The smaller girl was visibly scared, and DeMarcus liked that. Gave him a little bit of that jolt that he had had back on the top of the mountain, or at the infirmary. The bigger girl didn't give him the same pleasure. All she had for him was a submachine gun and an attitude, and he resented her for it immediately. His hand with the gun twitched, but it stayed by his thigh for now.
"If either of you give me a reason. But I've got other shit on my mind." He said. He took a step forward, perhaps more suddenly than he intended or should have taken. There was a headstone nearby and he corrected course, making a show of arranging himself and smoothing his shirt before sitting on it. The stone was icy and he felt his ass numbing almost immediately. Which was fine. Most of him was already numb.
He pointed at Evie with his empty hand.
"You've done one already, haven't you?" His gaze dropped to her weapon. "You get them with that?"
Return the Slab, or Suffer My Curse
Day 8, now private for death
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 511
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
There was a clang of iron as Lara Bullock entered from another thread.
"You made me walk for six fucking hour-"
"You made me walk for six fucking hour-"
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Iris threw the flashbang.
Rewind ten seconds, thirty, sixty. The cockroach mentality was harder to keep up when faced with a second gun, and when Evie stepped up, Iris went quiet. She didn't know what to make of the gesture and was too focused on the new threat that DeMarcus presented to try and parse it out. As the two of them faced each other down, she started edging away.
Even though neither gun was being pointed in her direction right now, she felt like a hostage. The bubbling anger she'd felt towards Evie was still there, but it had nowhere to go now that wouldn't get her shot. Helplessness choked her, but as long as they were focused on each other, then maybe-
With the attention off of her for the moment, one of Iris's hands edged towards the zipper of her bag. As DeMarcus spoke she slowly, slowly eased it open, tensed and hyper-aware of every creak of the zipper and rustle of the fabric.
When there was enough of an opening, her hand slipped in. Her fingers found the metal side of the flashbang grenade and gripped it tight. Withdrawing her hand, she tucked the grenade close to her side to try and keep it hidden.
She needed an opening to cut and run, but she didn't know what it would look like.
She didn't expect it to burst in yelling.
Lara flew in, voice raised. Evie, DeMarcus, and Iris all started, began to turn towards her.
The flashbang was in her hand.
So Iris threw the flashbang.
And then she ran like hell.
((Iris Waite continued in Ladybird, Ladybird))
Rewind ten seconds, thirty, sixty. The cockroach mentality was harder to keep up when faced with a second gun, and when Evie stepped up, Iris went quiet. She didn't know what to make of the gesture and was too focused on the new threat that DeMarcus presented to try and parse it out. As the two of them faced each other down, she started edging away.
Even though neither gun was being pointed in her direction right now, she felt like a hostage. The bubbling anger she'd felt towards Evie was still there, but it had nowhere to go now that wouldn't get her shot. Helplessness choked her, but as long as they were focused on each other, then maybe-
With the attention off of her for the moment, one of Iris's hands edged towards the zipper of her bag. As DeMarcus spoke she slowly, slowly eased it open, tensed and hyper-aware of every creak of the zipper and rustle of the fabric.
When there was enough of an opening, her hand slipped in. Her fingers found the metal side of the flashbang grenade and gripped it tight. Withdrawing her hand, she tucked the grenade close to her side to try and keep it hidden.
She needed an opening to cut and run, but she didn't know what it would look like.
She didn't expect it to burst in yelling.
Lara flew in, voice raised. Evie, DeMarcus, and Iris all started, began to turn towards her.
The flashbang was in her hand.
So Iris threw the flashbang.
And then she ran like hell.
((Iris Waite continued in Ladybird, Ladybird))
"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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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
Evie’s eyes flicked down to her weapon. As if she needed reminding what it looked like. In truth it played a background role in the image seared into her memory, second fiddle to the effect it’d had on Chloé’s body, but it was there all the same. She tilted her hand to the side slightly, moving the gun in what was meant as a kind of acknowledging gesture.
“Yeah.”
Tough needle to thread: she didn’t want Iris to be afraid of her, but she sure as hell wanted a healthy caution in Demarcus. In her mind’s eye, Evie didn’t even really see him. She saw Alex. The spear was upgraded now, true, but Evie’s defences had come a long way too. She was confident, with the altered circumstances this time it was certainly possible to talk him around, avoid gunfire and bloodshed. Just had to play it right.
