Survival Of The Fittest

Sleep? It…really had not even occurred to her as a possibility. Not that it would have made much of a difference had the thought wormed its way into her mind. The addiction would probably have held off another day, maybe two before cravings and withdraw kicked into full gear. Or was today Tuesday? Wait. Did she stop on Wednesday or Sunday? Doesn't matter. She really would not have been able to sleep once the pills started leaving her system. Either way, sleepless nights were not a new thing to the girl.

"Oh, you know, I…didn't, really. Didn't think of it. I'm used to that though. Not sleeping that is. You know, stuff. Sleep, not so much."
She was rambling and knew it. She tried to stop.
"I just don't sleep a lot. Dunno why. Just happens."
She tried harder.

Lives swallow the infatuation
Cleverly seduced
Evil's in the stink of you
Rise and fall we decompose

"FUCK YOU!" ...That…damned to hell…VOICE. "You know, I think I need to make a bathroom trip, if you don't mind."

Laura didn't wait for a reply. Who would?  Frustrated almost beyond comprehension, but accustomed to covering it, Laura rose from the sofa with what she thought was the kind of grace that inspired stories of nymphs and goddesses. Pay no attention to the grinding of teeth, or the slight twitch of the head indicative of an overly stiff neck, or stiff, too fast manner she stood up in that nearly caused her to topple over.

Walking slowly with a gait meant for speed, the girl made her way across the room to the foyer. Make a left. No, the other left. There, that. That looks like a bathroom. Why was it moving? Bathrooms don't move.

Laura clutched to the door frame and took in a deep breath. She pushed off of it to get to the sink. Nearly missed. The impact of her hand against porcelain sent a dull jolt of pain up through her elbow to her shoulder.
"Oh, that didn't feel good."

Rest against the sore
Push breath and pull
Ripping out compassion

"Please," barely a whisper as angry shouts turned to useless pleas, "Please leave me alone."

Oh yeah, pills.
She threw open the mirror above the sink. Toothbrushes, a comb, two razors (one pink, one blue) toothpaste (no floss), Ben-Gay, and a bottle of something. Yes! She grabbed for it, Aspirin. Good enough.

She fumbled with the lid for a few moments after shutting the door again. Her hands weren't cooperating. Not bothering to count, she poured a good bunch into her mouth and choked. Hitting the facet cupped hands took water from the stream to her mouth. COLD. It felt good, like ice sliding down a fiery throat. It was a little warm in there.

Not enough.

She downed the rest of the bottle in the same manner. And looked up to stare at her reflection. It was something she hadn't done in a while. She had dirt in her bland hair, on her face, probably from sleeping on the ground. But the filth went deeper than that. The dark circles under her not quite focused eyes, the lightlessness only she saw in those same blue eyes.

Instincts adapting
Sin sings a moan

"I'll kill you." It wasn't soft, nor was it loud. It was simply stated as fact. "That's what you want me to do, isn't it? Kill?" Her voice grew steadily in both vehemence and in volume. "So that's what I'll do. I'll fucking kill you!" She was screaming at this point.

The floor moved out from under her and she fell. Her head hit against the toilet and she vomited. Rolling onto her side she let the mess fall from her mouth and spat out what else she could. "I hate you...I hate me...I just fucking hate everything."

Again she opened the medicine chest on the wall and took out the cheap pink razor. Break it against the sink. Sharp, so sharp. It must be new.

In slides night
Unite and spread the heart apart
And smile of pain

"That's right." She looked at the thin blade for a moment before dragging the point across her wrist. "No, no. that's wrong. It's down the road, not across the street."
She moved down an inch or so and did the same thing. "When life gives you lined paper, write the other way." Three more. "two plus two is five, Big Brother. I know you're watching me." Another. "Watching me do exactly what you want me to."

Blood flowed freely from the girl's left arm, fat drops mixing on the floor to make little puddles of sticky red goo.

I can't show my true embrace
Now that you're subdued
I begin to weaken you
Rise and fall we decompose

So…tired. But she wasn't done yet. She switched the blade to the other hand. Ouch! It really was sharp. Her finger was split open. No matter. The now red steel poked into the skin of her other arm; another red line followed its trail.

