch of the shot from Leticia's rifle (nearly dead center in the gut). She'd been able to patch it up with her first aid kit, but she was still forced to take it easy. She hadn't done a very good job of it, given how she wasn't exactly a microsurgeon or anything.
All she knew now was that she'd have to get some help to make sure that she got it right. Luckily for her, she did see someone. While the issue with Letitia had kept her from talking to anyone, it was also clear that any help would be welcome, and the person whom she was looking at seemed like someone she could trust.
"Hey!" Joan yelled as she jumped up a little. "I've been ..." At that moment, pain shot through the left part of her abdomen where she'd been shot. Her hand went over to where she felt the wetness on her right side. Wait a minute, I didn't get shot there.
"Oh, shit." Thud.
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
S001: KAEDE TSURUMI: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!" Status: ACTIVE
S024: VICTOR GRAIL: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all." Status: ACTIVE
S103: JOAN LEAVEN Status: ACTIVE
S129: DAVID WORTH: Status: ACTIVE
Version 8
S001: KAEDE TSURUMI: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!" Status: ACTIVE
S024: VICTOR GRAIL: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all." Status: ACTIVE
S103: JOAN LEAVEN Status: ACTIVE
S129: DAVID WORTH: Status: ACTIVE
Blood. There was blood on the floor. Lots of blood, lapped up by the thirsty floorboards until it dried into this rusty brown blotch.
Every living species has survival instincts. They must, otherwise they'd cease to be living. Those instincts grabbed her by the brain stem and started yanking on it like a bellcord. Danger, danger, danger!
She was so focused on the stain that it took her a half second to register that Jess was hissing at her. Her head snapped up. Jess was crouching down below the window, frightened of something outside, telling her to grab the gun. Rebekah scrambled over, snatched the rifle from where it was leaning up against the wall, and pushed it into Jess' hands.
She turned back to tell Beatrice to check the other side, in case there were more, in case they were being attacked and - Beatrice was down, with her hands over her ears. Something was wrong with Beatrice. She was hurt, or she was in pain, or -
And then, as if there wasn't enough chaos already, someone was yelling outside. Rebekah looked from Beatrice to the window. Wanted to help Beatrice. Wanted to find out was wrong. Wanted to help. But had to deal with the bigger threat. Had to.
She sped-crept along the floor to the window on the other side, carefully peered out over the windowsill to see who was out there, what was happening.
It was Mal Valdez. Dying again. Collapsing and dying in front of her, just like before. Wearing different clothes, but it was her. It was all happening again.
Every living species has survival instincts. They must, otherwise they'd cease to be living. Those instincts grabbed her by the brain stem and started yanking on it like a bellcord. Danger, danger, danger!
She was so focused on the stain that it took her a half second to register that Jess was hissing at her. Her head snapped up. Jess was crouching down below the window, frightened of something outside, telling her to grab the gun. Rebekah scrambled over, snatched the rifle from where it was leaning up against the wall, and pushed it into Jess' hands.
She turned back to tell Beatrice to check the other side, in case there were more, in case they were being attacked and - Beatrice was down, with her hands over her ears. Something was wrong with Beatrice. She was hurt, or she was in pain, or -
And then, as if there wasn't enough chaos already, someone was yelling outside. Rebekah looked from Beatrice to the window. Wanted to help Beatrice. Wanted to find out was wrong. Wanted to help. But had to deal with the bigger threat. Had to.
She sped-crept along the floor to the window on the other side, carefully peered out over the windowsill to see who was out there, what was happening.
It was Mal Valdez. Dying again. Collapsing and dying in front of her, just like before. Wearing different clothes, but it was her. It was all happening again.
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
She'd realized it was Micah as soon as she hit the ground. Of course it didn't matter much. A little voice in her head was asking the question if the issue with her right side was another hit, but again it was irrelevant. What didn't occur to her in time was that the combination of her patch job on the first wound failing and having missed the second had taken too much out of her.