In some corner of her awareness, Evie registered furtive movement behind her. She could only hope Iris wasn’t fool enough to stab her in the back - possibly literally - whilst Evie stood between her and a very deadly-looking handgun. A gun-nut she was not, but Evie was reasonably sure she recognised the iconic large-calibre Desert Eagle from her many hours in Call of Duty.
She put on her best impression of a calm negotiator. Like in the movies.
“Doesn’t have to be anyone’s second, I don’t w—“
Evie’s lack of desire to gamble on a face-to-face shootout was interrupted, quite abruptly. But before she had much of a chance to fully respond to the sudden intrusion, everything went from bad to worse.
“Lara!”
No time to fully explain. The girl’s right arm came up, as much gesturing towards the threat as actually aiming at him.
Something caught the sunlight, arcing through the crisp morning air.
The glint drew Evie’s attention for just a moment.
Then, of course, something much brighter hit her eyes.
The bang reached her a split second after the blinding flash.
Reacting to the sound before fully comprehending what it actually was, Evie McKown opened fire in Demarcus’ direction - returned fire, as far as her reflexes were concerned.
It took a scant few seconds to empty the MAC-11’s magazine, the roar of gunfire drowned out by an intense high-pitched whine ringing in its owner’s ears.
Blinking rapidly in vain hopes of clearing the white void from her vision,
staggered by the powerful recoil of 32 bullets firing in about 2 seconds,
and most of all powerfully dizzy thanks to the disruption in her inner ear,
Evie stumbled forwards and fell onto a hand and both knees.
“Yeah.”
Tough needle to thread: she didn’t want Iris to be afraid of her, but she sure as hell wanted a healthy caution in Demarcus. In her mind’s eye, Evie didn’t even really see him. She saw Alex. The spear was upgraded now, true, but Evie’s defences had come a long way too. She was confident, with the altered circumstances this time it was certainly possible to talk him around, avoid gunfire and bloodshed. Just had to play it right.
In some corner of her awareness, Evie registered furtive movement behind her. She could only hope Iris wasn’t fool enough to stab her in the back - possibly literally - whilst Evie stood between her and a very deadly-looking handgun. A gun-nut she was not, but Evie was reasonably sure she recognised the iconic large-calibre Desert Eagle from her many hours in Call of Duty.
She put on her best impression of a calm negotiator. Like in the movies.
“Doesn’t have to be anyone’s second, I don’t w—“
Evie’s lack of desire to gamble on a face-to-face shootout was interrupted, quite abruptly. But before she had much of a chance to fully respond to the sudden intrusion, everything went from bad to worse.
“Lara!”
No time to fully explain. The girl’s right arm came up, as much gesturing towards the threat as actually aiming at him.
Something caught the sunlight, arcing through the crisp morning air.
The glint drew Evie’s attention for just a moment.
Then, of course, something much brighter hit her eyes.
The bang reached her a split second after the blinding flash.
Reacting to the sound before fully comprehending what it actually was, Evie McKown opened fire in Demarcus’ direction - returned fire, as far as her reflexes were concerned.
It took a scant few seconds to empty the MAC-11’s magazine, the roar of gunfire drowned out by an intense high-pitched whine ringing in its owner’s ears.
Blinking rapidly in vain hopes of clearing the white void from her vision,
staggered by the powerful recoil of 32 bullets firing in about 2 seconds,
and most of all powerfully dizzy thanks to the disruption in her inner ear,
Evie stumbled forwards and fell onto a hand and both knees.
They were having a civilized discussion before the world disappeared in light and an explosion. One moment he was looking at two girls, and the next he was blind. Having two of his senses deadened made chaos out of the last moments of DeMarcus's life.
His finger squeezed the trigger twice, the first a reflex shot that went into the ground and almost took off one of his toes. He managed to raise the weapon partway up before he fired the second. There wasn't a third shot.
The.380 caliber steel hornets stitched his body from groin to throat, a dozen stingers that opened holes in flesh and the organs underneath. He could not see but felt a finger on his left hand, thrown up in ineffectual defense, nearly severed and hanging from a mangled tendon. He could not hear his own ragged breath trying to drag itself up out of punctured lungs filling with blood, but felt the burbling, the gurgling deep in his chest. One bullet cut a path through his mouth and smashed half of his teeth on the left side before ripping out the back of his neck. The two or three bullets that burrowed through his stomach and intestines were the worst; the entry wounds sent bolts of lightning up nerves that were already ablaze as his digestive tract was torn to pieces. DeMarcus dimly realized how much blood was flowing out of him, could smell it and feel it dripping down his flannel and soaking his pants along with a trickle of urine as his bladder let go.