Prey on the masses
Conscience relapses
The less we think and
more we drink our actions are casual
While sin sings a moan

"I don't care anymore." … "You don't have me anymore."

Lives swallow the infatuation
Cleverly seduced
Evil's in the stink of you
Rise and fall
We decompose

"I don't care anymore."

Distance is safer than trust
Honestly honesty's a fable in love
Calloused
Shedding skin I start to grin as malice
Becomes my fuel

"You don't own me anymore."

Shedding skin I start to grin as malice
Becomes my fuel

"You miss the point." It was true. She wasn't the last one on the island. She wasn't getting sent back. She wasn't even a contender in this game. But only one thing ran through her head again and again before nothing would again:

"I win."

Girl #08 - Laura Diesen - Deceased

Gigi couldn't say anything to her, this girl was completley bonkers. The girl herself was speechless as Laura started talking once more to herself. The words she spoke were odd, it sounded like something was wrong with her brain or something. This girl reminded her of her friend Taylor who had a brain tumor. But even with a brain tumor he was still intelligent, he still knew what he was saying.

Laura Disen either has a problem or her mental state broke under the pressure of being in an island where theres a high chance of you dying. Gigi sat there alone in thw living as the clock on the wall continued ticking. She was tired and tired of waiting for freakshow Anabelle to show up and was also curious and a bit worried as well as nervous about Laura.

The girl looked straight ahead,  she thought about her parents more and the dream she had one night. The trip to Central Park, Grase, and the snow coming down from the sky. How she missed it so, she just wanted to dance. All Gigi wanted to do was to dance; "Ever since this old world began ....." she started

"A woman found out if she shook it. She could shake up a man..." Gigi started to stand up and shake her hips slowly and move her hands. A smile crept upon Gigis face as she began to move a little quicker and a little smoother to the words she was saying.  "And so I'm gonna shake and shimmy it the best that I can today!"

"Cause you can't stop the beat!"

This song was the very principle of Gigi Sinclaire. These words that she sang is what she lived by. Everything that the song said is what she full on beleives. Hairspray itself was something that changed Gigis life forever, it was something that inevitably can't be stopped inside of her. Its been too long already since Gigi had shaken to a grove, it was time that ended. The girl knew she would end up like off the wall Laura if she didn't started shaking a hip.

Now the girl was in full swing, she danced around the living room singing the harmonies of this song, not stopping for anything. Nothing would stop this crazed Dancing Queens moves; This was the cure to her constant waiting in motionless silence, she needed to make up for all the dancing she missed out on Day 1 on the island. Dancing is something Gigi Sinclaire cannot live without dancing, the very thought of a boring, non active silence made her absolutly insane. Even if she has been tossed into a situation like this it dosn't mean that she will stopp dancing. Noone, not even Anabelle nor the goverment or whoever is hosting this vile game can stop her; And you know why?

"Cause you can't stop the beat!"

Time was such an uncanny thing. It slips up on you when you least expect it to. So then why is it that when you want it to fly so much faster than normal, it simply slows down? Sometimes it seems as though time wishes to smite us. In some odd turn of events, time sped up faster than Annabelle comprehended. Her long, pale legs stuck at odd angles in the small glass cubicle, having gone numb long ago. The rest of the female lay similarly. Her freckly arms were clutching her stomach, and her long red hair hung in damp, frizzy curls. Blue eyes seemingly stared up at the blank white ceiling, dull and unfocused. Such an oddly haunting beauty that she had. Like everything was gone from her eyes. The three hours that had passed had an effect on her, slowly but surely. Very quickly, they began bringing about dawn and a loss of conscious for the girl. A mixture of thoughts screamed out at the girl, but she barely acknowledged the existence of them in her mind. Water still poured from the showerhead above, covering Annabelle with a dreary, cold blanket of wetness; not that she felt it anymore.