STUDENT #103 - JOAN LEAVEN: ELIMINATED
108 STUDENTS REMAIN
STUDENT #103 - JOAN LEAVEN: ELIMINATED
108 STUDENTS REMAIN
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
S001: KAEDE TSURUMI: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!" Status: ACTIVE
S024: VICTOR GRAIL: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all." Status: ACTIVE
S103: JOAN LEAVEN Status: ACTIVE
S129: DAVID WORTH: Status: ACTIVE
Version 8
S001: KAEDE TSURUMI: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!" Status: ACTIVE
S024: VICTOR GRAIL: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all." Status: ACTIVE
S103: JOAN LEAVEN Status: ACTIVE
S129: DAVID WORTH: Status: ACTIVE
((Posting again with permission))
The girl, who was and wasn't Mal Valdez, didn't move.
It was so similar, such a carbon copy of Mal's death that Rebekah couldn't be sure it was actually happening. Human brains like hers malfunctioned all the time. Evolutionary holdovers made humans jump at shadows, see menace out of the corners of their eyes. But it was different, just different enough, that it felt real.
The girl certainly looked real, lying there in the snow. Even through the dirty glass, you could see how she was lying, sprawled out. See the lack of tension in her muscles. Nothing moved, except for a few strands of hair stirring in the morning air. All of this told Rebekah that not-Mal wasn't getting up again.
...Which meant that, for right now, that not-Mal was not a priority. There was still someone outside the cabin, maybe even the someone who'd killed not-Mal, and there was Beatrice inside the cabin, and Beatrice needed help. Had to deal with those first. Jess was handling the intruder, so Rebekah would handle Beatrice. Hopefully.
She looked at Beatrice. The big girl's hands were clamped over her ears, and what little of her face wasn't jammed into the Snuggie seemed to be etched with pain.
What was this? A seizure? Fear? Epilepsy? Was she hurt? Just a bad dream? Rebekah had no idea what to do about any of that. But if they were under attack, they couldn't just leave Beatrice here on the floor. If she was sick, or hurt, if she needed medicine, there had to be something they could do for her in the short term, right? She approached warily, staying away from the windows. Got close, but didn't touch her, like she was trying not to spook a horse.
"Beatrice," she hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. "Hey, Beatrice... What's wrong? How can I help?"
The girl, who was and wasn't Mal Valdez, didn't move.
It was so similar, such a carbon copy of Mal's death that Rebekah couldn't be sure it was actually happening. Human brains like hers malfunctioned all the time. Evolutionary holdovers made humans jump at shadows, see menace out of the corners of their eyes. But it was different, just different enough, that it felt real.
The girl certainly looked real, lying there in the snow. Even through the dirty glass, you could see how she was lying, sprawled out. See the lack of tension in her muscles. Nothing moved, except for a few strands of hair stirring in the morning air. All of this told Rebekah that not-Mal wasn't getting up again.
...Which meant that, for right now, that not-Mal was not a priority. There was still someone outside the cabin, maybe even the someone who'd killed not-Mal, and there was Beatrice inside the cabin, and Beatrice needed help. Had to deal with those first. Jess was handling the intruder, so Rebekah would handle Beatrice. Hopefully.
She looked at Beatrice. The big girl's hands were clamped over her ears, and what little of her face wasn't jammed into the Snuggie seemed to be etched with pain.
What was this? A seizure? Fear? Epilepsy? Was she hurt? Just a bad dream? Rebekah had no idea what to do about any of that. But if they were under attack, they couldn't just leave Beatrice here on the floor. If she was sick, or hurt, if she needed medicine, there had to be something they could do for her in the short term, right? She approached warily, staying away from the windows. Got close, but didn't touch her, like she was trying not to spook a horse.
"Beatrice," she hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. "Hey, Beatrice... What's wrong? How can I help?"