He didn't have time to scream, or curse, or cry. His body only jerked and danced and, when the MAC-11's magazine ran dry, hung there suspended for a breath before whatever allowed him to keep his feet finally gave out. He swayed back for a moment as if pitching that way before toppling forward, his final contrarian moment found in slighting gravity. His body painted the ground where he fell.
((S088-DeMarcus Miller, Deceased))
His finger squeezed the trigger twice, the first a reflex shot that went into the ground and almost took off one of his toes. He managed to raise the weapon partway up before he fired the second. There wasn't a third shot.
The.380 caliber steel hornets stitched his body from groin to throat, a dozen stingers that opened holes in flesh and the organs underneath. He could not see but felt a finger on his left hand, thrown up in ineffectual defense, nearly severed and hanging from a mangled tendon. He could not hear his own ragged breath trying to drag itself up out of punctured lungs filling with blood, but felt the burbling, the gurgling deep in his chest. One bullet cut a path through his mouth and smashed half of his teeth on the left side before ripping out the back of his neck. The two or three bullets that burrowed through his stomach and intestines were the worst; the entry wounds sent bolts of lightning up nerves that were already ablaze as his digestive tract was torn to pieces. DeMarcus dimly realized how much blood was flowing out of him, could smell it and feel it dripping down his flannel and soaking his pants along with a trickle of urine as his bladder let go.
He didn't have time to scream, or curse, or cry. His body only jerked and danced and, when the MAC-11's magazine ran dry, hung there suspended for a breath before whatever allowed him to keep his feet finally gave out. He swayed back for a moment as if pitching that way before toppling forward, his final contrarian moment found in slighting gravity. His body painted the ground where he fell.
((S088-DeMarcus Miller, Deceased))
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 511
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
██████████
Light.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Sound.
▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
Heat.
░░░░░░░░░░
Pain.
Every sense that returned to Lara screamed for attention, before disappearing into the chorus that tore at every thought she tried to formulate.
Grey and white. Her head hurt.
Cold was pressed against her back.
She could hear the wind. There were no more gunshots.
Lara closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, prepared to encounter pain and keep moving.
A whimper trickled from between her lips as she tilted her head to the side.
Eyes met purple, still standing. Her lips curled, chest rippling, all whilst her jaw trembled. Her head dropped down a little, slack, resting into the snow.
"H-"
Her voice startled her. It sounded alien, wrong, weak and wheezing.
"How-"
She gasped in a breath.
"How bad?"
Light.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Sound.
▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
Heat.
░░░░░░░░░░
Pain.
Every sense that returned to Lara screamed for attention, before disappearing into the chorus that tore at every thought she tried to formulate.
Grey and white. Her head hurt.
Cold was pressed against her back.
She could hear the wind. There were no more gunshots.
Lara closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, prepared to encounter pain and keep moving.
A whimper trickled from between her lips as she tilted her head to the side.
Eyes met purple, still standing. Her lips curled, chest rippling, all whilst her jaw trembled. Her head dropped down a little, slack, resting into the snow.
"H-"
Her voice startled her. It sounded alien, wrong, weak and wheezing.
"How-"
She gasped in a breath.
"How bad?"
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
The world swam before her eyes, a blur of white and brown. Evie wasn't entirely sure how she'd fallen, or if she'd dropped to the ground on purpose. She wasn't entirely sure of very much at all. Her head spun, her ears rang, everything was unfocused colour and hideous whining noise.
Seconds passed, the girl with the MAC-11 struggled up onto one foot, lifted her head to take in the scene around her. A dull pain blossomed in her neck, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of sensations left by Iris' grenade. Focus was hard, but picking out the most distinct form before her was within the realm of possibility: an indistinct splotch of greys, blacks, accented in red. She rose to her feet, shaky, stable enough. The pain grew more insistent as Evie's coat collar offered a slight friction over its source, but she dared not let go of her gun, not quite putting together the facts to recall that she'd need to reload it for it to be of any use.