A mental breakdown had caused this inexplicable blank. With every painful brush against her hand and forearm with the washcloth, she had felt another wave of blissful repentance to God wash over her; more felt than the water. It was a bit of a baptism for one part of her body. Such a shame though that her skin would look worn and a brutal red when she was finally done with her punsishment. In fact, even now it was apparent that her hand and arm had vicious marks from the scrubbing. Soon enough, Annabelle couldn't take it anymore. Dropping the cloth to the tile floor, she began to cry for forgiveness, praying that her deed would go unpunished by God. Sin was something very foreign, and in her lament of both release and distress, the once faith-prowessed female let her tears fall for once. Biting back a scream of inevitable defiance against the consumation of darkness growing in her head, the redhead threw her head back. A dull thud and the darkness that followed left the girl without consciousness for a long time. However, after gaining some form of consciousness, a clear thought process remained unreachable to her mind. Limbo of the mind. She was trapped inside of a Purgatory of her own brain. Nothing made sense. Idly registerings of something odd like the glint of metal contrasting the glazed glass or the brightness of the lights in the bathroom became distant too, and all that was left was a blank.

Little did Annabelle know that at that very moment, something was happening. Without thinking about it, murmured screams came to her mind, but she didn't know who or what they came from. Waking up from the creation of her subconscious mind was easier said than done. In truth, the redhead wanted to leave the hell that captivated her with its silence and dangerous stillness. Noise was beginning to become a necessity. Some form of it. Just the slightest pitter-patter. But wait. It disturb the perfection that she had found. Without thought there was no way to imperfect something. She was Eve before the fruit of knowledge. Naked and unknowing. The temptation of the outside world began to grow. It unnerved Annabelle ridiculously that such a serpent of deception was uncoiling itself and slithering into her mind. 'Just take a bite' whispers the emerald serpent to the lithe femme on the shower's cold floor. Responding questionably, she aks, 'But what will become of me if I am to do so?' Denial of reality. Such an easy way out for the girl. 'Perfection, my dear. Such a wonderful plethora of pleasures for you.' he replied, coaxing her with her own desires. And unthinking, just like the first woman, Annabelle ate the fruit that the serpentine Aphrodite held out to her.

"Agh!" the redhead gasped, springing up from her sprawled position. She was in aching, gradually increasing pain, and the water was colder than ice in the Arctic. Certainly that is not what the serpent had meant for her? Where was the perfection? She had been fooled as many before her had. If only she had stayed in her mind's clutches forever. Could she go back? How had she gone there in the first place? Was this somehow a trick? A practical exam of God's? Had she failed? She couldn't fail it. She wouldn't. Throwing her head into the wall repeatedly did nothing, for without the force that had been attained in her ignorance, the will of her mind to stay aware of things just caused her to receive a headache as a reward. Still so confused, Annabelle had had enough of her own irrationalities. If she could just go about her business, everything would return to as normal as possible. Or would it? It was so confusing being trapped inside the confines of her own brain. All the sights and sounds that were befalling her awareness seemed foreign now. Color and texture were unnamed. Even the sound of her voice was barely recognizable. Just what was going on with her. Turning her attention to her naked body, she took in the still unfamiliar sight of every inch of skin. With the glance at her tenderized arm, Annabelle flinched. It came to her suddenly out of the blue. 'What are Goldilocks and Gigi doing? I must have been in here for hours by now...' Shakily getting to her feet, the tall female lost her vision for a moment as her body worked to steady itself. The homeostasis was broken, and now she would get back to life. After all, the serpent had said that perfection would be attained through her coming back here.

Grabbing hold of the shower's water handle, Annabelle felt the Ice Queen's tears lessening in pressure and then stopping altogether. Pushing gently on the shower door, she opened it up and stepped out with a chill. Donning a towel, the redhead walked over to the mirror. The small clock on the countertop read eleven twenty in the morning. Had she really been out of it that long? Pulling up her towel from her semi-dry body, she began to towel her water-darkened curls. Within a few minutes, the girl was as dry as she could be without a hairdryer. Then she began to brush her teeth. Immediately after her teeth had been thoroughly cleansed of plaque, she moved to the distressful space of her immaculate bedroom. Without looking at the bed for obvious reasons, Annabelle grabbed the canary yellow dress laying on the bed, her padded bra, a pair of white socks, her Mary-Janes, and a pair of plain white panties. Dressing in silence, the redhead realized just how exhausted she was. Even in the expanse of time that she lay out cold in the shower's confines, she had been restless. Now it was taking its toll. Of course, getting dressed also meant getting back into character. Smirking, the lanky female adjusted the last button on her dress and twirled around for good measure. Her hair was now poofing up, so to fix this, she decided on the braided look. Quickly Annabelle fixed her curls into a single braid, clasping it with a white berette to accentuate the look. Looking in the mirror attached to her dresser, the redhead had to admit that she indeed looked good. Without another thought, she headed towards the still-locked door. 'Nobody bothered it. Good.' she thought.