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Micah continued to gingerly walk towards the cabin. His hands were in his jacket pockets, one of which was feeling the handle of the pugio. The metal handle was cold to the touch, definitely not an appealing feeling being the dead of winter. Still, he had to be careful as he approached the cabin.
Before he could even get near it, he suddenly heard a girl's voice call out. He turned and saw a girl collapse to the ground.
"Oh shit..." he muttered.
He stared at the girl for a moment. She was lying a bit too still for his liking. He quickly glanced around. There didn't appear to be anyone else around, so it didn't look like she was being chased and attacked. That comforted him slightly, but Micah still had to investigate.
He turned away from the cabin and made his way over to the girl. He crouched down and rolled her over. He couldn't place a name to the girl's face, but the stillness told him that she was definitely dead.
Micah carefully rolled her back over and turned away for a moment, covering his mouth. This girl had just died and he had touched a dead body. That was a lot for him to suddenly accept.
He turned back and saw the leaves under the girl's chest were turning red from blood. He carefully rolled her onto her side and saw some bandages on her chest. They were stained, so it told him that she was injured earlier, patched herself, and then the wound must have reopened and she bled to death.
"Aye yi yi," he muttered to himself, covering his eyes.
Micah sighed and then uncovered his eyes. He quickly looked around the area again, then back to the girl. He noticed the bag she had with her.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Micah moved over to try and remove the bag from her body. He'd need the supplies to keep going. Once he had it, he could at least try to give her some funeral rites before moving on.
Before he could even get near it, he suddenly heard a girl's voice call out. He turned and saw a girl collapse to the ground.
"Oh shit..." he muttered.
He stared at the girl for a moment. She was lying a bit too still for his liking. He quickly glanced around. There didn't appear to be anyone else around, so it didn't look like she was being chased and attacked. That comforted him slightly, but Micah still had to investigate.
He turned away from the cabin and made his way over to the girl. He crouched down and rolled her over. He couldn't place a name to the girl's face, but the stillness told him that she was definitely dead.
Micah carefully rolled her back over and turned away for a moment, covering his mouth. This girl had just died and he had touched a dead body. That was a lot for him to suddenly accept.
He turned back and saw the leaves under the girl's chest were turning red from blood. He carefully rolled her onto her side and saw some bandages on her chest. They were stained, so it told him that she was injured earlier, patched herself, and then the wound must have reopened and she bled to death.
"Aye yi yi," he muttered to himself, covering his eyes.
Micah sighed and then uncovered his eyes. He quickly looked around the area again, then back to the girl. He noticed the bag she had with her.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Micah moved over to try and remove the bag from her body. He'd need the supplies to keep going. Once he had it, he could at least try to give her some funeral rites before moving on.
There was an unwritten, unspoken rule in the Briggs household, one that every family member knew and followed without question, even those who didn’t fully understand it. It was a simple instruction, all things taken into consideration: never let the microwave beep.
It had been for Marcus’ benefit initially. While Beatrice’s sensory issues were mostly centered around texture and touch, her brother was much more affected by sound. His favourite Christmas gift had always been a pair of noise-canceling headphones, a set that he had worn everywhere, every day, until they had become so worn through and broken that they were more duct tape than plastic and fabric, wires poking out from underneath.
And while it wasn’t as upsetting and painful an experience for Beatrice, it still unsettled her and put her on edge, making it hard to concentrate on anything at all. She, and the rest of her family, had gotten the timing of shutting the machine off before the beeping started down to something of an artform, years of practice making it instinctual by this point. It was trickier, of course, when she was at another person’s house, where the microwave was a different make, or they didn’t quite understand what the big fuss was about it making a noise. She ended up sitting in front of it on most occasions, watching the numbers tick down, ready to shut it off at the perfect moment. She didn’t mind it. It was relaxing, really, watching her food rotate. Most of her friends got why she did it. It was their family members who always found it harder to grasp. Even after Beatrice explained what she was doing, they gave her the exact same question, word for word, each time:
“Haven’t you gotten used to it by now?”