Staggering forward, she willed her eyes to clear. Standing, swaying. No, still. Still. She forced her body to hold still, let the colours and outlines resolve into something more real. Into DeMarcus Miller. It didn't take long to ascertain that he wasn't a threat any more. If anything, it was a stroke of luck that Evie couldn't see the damage more clearly, given how unsettled her stomach already felt. A glint off to the side alerted her to his discarded weapon, and with some difficulty, Evie knelt down to take it. Just in case. Stumbling on her way down, she dropped hard onto her left knee, letting out a grunt of pain at the impact with the frozen earth.
"How-"
Oh. Oh fuck. Lara. Her voice sounded strained, weak. Almost unfamiliar. Evie turned her head, winced at the return of pain in her neck, carefully worked herself back up onto her feet. Lara lay a few feet away, a much less gruesome spectacle than DeMarcus, mostly intact with blood blossoming from only two wounds that she could see. She staggered across, struggling even more with the iced ground thanks to the throbbing in her knee,
"How bad?"
How bad was it? Well... the crimson flower blooming on Lara's thigh might not be life-threatening, if cleaned and dressed promptly. That was the good news. The rest of the news concerned the position of the other bullet hole, the significantly worse bleeding from it, and the rasping, ragged sound of the fallen girl's voice and breathing. Evie was far from a physician: a first-aider and an aspiring veterinarian, not someone prepared to handle a gunshot wound to a lung. What training she did have literally started with "Call 911", so everything that followed was probably of little use without that initial move, sure she could apply pressure and try to stop the bleeding, cover the wound to stop it sucking in air, keep Lara's lung from collapsing if it hadn't already, but... to what end? So she could die more slowly? For once at least, the residual rattling in her brain kept Evie's train of thought from running away into catastrophe, and instead she tried to come up with a reassuring response. Some convincing lie to make the other girl feel better in the time she had left.
Evie stooped closer to Lara, she opened her mouth to answer.
She then quickly turned her body about 90 degrees, retched, and let out a thin, translucent stream comprised mostly of bile.
Seconds passed, the girl with the MAC-11 struggled up onto one foot, lifted her head to take in the scene around her. A dull pain blossomed in her neck, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of sensations left by Iris' grenade. Focus was hard, but picking out the most distinct form before her was within the realm of possibility: an indistinct splotch of greys, blacks, accented in red. She rose to her feet, shaky, stable enough. The pain grew more insistent as Evie's coat collar offered a slight friction over its source, but she dared not let go of her gun, not quite putting together the facts to recall that she'd need to reload it for it to be of any use.
Staggering forward, she willed her eyes to clear. Standing, swaying. No, still. Still. She forced her body to hold still, let the colours and outlines resolve into something more real. Into DeMarcus Miller. It didn't take long to ascertain that he wasn't a threat any more. If anything, it was a stroke of luck that Evie couldn't see the damage more clearly, given how unsettled her stomach already felt. A glint off to the side alerted her to his discarded weapon, and with some difficulty, Evie knelt down to take it. Just in case. Stumbling on her way down, she dropped hard onto her left knee, letting out a grunt of pain at the impact with the frozen earth.
"How-"
Oh. Oh fuck. Lara. Her voice sounded strained, weak. Almost unfamiliar. Evie turned her head, winced at the return of pain in her neck, carefully worked herself back up onto her feet. Lara lay a few feet away, a much less gruesome spectacle than DeMarcus, mostly intact with blood blossoming from only two wounds that she could see. She staggered across, struggling even more with the iced ground thanks to the throbbing in her knee,
"How bad?"
How bad was it? Well... the crimson flower blooming on Lara's thigh might not be life-threatening, if cleaned and dressed promptly. That was the good news. The rest of the news concerned the position of the other bullet hole, the significantly worse bleeding from it, and the rasping, ragged sound of the fallen girl's voice and breathing. Evie was far from a physician: a first-aider and an aspiring veterinarian, not someone prepared to handle a gunshot wound to a lung. What training she did have literally started with "Call 911", so everything that followed was probably of little use without that initial move, sure she could apply pressure and try to stop the bleeding, cover the wound to stop it sucking in air, keep Lara's lung from collapsing if it hadn't already, but... to what end? So she could die more slowly? For once at least, the residual rattling in her brain kept Evie's train of thought from running away into catastrophe, and instead she tried to come up with a reassuring response. Some convincing lie to make the other girl feel better in the time she had left.