Turning the brass lock with a click, Annabelle then turned the doorknob to the left and pulled the door towards her. Allowing the wooden frame to sail past her, the redhead headed out into the hallway. The girl met silence, the kind of calm before a storm. Surely the girls were still here? Wait. They were probably asleep. After all, it had been a rather tiring first day on the island. She herself was tired. Maybe they had taken to the guest rooms? Putting on a magnificent smile, the redhead walked into the first room and found nothing. Noone asleep in the bed and noone awake going about her business. 'That's odd.' Turning swiftly around, Annabelle trudged out of the empty room and for the first time since her short stay on the island, she was genuinely spooked. The bathroom. There was something eerie about the closed door. Something eerie indeed. Someone was in there. Every fiber of the redhead's being told her not to knock on the door and not to open it after not receiving an answer. Typically, she failed to listen. In opening the mahogany door, she was rewarded with consequences. The first of these was the strong coppery smell of blood mixed with human vomit. Following this assault on her nostrils was the sight of the mixture, pooling on the floor beside the third and final consequence: the body. Goldilocks was dead. Her wrists slit and raked with a pink razor that lay haphazardly near her hand. 'Oh my...' resounded in Annabelle's head, but opening her mouth, a piercing scream filled the air, its origin her throat. With that, Annabelle Buchannon vomited all over the floor, mixing the contents of her guts with the crimson sea.

"Cause you can't stop the beat!" Gigi sang pleasantly as she continued to dance her way around the front room. All her worries were being shed away by the music and the shaking of hips. She was not in the company of a deranged stepford wife or of a student whose apprently lost her mind over the stress of the game. If Gigi Sinclaire didn't break into song and dance she would of ended as dumbfounded and insane as Laura. But thank goodness that isn't going to happen.

Nothing could stop the good time she was having despite the circumstances. You Can't Stop the Beat was the bible in Gigis eyes. Everything in that song she beleived in a 100%. She can't make that clear enough for anybody; The girl contyinued to immense herself into her fantasies. Instead of this abandonded house she was dancing in that foggy club with colorful lights flashing everywhere. There was no SOTF anymore, this song has taken her to a completley different world. A world which came to a complete stop when Anabelles scream filled the air.

Stopping in her tracks Gigi sharply turned her head toward the flight of stairs. Grabbing her riot gun she slowly made her way to the stairs , curiosity getting the best of her. [Did someone break in? Are they fighting up there? Is Anabelle screaming at the fact Laura decided to use the restroom? i didn't matter what the reason, a scream was apprently strong enough to snap Gigi back into reality. Trying to shake tghe feelings off she tried to go back into serious mode realizing how dire the situation she is in right now.

Slowly stepping on the first step she tried to arch her head so she can see something but nothing can be seen. "A-Anabelle? L-Laura?" The Sinclaire girl took ascended another step, the riot gun trigger ready to be pulled back. Another step. And Another. The girl started to tremble at the uneasy silence that she is in right now. A part of her yelled out not to go see what happens and take the oppertunity to get the hell out of there. Another side of her mind wanted to see what was going on. Be courageous Gigi........Confidence like Tracy..... Taking another step she paused.

"H-Hello? Anyone there....?"

Another stream of vomit violently flooded from Annabelle's mouth, now glistening with the horrid fluid, if it could even be called such a thing. Head jerking forward, the redhead gagged and coughed, tears welling up in her eyes again. It was so disgusting. Long ago the puke and blood had mixed together in a river of putrid content which now pooled around the girl's hands and knees. Gripping the tiled floor as best as she could, she held on as her body began convulsing violently. There was suddenly a booming sound in her ears, one that she couldn't define. It sounded indistinctly feminine. All at once her convulsions ceased, and with their end, Annabelle fell forward face-first into the mess. A small, barely audible squeak played on the lanky female's lips as her head collided with the floor, sending blood everywhere and covering her body with the rank melting pot of horror.