She would say no. She wouldn’t elaborate. They would shrug and eventually leave her alone. And she would go back to watching the microwave.
The announcement had only played twice so far, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could hear it every day for the rest of her life, and she would never, ever grow accustomed to it. This had to be how Marcus felt, this rushing, rising feeling of dread, accelerated at the first sign of static. Her hands felt like they were crushing into her skull, trying desperately to block out every hint of sound. Her head was ringing, she felt trapped inside of it, unable to tell whether the speakers had faded out yet, unwilling to uncover her ears to find out, but she had to find out somehow, she needed to do something.
She opened her eyes, saw Rebekah just a foot or so away from her, and let out a strangled gasp of shock, flailing her arm at the other girl to try and swat her away.
“Get away, please, I don’t-!”
The announcement had drained away. But in its place was something just as dreadful, smeared over the floorboards, stained permanently into both wood and memory. She had missed it when she had first woken up, the morning light still too dim for her to notice rust brown on spruce brown. She couldn’t tear her eyes away now. It felt like it was growing, spreading across the floor, seeping into every square inch in sight.
A chill ran down her back. The bloody mound of snow was towering up behind her again.
And suddenly Beatrice had scrambled to her feet, and she was bolting for the exit, breathing fast and hard and heavy. She slammed into the door with her shoulder, sending it flying and making it clatter against the outside wall of the cabin. She didn’t have any goal in mind, no destination, no plan. She just needed to get out.
And it wouldn’t have mattered even if she’d had a plan. She was stopped in her tracks immediately anyway.
A boy and a body lay in front of her. A familiar sight trickled out from beneath the prone torso. Red on white. Burned into her mind’s eye forever more. She took a step back, fingers wrapping around the axe handle before they remembered it was still resting against the wall inside the house.
And there she froze, ankle deep in the snow, finally confronted with the dead body of someone she once knew.
It had been for Marcus’ benefit initially. While Beatrice’s sensory issues were mostly centered around texture and touch, her brother was much more affected by sound. His favourite Christmas gift had always been a pair of noise-canceling headphones, a set that he had worn everywhere, every day, until they had become so worn through and broken that they were more duct tape than plastic and fabric, wires poking out from underneath.
And while it wasn’t as upsetting and painful an experience for Beatrice, it still unsettled her and put her on edge, making it hard to concentrate on anything at all. She, and the rest of her family, had gotten the timing of shutting the machine off before the beeping started down to something of an artform, years of practice making it instinctual by this point. It was trickier, of course, when she was at another person’s house, where the microwave was a different make, or they didn’t quite understand what the big fuss was about it making a noise. She ended up sitting in front of it on most occasions, watching the numbers tick down, ready to shut it off at the perfect moment. She didn’t mind it. It was relaxing, really, watching her food rotate. Most of her friends got why she did it. It was their family members who always found it harder to grasp. Even after Beatrice explained what she was doing, they gave her the exact same question, word for word, each time:
“Haven’t you gotten used to it by now?”
She would say no. She wouldn’t elaborate. They would shrug and eventually leave her alone. And she would go back to watching the microwave.
The announcement had only played twice so far, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could hear it every day for the rest of her life, and she would never, ever grow accustomed to it. This had to be how Marcus felt, this rushing, rising feeling of dread, accelerated at the first sign of static. Her hands felt like they were crushing into her skull, trying desperately to block out every hint of sound. Her head was ringing, she felt trapped inside of it, unable to tell whether the speakers had faded out yet, unwilling to uncover her ears to find out, but she had to find out somehow, she needed to do something.
She opened her eyes, saw Rebekah just a foot or so away from her, and let out a strangled gasp of shock, flailing her arm at the other girl to try and swat her away.
“Get away, please, I don’t-!”
The announcement had drained away. But in its place was something just as dreadful, smeared over the floorboards, stained permanently into both wood and memory. She had missed it when she had first woken up, the morning light still too dim for her to notice rust brown on spruce brown. She couldn’t tear her eyes away now. It felt like it was growing, spreading across the floor, seeping into every square inch in sight.