Evie stooped closer to Lara, she opened her mouth to answer.
She then quickly turned her body about 90 degrees, retched, and let out a thin, translucent stream comprised mostly of bile.
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 511
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
The blur moved slowly, then quickly, then slowly again.
Lara grimaced as she forced her eyes to focus whilst the other girl
made a noise she failed to parse, hiding underneath the ringing of her ears as it was. The expression cut into Evie's made the answer to the question obvious.
It took her a moment to realise she was nodding, and stopped.
She had always thought that dying would prompt something profound, not consciously - she had had little reason to imagine her own death before this week - but now that it was upon her, it felt all wrong. There were no answers to her questions. There was no way out of this. Her life had amounted to nothing.
And all she felt was emptiness.
The things she would never do. The girlfriend she had failed meet in University. The parts of the Appalachian trail she had failed to see with Uncle George. The thousands of people she had failed to help feed. The love she had failed to return to her Mum and Dad. The legacy she would never continue. The happiness she would never feel again.
Lara's eyes snagged, for just a moment, on the blood splattered black object in her companion's left hand. She swallowed. Mustered up as much air in her chest as she could.
"it doesn't hurt yet" she wheezed, the air rushing out of her like a chew toy with it's squeaker removed, barely carrying her message above the wind before she began gasping and hacking again.
Lara grimaced as she forced her eyes to focus whilst the other girl
made a noise she failed to parse, hiding underneath the ringing of her ears as it was. The expression cut into Evie's made the answer to the question obvious.
It took her a moment to realise she was nodding, and stopped.
She had always thought that dying would prompt something profound, not consciously - she had had little reason to imagine her own death before this week - but now that it was upon her, it felt all wrong. There were no answers to her questions. There was no way out of this. Her life had amounted to nothing.
And all she felt was emptiness.
The things she would never do. The girlfriend she had failed meet in University. The parts of the Appalachian trail she had failed to see with Uncle George. The thousands of people she had failed to help feed. The love she had failed to return to her Mum and Dad. The legacy she would never continue. The happiness she would never feel again.
Lara's eyes snagged, for just a moment, on the blood splattered black object in her companion's left hand. She swallowed. Mustered up as much air in her chest as she could.
"it doesn't hurt yet" she wheezed, the air rushing out of her like a chew toy with it's squeaker removed, barely carrying her message above the wind before she began gasping and hacking again.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
Conversely, lucidity was ever more rapidly reasserting itself in Evie. She spat out the last of the bitter-tasting fluid out onto the frosted ground, and turned her focus back onto Lara. Without her eyes swimming or her head pounding quite so badly, it only looked worse. She could only dread to think what DeMarcus' wounds would look like.
In her professional medical opinion? Lara was, in a word, fucked. It didn't take much expertise to tell that a gruesome hole through the lung, a few thousand miles from the nearest real doctor no less, was pretty fatal.
And there she was, looking meaningfully at the gun that'd done it. Telling Evie that it didn't hurt yet. Operative word, yet. Much as she didn't want to follow that chain of logic, it was pretty inescapable. The longer Lara survived like this, the more she was going to suffer. Both of them were powerless to change that fact, but only Lara was powerless to cut the suffering short. Not so for Evie. She knew what she had to do: it was the only kind thing to do. Letting her suffer needlessly, just to satisfy her reticence to be responsible for killing her? For as weak of a reason as that, that she just felt bad about pulling the, well, the literal trigger in this case? Her whole life, she'd lived by the notion that she should always choose to minimise suffering, if not eliminate it outright. That she should always be kind. It was written on her now-bloodstained shirt, for heaven's sake.
But even as Evie raised the gun towards Lara's temple, her hand trembled. Her lip trembled. With Chloé she'd been under pressure. With DeMarcus, she'd been afraid, and firing blind. But Lara... Lara she'd kissed last night. Lara she truly cared about. Lara was bleeding on the floor in front of her, no threats in sight, pleading for Evie's mercy without openly pleading. Because that's who Evie was now, and perhaps for the rest of her life, somebody to plead with for mercy. Evie the Killer. Iris had been fucking terrified of her. Even DeMarcus had a clear wariness despite being just as armed and dangerous.