The sudden influx of scarlet on her pale skin made for an insane invigorment. Though her head was pounding with pain and the floor was slippery, Annabelle pushed up off of the floor. Gathering her senses, her attention turned to her appearance, inverted by the mirror on the wall. Splatches of life's essence gave Annabelle the look of an abstract painting, the crimson liquid covering her face and canary dress. The smell, feel, and look of the mix of all the liquid gore began to give her an adrenaline rush unlike anything that she had ever felt before. The dizziness was dwindling now, and instead a new feeling, that surpassed even the sickness and disgust made its way into her emotional pool of distress. Fear.

Not that stupid feeling that everyone always talked about. Not the feeling that you get when you feel as though there's something watching you from the shadows or creeping up on you in the night. Fear. True, undeniable fear. Fear of the utmost level, something that could make the most courageous knights flee from their designated castle. Thoughts flooded through Annabelle's head, sweeping every bit of possible rationality to some internal abyss that mattered not. A glazed look appeared in her eyes, and for once, that same perfect little girl who always wanted everything to be in order lost it. A roar not unlike the previous occurence during her first realization of surroundings in the game claimed her voice, inhuman almost in the booming sound. There was someone nearing the door. The redhead heard it, a gentle pitter patter on hardwood. Not now. Not now of all times.

She knew she should know who the person was, but at the moment it seemed completely unimportant. Someone was in her house. Someone would see this horrible, disgusting mess on her bathroom floor and all over her. There was only one thing to do if that person were to see. Kill. For the first time in the two days that Annabelle Buchannon had been on this god-forsaken island in the midst of this maniacal game, she was thinking of taking another's life. Wait. Her senses told her to stay perfectly still. "H-Hello? Anyone there?" a voice said. Who was that? Who the hell was that in her house? She would find out soon. The footsteps were closer. Creeping to the open door, the girl prepared to attack. Every inch of her body responded, ready to strike in primal rage. One moment more, and she saw the figure. Instead of rational thought taking place, her dementia took hold full force. Leaping into the hallway, she attempted to knock down the intruder.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" Gigi screamed as she was tackled down the stairs, plummeting into the depths of the carpet in the living room. The girl didn't have time to respond, she immediatley pulled the trigger of the riot gun she held, a shot ringing thorugh the air slaming into a flower vase in the corner of the room. The Dancing Queen didn't know what the hell has gotten into Anabelle, she has completley lost her mind!

The only thing she suspected was Laura. It felt like ages since Laura had been up there. Has something happened? Gigi didn't even want to think about what might have happened; Two crazies in one room has limitless possibilities. But what happened upstairs didn't matter with whats happening right now? Gigi Sinclaire didn't even imagine herself in this kind of situation ever. Flower Power didn't have room for violent confrontations with psycho stepford girls like Anabelle.

Gigi quickly got up and leaped back in the living room and aimed her riot gun at Anabelle, with another hand she adjusted her bug eye magenta glasses and brushed the bangs away from her face. No matter what Gigi kept pointing at Anabelle, shaking a bit wildly trying to maintain the upperhand in the situation. The least she needed was for Anabelle to grab the gun and point it at Gigi. She will probably shoot her as soon as look at her if she had a firearm in her hands.

"S-tttep B-bback......." were all the words she could manage out of her trembling body. Gigi had no idea what she was doing, hopefully psycho Annie would be intimidated enough by her gogo dancing and her gun. Hopefully that will be enough to send her rambling into another of her freak out seizures.