A chill ran down her back. The bloody mound of snow was towering up behind her again.
And suddenly Beatrice had scrambled to her feet, and she was bolting for the exit, breathing fast and hard and heavy. She slammed into the door with her shoulder, sending it flying and making it clatter against the outside wall of the cabin. She didn’t have any goal in mind, no destination, no plan. She just needed to get out.
And it wouldn’t have mattered even if she’d had a plan. She was stopped in her tracks immediately anyway.
A boy and a body lay in front of her. A familiar sight trickled out from beneath the prone torso. Red on white. Burned into her mind’s eye forever more. She took a step back, fingers wrapping around the axe handle before they remembered it was still resting against the wall inside the house.
And there she froze, ankle deep in the snow, finally confronted with the dead body of someone she once knew.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Jessica could hear the commotion going on behind her. Beatrice reacting to something and Rebekah asking how should help but she didn’t turn to see what was happening. Her sole focus was the figure moving around on the outside of the cabin. It seemed more important in the moment.
As she watched she realised that they were moving strangely, the silhouette swaying like a flag in the breeze. They steadily slowed before finally collapsing suddenly into the dirt and snow. Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly focused back in as she caught sight of more movement on the edge of her vision, another person. Another silhouette against the steadily rising sun. Jessica’s breathing slowed into a steady rhythm as she tried to stop the gun shaking and bouncing off the wooden frame of the window. It had been gently knocking as she observed everything happening, giving off a small tink, tink, tink, with each bounce.
In the background the announcement continued to list off the dead and those that had killed them but like her two companions it turned into white noise. Just more ambience existing out of her view. She didn’t take any of it in, instead she was focused on the scene unfolding before her, the frame of the window acting as the screen to a twisted movie. The muzzle of the gun moved over the new figure and stalked them across the landscape. She watched as they turned the body over and began to inspect it. Her fingers slowly moved to brush against the trigger.
Then Beatrice’s shriek and the sudden heavy footfalls of her exit made her whole body jump.
Jessica’s hand readjusted on the gun as spun her upper body around just in time to see the larger girl bolting from the cabin, the heavy thudding footfalls on the wood turning into heavy crunches of the morning frost. Her vision quickly swept from the door over to Rebekah.
“There’s someone else out there.” She whispered urgently.
As she watched she realised that they were moving strangely, the silhouette swaying like a flag in the breeze. They steadily slowed before finally collapsing suddenly into the dirt and snow. Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly focused back in as she caught sight of more movement on the edge of her vision, another person. Another silhouette against the steadily rising sun. Jessica’s breathing slowed into a steady rhythm as she tried to stop the gun shaking and bouncing off the wooden frame of the window. It had been gently knocking as she observed everything happening, giving off a small tink, tink, tink, with each bounce.
In the background the announcement continued to list off the dead and those that had killed them but like her two companions it turned into white noise. Just more ambience existing out of her view. She didn’t take any of it in, instead she was focused on the scene unfolding before her, the frame of the window acting as the screen to a twisted movie. The muzzle of the gun moved over the new figure and stalked them across the landscape. She watched as they turned the body over and began to inspect it. Her fingers slowly moved to brush against the trigger.
Then Beatrice’s shriek and the sudden heavy footfalls of her exit made her whole body jump.
Jessica’s hand readjusted on the gun as spun her upper body around just in time to see the larger girl bolting from the cabin, the heavy thudding footfalls on the wood turning into heavy crunches of the morning frost. Her vision quickly swept from the door over to Rebekah.
“There’s someone else out there.” She whispered urgently.
Rebekah had fallen back onto her butt when Beatrice took a swipe at her, dodging the flailing hand but fetching herself a jarring smack to the tailbone. She watched in stunned shock as Beatrice scrambled to her feet and burst out the door.