The young killer bit down hard on her lower lip, forced her jaw to hold still. She steadied her hand as best she could. Put the empty gun on the ground, added the extra hand to the Desert Eagle. It still wouldn't stop shaking.
First though, selfish as it was, first she had to know.
She had to.
"Lara, were you... I, are you... afraid of me?"
In her professional medical opinion? Lara was, in a word, fucked. It didn't take much expertise to tell that a gruesome hole through the lung, a few thousand miles from the nearest real doctor no less, was pretty fatal.
And there she was, looking meaningfully at the gun that'd done it. Telling Evie that it didn't hurt yet. Operative word, yet. Much as she didn't want to follow that chain of logic, it was pretty inescapable. The longer Lara survived like this, the more she was going to suffer. Both of them were powerless to change that fact, but only Lara was powerless to cut the suffering short. Not so for Evie. She knew what she had to do: it was the only kind thing to do. Letting her suffer needlessly, just to satisfy her reticence to be responsible for killing her? For as weak of a reason as that, that she just felt bad about pulling the, well, the literal trigger in this case? Her whole life, she'd lived by the notion that she should always choose to minimise suffering, if not eliminate it outright. That she should always be kind. It was written on her now-bloodstained shirt, for heaven's sake.
But even as Evie raised the gun towards Lara's temple, her hand trembled. Her lip trembled. With Chloé she'd been under pressure. With DeMarcus, she'd been afraid, and firing blind. But Lara... Lara she'd kissed last night. Lara she truly cared about. Lara was bleeding on the floor in front of her, no threats in sight, pleading for Evie's mercy without openly pleading. Because that's who Evie was now, and perhaps for the rest of her life, somebody to plead with for mercy. Evie the Killer. Iris had been fucking terrified of her. Even DeMarcus had a clear wariness despite being just as armed and dangerous.
The young killer bit down hard on her lower lip, forced her jaw to hold still. She steadied her hand as best she could. Put the empty gun on the ground, added the extra hand to the Desert Eagle. It still wouldn't stop shaking.
First though, selfish as it was, first she had to know.
She had to.
"Lara, were you... I, are you... afraid of me?"
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 511
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
For just a moment Lara felt wooden boards underneath her limp limbs. Recalled how dry her mouth had been - and was again. She could almost hear the wind whistling through a broken window again. It all seemed so simple in retrospect, agonizing over word choices that had never mattered.
A shallow pair of inhales and exhales punctuated the silence. Her eyes rose up to meet Evie's for as long as she could manage the strain. She couldn't tell what emotions were boiling behind them. No hints as to the correct answer.
Evie had never been a source of fear. Just its conduit. The island, that was what they all feared. The reality that had been imposed on them. The things it had forced them to do, forced them to think. Even now she wondered if she could do it. Make her death worth something. Another soul to remember her. The thought tugged at the corners of her mouth, forming it into a weak smile.
Her head began to shake from side to side, almost imperceptibly.
"No." she murmured with all her might.
"Win." she commanded with her thoughts, body failing to force it out into the world as she closed her eyes. Waited for the gunshot.
Lara never heard it.
S003 - Lara Bullock - Eliminated
A shallow pair of inhales and exhales punctuated the silence. Her eyes rose up to meet Evie's for as long as she could manage the strain. She couldn't tell what emotions were boiling behind them. No hints as to the correct answer.
Evie had never been a source of fear. Just its conduit. The island, that was what they all feared. The reality that had been imposed on them. The things it had forced them to do, forced them to think. Even now she wondered if she could do it. Make her death worth something. Another soul to remember her. The thought tugged at the corners of her mouth, forming it into a weak smile.
Her head began to shake from side to side, almost imperceptibly.
"No." she murmured with all her might.
"Win." she commanded with her thoughts, body failing to force it out into the world as she closed her eyes. Waited for the gunshot.
Lara never heard it.
S003 - Lara Bullock - Eliminated
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
A thought occurred to Evie, as she waited for Lara to summon up the strength to answer her. That she was going to die. That she had never known, would now never know, about Kelsey. That it couldn’t possibly do any harm to send Lara off with a last kiss, to comfort her.
But a smile began to tug at edges of the bigger girl’s chapped lips, and Evie knew she couldn’t. Selfish again. She couldn’t do it and still pull the trigger.