Girl number five, Annabelle Buchannon, was doing what she did best; running. It had felt like forever since the last time she had stretched her long legs in this manner. With her gun in her hands, the redhead was struggling to remain balanced. The long-ranged instrument of death was rather heavy, but the real trouble lay with the large green daypack she haunched on her thin shoulders. Breathing raggedly, the lanky female trekked through the open streets, heading toward, of all places, a large mall south-west of what she once called her "home". It had been two days so far, and it was approaching midnight and the third day. Annabelle still could not believe what had happened between Gigi, Goldilocks, and herself. Just what was the world coming to? The game was getting to her. She knew it. She had felt the thoughts creeping inside of her mind before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Following the forceful blow into the unknown person's abdomen, both Annabelle and her prey were sent soaring down stairs. A loud, unidentifiable bang met the redhead's ears as she met the living room carpet with her face and it gave her a searing kiss, burning her skin lightly. On the half-roll, half-fall down the stairs, the girl had recklessly banged her head on the mahogany wood, earning her a rather splitting headache. The mass of her head pulsating with pain, the redhead stumbled clumsily to her feet. Her dress and shoes were blood-stained, the liquid tissue causing her attire to cling to her body and weigh her down. She was seeing red; blood. She thirsted for it; craved it.

It was apparent that there was something wrong with one Annabelle Buchannon; something very, very wrong indeed. Denial had seemingly caused her to go into a mindset of temporary insanity, shadowing her rationality with a storm cloud of bestiality.  It was somewhat funny how she looked, like some sort of maniacal Raggedy Anne doll, towering over another girl positioning a gun at her chest. The redhead's eyes were glazed over with bloodlust, and she appeared to be waiting to strike. "S-tttep B-bback......." Gigi whispered, still shaking from both fright and anxiety. Annabelle looked into her eyes and started from the intensity of her stare. The torrent of human emotion the brunette girl held within her gaze was astounding, so powerful that Annabelle was thrown back into coherent thought.

She had to get out of the house. Gigi was most definitely a danger to her sanity, and Goldilocks was already dead, having killed herself to escape the game so it would seem. This place was quickly catalyzing some sort of reaction to the situation. This was Survival of the Fittest. Sure, she had known that before, but something hadn't allowed her to grasp what was truly going on. People were dying. Shaking her head to clear it of unnecessary thoughts, the tall female let her guard down and spoke evenly and without hesitation. "I'm going to get my things and leave this house. I don't want to fight you. Honestly, I just can't stay with you. Not to offend, but you're just so tacky and obnoxious, and you get under my skin. I'm afraid that if I stay with you that we shall realy hurt each other." Annabelle almost preached to the brunette, meeting her gaze with one that reflected an unknown sadness. Nodding curtly to her old "friend", the redhead moved swiftly into the kitchen to grab the daypack and retrieve the leftover foods.

Having placed the bread, cheese, water, and a few cans of vegetables in the large green pack, Annabelle hoisted the behemoth onto her shoulders. Wobbling unsteadily, she took care in moving up the stairs. Her room held what she would really need: the gun. The Heckler and Kosch 53 was something that would be useful if she met with danger. It was going to be inevitable; however, she would be ready when the time came. Picking up the small, albeit heavy gun and the assorted items involved with its operation, Annabelle was off back down the hall and toward the stairs. The girl stopped suddenly as she was moving past the lighted bathroom. Fighting tears, she silently prayed that the unnamed girl had found some sort of peace in her death. Flipping off the light switch, the redhead determinedly set off again down the stairwell. Darting as fast as her twigs allowed given the carrying of weighty objects, the girl passed by Gigi on her way out of the door. Not turning around, she spoke over her shoulder, "I'm sorry. It's just how it has to be. Goodbye, and good luck." With that, the terribly addled female was off, traveling awkwardly through the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, Annabelle had ended up in front of a mall, the blood and vomit stinking her attire in its dry state. She knew she must look like hell personified, but she didn't mind. Perhaps the mall held some form of protection, and even more, perhaps sane persons inhabited the place. She would soon find out.

((Continued in I Like Shopping!))

((I'll be taking over Gigi for her death sequence because it's been prolonged for far too long.))

The events that unfolded before Gigi's eyes seemed to soar past her, and the Dancing Queen barely knew how to respond as Annabelle suddenly seemed to regain some sort of clarity, pack her things, and leave the house.  Now, Gigi found herself alone in a house in which she'd hoped to find peace but found only bloodshed.  She felt as though she couldn't stay here any longer either.  Gathering up her things, she headed toward the door, hoping to find peace and tranquility somewhere else on the island... and hoping she didn't run into another sadistic Stepford girl along the way.

((Continued elsewhere.))