No! Wait! Rebekah reached out a hand, but Beatrice was already gone. The door, stricken, sagged listlessly in her wake.
Animals in pain do things they don't mean to. They lash out. Cats shred their owners' hands, horses kick their trainers, zookeepers get bitten by everything under the sun. Humans throw fists and scream. It's just what they do. It's generally not personal, even when the animal in question is a person.
But it sure feels that way.
Rebekah didn't know whether to go after her - she wanted to, absolutely. But Beatrice was spooked, whether by her or the cabin or whatever she was wrestling with inside her head, and chasing her might be mistaken for a more aggressive response, might encourage her to keep running and never come back. But the urgency in Jess' eyes as she hissed that there was someone else out there - someone who might have just killed somebody, made it impossible to stay.
Rebekah jumped up and snatched up the Snuggie, donning it in one smooth motion as she ran out the door after Beatrice. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she couldn't just leave Beatrice out there. In her panicked state, she would be easy prey for a killer. Her Snuggie flapped around her like the world's least impressive superhero cape. Luckily, there wasn't far to run. Beatrice had stopped, staring at the dead girl - and the strange human boy hunched over the deal girl's bag.
Only now did Rebekah realize that Beatrice was empty-handed. She hadn't brought the axe with her, and Rebekah didn't have it either. The two of them were unarmed, and almost certainly facing down a killer.
Okay, okay.
She put up a hand to the boy. "Easy," she said. "Let's all... take it easy."
No! Wait! Rebekah reached out a hand, but Beatrice was already gone. The door, stricken, sagged listlessly in her wake.
Animals in pain do things they don't mean to. They lash out. Cats shred their owners' hands, horses kick their trainers, zookeepers get bitten by everything under the sun. Humans throw fists and scream. It's just what they do. It's generally not personal, even when the animal in question is a person.
But it sure feels that way.
Rebekah didn't know whether to go after her - she wanted to, absolutely. But Beatrice was spooked, whether by her or the cabin or whatever she was wrestling with inside her head, and chasing her might be mistaken for a more aggressive response, might encourage her to keep running and never come back. But the urgency in Jess' eyes as she hissed that there was someone else out there - someone who might have just killed somebody, made it impossible to stay.
Rebekah jumped up and snatched up the Snuggie, donning it in one smooth motion as she ran out the door after Beatrice. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she couldn't just leave Beatrice out there. In her panicked state, she would be easy prey for a killer. Her Snuggie flapped around her like the world's least impressive superhero cape. Luckily, there wasn't far to run. Beatrice had stopped, staring at the dead girl - and the strange human boy hunched over the deal girl's bag.
Only now did Rebekah realize that Beatrice was empty-handed. She hadn't brought the axe with her, and Rebekah didn't have it either. The two of them were unarmed, and almost certainly facing down a killer.
Okay, okay.
She put up a hand to the boy. "Easy," she said. "Let's all... take it easy."
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Micah had just finally gotten the bag off the dead girl's arm when he suddenly heard a loud slamming noise. He dropped the bag in the snow and turned towards the sound. A girl had come barreling out of the cabin, followed shortly by another one. Micah tensed up a bit when he saw them. His hand instinctively went into the pocket the pugio was in.
However, he relaxed a bit when he saw both girls were unarmed. He took his hand out of the pocket and held it up along with his other hand to the girls.
"Hey, yeah, we can take it easy. I would like to take it easy."
He glanced down at the dead girl.
"Look, I know what you're thinking, but trust me, I didn't have anything to do with this. She just dropped dead," he explained. "I swear on my family name I didn't kill her."
However, he relaxed a bit when he saw both girls were unarmed. He took his hand out of the pocket and held it up along with his other hand to the girls.
"Hey, yeah, we can take it easy. I would like to take it easy."
He glanced down at the dead girl.
"Look, I know what you're thinking, but trust me, I didn't have anything to do with this. She just dropped dead," he explained. "I swear on my family name I didn't kill her."