Lara assured her no, seemingly with all the air left in her lungs. Then her face settled into what looked like a mix of determination and resignation. Evie turned her eyes away, unwilling, no, unable to watch it happen. That would be the last time she saw Lara’s face. The dirty-blonde locks, the square features, that barely-perceptible scar. She wouldn’t see all that torn apart by .50 Action Express.
She also couldn’t muster the words to claim she was sorry.
Evie bit her bottom lip, and squeezed her eyes shut. She steadied her hands, and she squeezed the trigger.
But a smile began to tug at edges of the bigger girl’s chapped lips, and Evie knew she couldn’t. Selfish again. She couldn’t do it and still pull the trigger.
Lara assured her no, seemingly with all the air left in her lungs. Then her face settled into what looked like a mix of determination and resignation. Evie turned her eyes away, unwilling, no, unable to watch it happen. That would be the last time she saw Lara’s face. The dirty-blonde locks, the square features, that barely-perceptible scar. She wouldn’t see all that torn apart by .50 Action Express.
She also couldn’t muster the words to claim she was sorry.
Evie bit her bottom lip, and squeezed her eyes shut. She steadied her hands, and she squeezed the trigger.
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Dr Adjective
- Posts: 427
- Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 8:25 pm
- Location: UK
Evie's wrist hurt.
A lot of her hurt, her ears, her eyes, her neck, her heart... But the part most loudly complaining at the moment was her wrist. First she'd fired a high calibre handgun without being at all prepared for the recoil it'd offer, then she'd put her hands to use pretty shortly afterwards. But she'd carried on through the pain, she'd had to. If she didn't honour the bodies she'd left behind, the way she hadn't been able to honour Chloé's, how was she supposed to claim that she was kind, that she wasn't cruel, that she cared? That was the deal, right? She'd be anything she had to be to make it home, but not cruel. She didn't need to be, and she didn't want to be.
So Evie had gone across to DeMarcus first. The damage was worse, but she could bear to see it more. She'd closed his eyes, relieved him of his bag, and dragged him across to the closest open grave. Then she'd retrieved the emergency blanket from his first-aid kit, draped it across him as best she could, and weighed it down with a handful of decently hefty stones. Lara had been more of an effort: not that she was any harder to move, but that Evie had struggled to adequately cover her face without actually looking at it. But she too likewise found herself moved to another empty grave, and covered from the elements as best as Evie could manage.
That fulfilled the bargain. It hadn't been easy, or immediate for that matter. She'd sat shellshocked for several seconds first. Second she'd cried, only briefly. Third, she'd investigated the pain in her neck, found the graze, and awkwardly cleaned and bandaged it. Finally, she'd slowly walked the area to find the graves and to think on how she would show respect to the bodies she was responsible for. Only then had she mustered the physical and mental fortitude to actually do the deed.
Thereafter, Evie had cried again. She hadn't really taken the time since Chloé to process what had happened, what she had done. She hadn't allowed herself to, not when she was sprinting away from the crime scene, not when she was handling Lara, not when she was leaving her behind and dreading the upcoming announcement. Her conversation with Iris, that had formed part of an attempt, perhaps. But it was incomplete. So Evie had sat herself against a suitably large headstone, and she had let the raw emotions out. The hurt, the loss of a friend, the loss of innocence. She still had her identity, of course: Evie knew who she was, right? She still knew that she wasn't a bad person, that she'd only defended herself, only cut short the suffering of people who were victims just like her. She believed that. She had to believe that. But she knew that other people wouldn't. They'd hear that Evie McKown had killed once, then the next day she'd killed twice more, as if she'd gotten a taste for it, or awakened some monster that had always been there. It's what she'd spent a week assuming of Kitty after all, why shouldn't the same go for her with others?
The way Iris had responded to her, the terror, the haste to use the limited tools at her disposal to make herself safe... yeah. Evie was more than willing to buy that Kitty had defended herself once, then several more times when fearful people did fearful people things. Cats, otters, even the smallest herbivores, they all got vicious when backed into a corner. The whole class had been in a proverbial corner the whole time. Her, Kitty, DeMarcus, they all just wanted to go home.
