Re: Corpsewalker
Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2018 7:59 am
It was useless, no matter how much she struggled and screamed, Kris had too tight a hold on a bunch of her hairs to break free without scalping herself, and she was too busy hobbling on her impaled foot to make that happen if she wanted to. The ground scrolled by under her feet like a bird looking down at the ground, gliding over it rather than walking along it, until Kris abruptly let go.
Then she gave her a sharp blow to the back of the head, and all bets for survival were off.
Stars swam before her eyes as Kris gripped her by the shoulders, roughly turning her over as Janet staggered blindly at her mercy, as if she was already limp and dead. She was trying to tell her arms to lash out, to fight back, but everything around her was moving too fast for her to get any coordination of her limbs whatsoever.
Something was poking into her back.
CRUNCH
Staring eyes.
She was looking upwards, but it wasn't straight upwards. She was being propped up.
CRUNCH
It was between her bones. She had been stabbed through the back, and now it was sticking between her rib cage.
The pain was starting to become more prominent than the shock of being stuck onto a jagged piece of metal.
CRUNCH
It was cutting the edge of her organs, and now it was obvious to the person you'd expect would understand the situation first.
CRUNCH
The bitch, she had impaled her on a piece of metal. She had been impaled, she had been impaled, she was bleeding so much....
CRUNCH
"You cow." she spat weakly, the offending strut now penetrating her lung quite effective, air rushing out of the rough crooked hole.
Suddenly everything in front of her eyes was swimming. Kris was becoming a shadow, a disembodied thing, an irrelevant factor in her death. The air was leaving her body, and the rage that had clouded her mind for two days was finally calming.
It really didn't matter, everything that she had thought was so important. It was sad, everything, but what did it matter. They were dead from day one, and now she was meeting her maker.
"Chadd..." she whispered with the last breath she could manage, and instantly she had regretted it. She had loved Chadd, but was he really the only point in her life? Couldn't she had said something more meaningful? Couldn't she had said goodbye to her brother, who would have to grow up without her now? Couldn't she had wished her parents her love, who'd always been so kind and patient with her, even when she'd been on the brink of expulsion for her temper? Couldn't she had told the bitch in front of her that she had hoped she was happy with herself?
There, that was it. Anger was her life, anger was consuming her, and she had done nothing. Even in a dying moment, all she could think of was spite. Spite for this bitch who'd done away with her in a cruel, painful (SO FUCKING PAINFUL she realised all of a sudden, and opened her mouth in a silent scream) manner, and spite for herself at not being more perfect.
Dying does strange things to one's opinions on themselves.
There weren't any more colours any more. Her eyes were still seeing things, and the world was going by without her, but she wasn't a part of it any more. Now she was a decorative lawn ornament, would probably make for a fun sight for the next student to come across her, and she hadn't even done anything useful with her time on the island.
She hadn't killed anyone though. Her family would be happy about that.
It was a little light in the overwhelming darkness.
She could pass on without guilt.
G011 - JANET CLAYMONT: DECEASED
Then she gave her a sharp blow to the back of the head, and all bets for survival were off.
Stars swam before her eyes as Kris gripped her by the shoulders, roughly turning her over as Janet staggered blindly at her mercy, as if she was already limp and dead. She was trying to tell her arms to lash out, to fight back, but everything around her was moving too fast for her to get any coordination of her limbs whatsoever.
Something was poking into her back.
CRUNCH
Staring eyes.
She was looking upwards, but it wasn't straight upwards. She was being propped up.
CRUNCH
It was between her bones. She had been stabbed through the back, and now it was sticking between her rib cage.
The pain was starting to become more prominent than the shock of being stuck onto a jagged piece of metal.
CRUNCH
It was cutting the edge of her organs, and now it was obvious to the person you'd expect would understand the situation first.
CRUNCH
The bitch, she had impaled her on a piece of metal. She had been impaled, she had been impaled, she was bleeding so much....
CRUNCH
"You cow." she spat weakly, the offending strut now penetrating her lung quite effective, air rushing out of the rough crooked hole.
Suddenly everything in front of her eyes was swimming. Kris was becoming a shadow, a disembodied thing, an irrelevant factor in her death. The air was leaving her body, and the rage that had clouded her mind for two days was finally calming.
It really didn't matter, everything that she had thought was so important. It was sad, everything, but what did it matter. They were dead from day one, and now she was meeting her maker.
"Chadd..." she whispered with the last breath she could manage, and instantly she had regretted it. She had loved Chadd, but was he really the only point in her life? Couldn't she had said something more meaningful? Couldn't she had said goodbye to her brother, who would have to grow up without her now? Couldn't she had wished her parents her love, who'd always been so kind and patient with her, even when she'd been on the brink of expulsion for her temper? Couldn't she had told the bitch in front of her that she had hoped she was happy with herself?
There, that was it. Anger was her life, anger was consuming her, and she had done nothing. Even in a dying moment, all she could think of was spite. Spite for this bitch who'd done away with her in a cruel, painful (SO FUCKING PAINFUL she realised all of a sudden, and opened her mouth in a silent scream) manner, and spite for herself at not being more perfect.
Dying does strange things to one's opinions on themselves.
There weren't any more colours any more. Her eyes were still seeing things, and the world was going by without her, but she wasn't a part of it any more. Now she was a decorative lawn ornament, would probably make for a fun sight for the next student to come across her, and she hadn't even done anything useful with her time on the island.
She hadn't killed anyone though. Her family would be happy about that.
It was a little light in the overwhelming darkness.
She could pass on without guilt.
G011 - JANET CLAYMONT: DECEASED