It took her a moment - a long, long moment that seemed to stretch out for eternity - before Beatrice even realised that Rebekah had followed her outside, that she was standing just a couple feet off to the side of her. Her head still felt like it was being crushed in some giant, invisible grip, and her heart was racing faster than she had ever thought possible. The other girl had been a source of comfort in the past few hours; right now, though, her presence was making these sensations so much worse.
Beatrice had lashed out at her, after all. Had she traced her path outside of the cabin in order to confront her? None of Rebekah’s words made their way home; she could have been demanding an apology, spitting out threats, anything at all or nothing in the slightest. Beatrice didn’t have the faintest idea. The world felt like it was closing in on her, and she couldn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t even face the other girl.
Her gaze, after all, was locked on the boy, now standing, in front of her, a dead girl at his feet. She recognised him, as she did all of her classmates. She remembered his name as well; Micah, one of the many Flanagans they had at school. That was as far as her knowledge of the boy took her, however. Her circle of friendship was wide, but far from all-encompassing. Was he the sort of person to kill a friend? Would he do so, then stand over their body when witnesses arrived, not attempting to run or hide?
She didn’t know. In truth, she didn’t believe a single person she had grown up with would do such a thing, not by choice, and most not even when pressed into a corner. But right now, all she could see was the snow, stained such a deep, sharp red. His mouth was opening and closing, but no words were coming out, or at least none that she could hear, like some puppet missing its master.
“Don’t… don’t come any closer, okay? Please, we’re not… we’re not asking for trouble, we just…”
Her tongue froze midway through, matching the rest of her body, as she stared at the boy and the corpse and the blood trickling towards her.
Beatrice had lashed out at her, after all. Had she traced her path outside of the cabin in order to confront her? None of Rebekah’s words made their way home; she could have been demanding an apology, spitting out threats, anything at all or nothing in the slightest. Beatrice didn’t have the faintest idea. The world felt like it was closing in on her, and she couldn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t even face the other girl.
Her gaze, after all, was locked on the boy, now standing, in front of her, a dead girl at his feet. She recognised him, as she did all of her classmates. She remembered his name as well; Micah, one of the many Flanagans they had at school. That was as far as her knowledge of the boy took her, however. Her circle of friendship was wide, but far from all-encompassing. Was he the sort of person to kill a friend? Would he do so, then stand over their body when witnesses arrived, not attempting to run or hide?
She didn’t know. In truth, she didn’t believe a single person she had grown up with would do such a thing, not by choice, and most not even when pressed into a corner. But right now, all she could see was the snow, stained such a deep, sharp red. His mouth was opening and closing, but no words were coming out, or at least none that she could hear, like some puppet missing its master.
“Don’t… don’t come any closer, okay? Please, we’re not… we’re not asking for trouble, we just…”
Her tongue froze midway through, matching the rest of her body, as she stared at the boy and the corpse and the blood trickling towards her.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
The girls were still demanding Micah stay away from them. Micah was perfectly fine not getting any closer to them. However, he could see that stressed, frightened people like them were likely to find any cause to attack him. All he wanted to do was grab the dead girl's bag and walk away.
"Alright, I can see that you're frightened of me," Micah explained, "but look..."
Micah slowly stepped back to the corpse and lifted her onto her side. He held her so her stomach was facing the girl.
"Look," he said. "Clearly, she got attacked by someone else, and the wound reopened."
He continued to look back between the two girls and the body, pointing to where the blood seemed to be the heaviest.
"You can even see it's coming from under the bandages. See?"
"Alright, I can see that you're frightened of me," Micah explained, "but look..."
Micah slowly stepped back to the corpse and lifted her onto her side. He held her so her stomach was facing the girl.
"Look," he said. "Clearly, she got attacked by someone else, and the wound reopened."
He continued to look back between the two girls and the body, pointing to where the blood seemed to be the heaviest.
"You can even see it's coming from under the bandages. See?"