By the time Evie finally dried her eyes, wincing at the pain in her wrist as she did so, that was the active thought in her mind. That she wanted to go home. So the next thought was clear: what now? At a guess, eight days in, losing about ten people each day, they must be well below halfway already. About a hundred kids to outlast, something like thirty or so left, right? Compared to her odds coming in, one of a hundred with no weapons but the ones she'd been born with, Evie liked her chances of making it. She had two guns, replenished supplies, and at least the target on her back was smaller than that of those that had started earlier. Not to mention, she'd survived three attempts on her life already. So, what now? She'd bottle up everything she hadn't already let out in the preceding minutes, she'd play the sick game she had no choice but to play, and if her luck held out, if she was smart? She'd fucking win it all. Just as long as she wasn't cruel, she could live with that. But first? First she really wanted to get to that hot spring.
[Evie McKown walked outside without an excuse.]
A lot of her hurt, her ears, her eyes, her neck, her heart... But the part most loudly complaining at the moment was her wrist. First she'd fired a high calibre handgun without being at all prepared for the recoil it'd offer, then she'd put her hands to use pretty shortly afterwards. But she'd carried on through the pain, she'd had to. If she didn't honour the bodies she'd left behind, the way she hadn't been able to honour Chloé's, how was she supposed to claim that she was kind, that she wasn't cruel, that she cared? That was the deal, right? She'd be anything she had to be to make it home, but not cruel. She didn't need to be, and she didn't want to be.
So Evie had gone across to DeMarcus first. The damage was worse, but she could bear to see it more. She'd closed his eyes, relieved him of his bag, and dragged him across to the closest open grave. Then she'd retrieved the emergency blanket from his first-aid kit, draped it across him as best she could, and weighed it down with a handful of decently hefty stones. Lara had been more of an effort: not that she was any harder to move, but that Evie had struggled to adequately cover her face without actually looking at it. But she too likewise found herself moved to another empty grave, and covered from the elements as best as Evie could manage.
That fulfilled the bargain. It hadn't been easy, or immediate for that matter. She'd sat shellshocked for several seconds first. Second she'd cried, only briefly. Third, she'd investigated the pain in her neck, found the graze, and awkwardly cleaned and bandaged it. Finally, she'd slowly walked the area to find the graves and to think on how she would show respect to the bodies she was responsible for. Only then had she mustered the physical and mental fortitude to actually do the deed.
Thereafter, Evie had cried again. She hadn't really taken the time since Chloé to process what had happened, what she had done. She hadn't allowed herself to, not when she was sprinting away from the crime scene, not when she was handling Lara, not when she was leaving her behind and dreading the upcoming announcement. Her conversation with Iris, that had formed part of an attempt, perhaps. But it was incomplete. So Evie had sat herself against a suitably large headstone, and she had let the raw emotions out. The hurt, the loss of a friend, the loss of innocence. She still had her identity, of course: Evie knew who she was, right? She still knew that she wasn't a bad person, that she'd only defended herself, only cut short the suffering of people who were victims just like her. She believed that. She had to believe that. But she knew that other people wouldn't. They'd hear that Evie McKown had killed once, then the next day she'd killed twice more, as if she'd gotten a taste for it, or awakened some monster that had always been there. It's what she'd spent a week assuming of Kitty after all, why shouldn't the same go for her with others?
The way Iris had responded to her, the terror, the haste to use the limited tools at her disposal to make herself safe... yeah. Evie was more than willing to buy that Kitty had defended herself once, then several more times when fearful people did fearful people things. Cats, otters, even the smallest herbivores, they all got vicious when backed into a corner. The whole class had been in a proverbial corner the whole time. Her, Kitty, DeMarcus, they all just wanted to go home.
By the time Evie finally dried her eyes, wincing at the pain in her wrist as she did so, that was the active thought in her mind. That she wanted to go home. So the next thought was clear: what now? At a guess, eight days in, losing about ten people each day, they must be well below halfway already. About a hundred kids to outlast, something like thirty or so left, right? Compared to her odds coming in, one of a hundred with no weapons but the ones she'd been born with, Evie liked her chances of making it. She had two guns, replenished supplies, and at least the target on her back was smaller than that of those that had started earlier. Not to mention, she'd survived three attempts on her life already. So, what now? She'd bottle up everything she hadn't already let out in the preceding minutes, she'd play the sick game she had no choice but to play, and if her luck held out, if she was smart? She'd fucking win it all. Just as long as she wasn't cruel, she could live with that. But first? First she really wanted to get to that hot spring.
[Evie McKown walked outside without an excuse.]