Survival Of The Fittest

From: A withering flower



Run. Run fast. Keep on running, never stop. Keep going until you can't anymore. Those were the only thoughts running through the mind of Penelope Withers as she sprinted through the island. She did NOT want to die. Her legs were burning from the strain she was putting on them and her burnt arm was limp at her side as she ran. She didn't think that it would be of much use to her anymore. Her braids whipped behind her in the wind and rain, and she really had no idea where she was going.

Penelope finally stopped to catch her breath in front of a rather large building. She couldn't tell what it was through the storm, but it must have been one of the bigger spots on the island. She adjusted her fogged glasses on the bridge of her nose and opened the front door with her shoulder. It was big, no doubt. It looked like a mall back in Denton. She put the mace down briefly in order to clean her glasses, then picked it up and resumed forward.

She could see something, or someone up ahead, and quickly ducked around a corner. She looked at the person to realize that he was just standing there. A hockey stick in hand. Like he was waiting for his prey. Hell no was she going to be someone's prey. She'd get the upper hand by a surprise attack! She dropped her daypack to the floor silently, and began to tiptoe forward.

She stopped in her tracks though. Her heels were making a lot of noise. He probably heard her come in! But he didn't know where she was coming from! She ran full speed at the boy, fully intending to smash his head in with the steel mace. She swung forcefully when in range, but the heavy object being swung with one hand redirected her attack towards his chest.

Michael had had enough...he wasn't going to stand around and wait for something to happen as he watched Anthony storm off.  In the time that he had been there, thirty of his peers had died and he knew that if he didn't do anything quickly, then he would end up as one of those dead.  With a defiant glare, he gripped his golf club and headed toward one of the exits.

"Y'know what, fuck you guys," he spat, "I'm not gonna sit here and wait for you guys to do something...if anything, I feel guilty for not killing that freak.  You guys can stay and die..."  He saw the rain was beginning to pick up a little bit and folded his arms.  "Even if it means braving this rain...I don't care.  Just so long as I don't have to put up with them for another second..."

He took a deep breath and opened the door, putting his faith in his wit before heading out into the rain...


((Continued in Poor Unfortunate Souls))

Anthony had not been waiting long for his sign. Within a few moments he heard somewhat slow steps, with clicking heels. It had to have been a female coming towards him, and that meant that he would be to go the other way. But from which way had the sound come? It stopped quite suddenly, and despite the silence, or perhaps because of it, the boy couldn't tell where his Sign was.

Was he not worthy of the task God had given him? The thought planted despair in his mind and he searched around, looking one way then another for the Sign. No, God would not give him a task and then such an impossible to interpret sign! It just can't be like that. In his slow panic he didn't hear the clicks, faster this time approaching clearly from his right.

He turned in time to see steel flying towards him in a manner about as controlled as his previous stick-waving had been. The stick! As if on its own, the hockey stick was brought up in front of him as if it might protect him from the metal mace. Honestly it didn't do much. The initial impact took some of the momentum from the metal, and lessened the force by being pushed back into the boy's chest. His arm really wasn't meant to withstand that type of motion and a sharp pain exploded from his shoulder even more noticeably than the combined mass of hockey stick and mace being smashed into his ribs. One or two of those were probably broken.

Anthony stumbled back a step before falling down flat. He didn't think, or wasn't able to catch himself and the back of his head smacked against the hard floor. Tiny dots of color exploded in his vision, disfiguring the image of the slut who'd attacked him. God, what had he done wrong? He knew she's been sent as punishment. There was no saving females; even if they repented for their past, they were still harlots painted red with original sin. Was this one of the devil's own, sent to keep him from his mission?

"G-get thee-" it hurt to speak, to breathe, to get up. "Be-hind me…Satan!" He did all three though. He wasn't able to fight any longer in the physical sense, and knew as much. He must have had a rib poking into a lung, maybe not enough to tear through membranes, but enough to make breathing painful. That was not to mention the splintering hockey stick. The long handle was split several times lengthwise. But no, his faith, his God would keep him...right?

No, what if this was his punishment? Had God seen it that he should be killed now? He hadn't saved everyone yet, though! What was happening? What was going on? Had he finally been abandoned by hope?

The boy had noticed Penelope at the last second before her swing. She cursed under her breath and began to panic as he brought his stick up in defense. The swing went through the stick though, splintering it in several places and hitting him so hard in the ribs that he flew to the ground and his head hit with a loud ‘thunk'. She began to sweat as the boy opened his eyes. He wasn't dead?! The look in his eyes looked evil to her, and he began saying something about Satan. This kid was insane!

"Stay down!" She screamed.

She swung the mace at him again, aiming for his genitals. The swing was quick, and she pulled the steel ball back just as quickly. She then immediately swung again a bit higher, probably catching his face, but she couldn't tell as tears began to fog her glasses.

"Just get away! Stay away from me!"

Had he been thinking clearly, Anthony might have wondered that a blow to the chest with a steel mace hadn't killed him. On the other hand, He probably would have been dead given a few minutes, any way. He wasn't to have the chance to find out, however, as the hell-sent whore swung again, basically pulverizing his groin.

Under normal circumstances, Anthony would have probably doubled over, or fallen over, or something of the sort. As it was, the boy's stomach forcibly expelled what little previously consumed nutrition it had contained. He didn't have much time to register that fact as a second swing came up to connect with his face.

The large chunk of steel hit him such that his head snapped back, not quite snapping his neck, but being the largish thing that it was, it also flattened his nose, sending shards of bone and cartilage into his prefrontal cortex (and other part of his brain) and severing thin synopses and nerves and squishing through gray matter, which, now liquefied, sloshed around in his head.

To put it more bluntly, Anthony Marius Ainsworth became instantly brain dead and his heart stopped only a few moments later.

B35 – Anthony Marius Ainsworth – deceased

The first hit was met with a loud squishing sound. It was almost as if she'd crushed a large bug with an oversized shoe. The second hit made a sickening crack that made Penelope wince. The boy's neck snapped back and his nose caved in. He fell to the ground with a loud thud. Penelope looked at the body in shock. She didn't….. she couldn't…. she wouldn't…. she did. She killed him! He was dead! DEAD, DEAD, DEAD! She killed! She played their game! She was so scared…. What should she do? She sank to her knees, the mace hitting the cold floor with a loud crack. She sobbed. She bought in to the game. She was a player now. Just like the rest of them.

"How…. How could I have done this? Why? What's become of me? What am I now? I'm just as bad as those kidnappers. I'm a killer." She sobbed into the silent air surrounding her.

Nothing could be done about this. She could never repent. The only thing she could do, was to win. She had no choice. She had no choice. She stood shakily and grabbed the other boy's bag. She hefted it onto her shoulder before picking her mace up and grabbing her own bag from where she left it.

Nothing makes sense anymore.


Continued: Elsewhere