Survival Of The Fittest

John was fairly surprised when Zora turned him down on his offer, but to each their own, then. It wasn't his place to make her take something she didn't want to, which was fair. He wasn't going to impose anything on her.

He turned to the boy next to him, apparently named Angelo. It felt strange. Yeah, he went to school with this guy, and he went on the trip with this guy, but it took this guy slicing his own face up and needing treatment that he finally learned his name was Angelo. Heck, if he hadn't gone on this trip, he probably never would've known Angelo even existed, and the reverse was probably true as well.

Angelo wanted to head inside somewhere, a reasonable desire. It was pretty chilly outside, but Angelo seemed to be having it way worse than both John and Zora. John wondered if being an Alaskan made any difference in innate cold resistance before dismissing the idea. He hadn't been to Alaska in four years. A solemn realization hit him that he'd probably never go back to Alaska. He looked downwards towards the bloodied snow, a small frown carving its way on his face.

"Y-Yeah, there's probably an inside area somewhere on the island," he replied, his voice wobbling just a bit. "When I got my small knife outta my backpack, there was a map in there as well. I didn't really take a good look at it, but it probably has all the buildings and indoor areas listed on it."

“There’s a campground nearby,” Zora said with a degree of feigned nonchalance, “and a whole ass town or something,” she felt her voice get sharp and her breath short, “there was people here before us.”

When she had begun her trek through the field, the only thing on her mind was forward...but she had looked at the map. Not for long though. Long enough to know where she was and that she didn't want to think about it. If Zora wasted time thinking about her situation, her peers or her parents—she would fall victim to her own frailty. She tried to occupy herself with rhymes and song, daydreams and distractions…but none had been as effective as simply moving forward and leaving worries behind. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Over and over again. Forward! Forward! Forward! Anything to keep her mind off the current situation. Any song but this song of suffering.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” that was a lie, “we’re not gonna be the only ones who think ‘golly-gee! A roof will be nice!’, shelter is a resource,” it was hard to believe how easy it was to view things so pragmatically, “people fight over those.”

She shuffled her feet and she stared at the ground, her eyes found the glob of yellow snot that had previously lived in the back of her throat. Zora couldn’t spit out the sickness of self, that mucus of misanthropy caught in her tonsils and effected her speech.

“Nowhere is safe,” she said finally, “I don’t plan on staying anywhere for long.”

"Okay, like- cool? You can go wherever you want, I'm not the cops." Angelo's voice came out a little snappy, even though he didn't really mean it that way. Using John as leverage, he slowly and painfully got to his feet and then hobbled the few steps to the fallen sword. It was ice-cold to the touch now, but he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his bloodied hands and picked it up. This time, instead of holding it properly, he cradled it close to his body, like he was giving it his warmth.

"I like roofs, I'm gonna find one. You guys can come or not. Thanks, seriously. For not leaving me to die and shit. But it's not gonna matter if we just stand around waiting to freeze."

"Yeah, no problem," John stated. "It wouldn't be right, just leaving you here to bleed out. Nothing about any of this is right." John rolled his arm a bit, trying to excise the soreness that came with helping Angelo up. He let out a little grunt as his shoulder popped.

"Unfortunately, I don't think I can come with you. My girlfriend is out there. Juanita Reid. I have to find her. Keep her safe, I don't know. I just... I need to find her. See her face again, protect her from harm," he said, noting that he'd repeated himself, but he didn't care. The thought of Juanita's bloodied corpse gnawed away at his brain like a rat ate away at a festering wound. He shuddered.

John turned around, taking his first few steps back towards the forest, but turned his head to face Zora and Angelo.

"This is where we part ways. Good luck out there. Stay safe."

And with that, John hauled his bag onto his shoulder and trudged deeper into the forest, trying to keep the false images of his girlfriend's putrefying carcass out of his head. Maybe, just maybe, if he hurried, he could protect her from those who would put her in harm's way.

((John Davis continued elsewhere))

Angelo only had one eye, but he might as well have been fuckin’ blind. John was high off of self righteousness and drunk off coochie—Zora felt her worser instincts proven right. She wanted to be cold and harden herself up. She didn’t trust anyone out here and deep down she doubted even herself. She was the youngest in her family, a precious and precocious petite princess. They all listened to her and attended her tea parties sitting next to or serving stuffed animals. Whatever Zora wanted, Zora got. Least when she was home. Home was where she always wanted to be.

In school she never felt liked or accepted and she kept most students at arm’s length. A part of her wished the pandemic had lasted longer so she didn’t have to waste her senior year attending classes. That this trip might’ve been canceled. That she wouldn’t have to die without experiencing Howard homecoming. Zora shivered some more and thought about huddling up with Angelo or some other group of Lost Toys. But she didn't want to be proven wrong and even in her heart it didn't feel right. It was a temporary half-measure and it didn’t sit well in her stomach. Zo would rather die in the field than hiding in a house. Mice lasted longer in the country--there were more cats in the city.

“Whatever dude, I ain't the one who lost an eye playing with himself," she felt her smaller-sharper nature get the best of her, "If I was you my biggest concern would be that the next folks you run into fuck you up instead of coverin' you up. But you do you."

Yeah, go knockin’ on doors and get shot in the face by whatever socially maladjusted post-pandemic douche lies behind ‘em. Wouldn't be how Z went out. She couldn't help but remain at that last thought and juncture. How would the inevitable happen when it inevitably happened? Cowardice caused a chaotic acceleration to her steps. She couldn't think about that--she could only be focused on whatever step was next. Zora put her pool cue into the snow and turned around and began walking away. She felt her hope diminish in each step, but she kept going out of spite and anger at the injustice of her situation. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. Left foot. Right foot. Pool cue. One after the other. Over and over and over again.

Left foot. It was all fuckin’ over. Right foot. No hope, no future. Pool cue. Not here. Left foot. Not now. Right foot. Fuck you. Left foot. Give up. Pool cue. It’s already over. Left foot. You can’t win. Right foot. It was all fuckin’ over. Left foot. She'd already lost.

The only thing any of them had to do was die.

Right foot. Not here. Pool cue. Not now.
[ Zora Morrison Continued In: Pecola ]

"Alright, cool, thanks!" Angelo shouted after the both of them, even as the effort it took to raise his volume made his head throb. Even through the pain and exhaustion, he rolled his eyes. Eye? Fuck, that actually stung a bit. Eyes, plural. For all the good it did him to still have both of them.

He was tired and he hurt and he was fucking miserable all around, but shit. He was alive. He was alive, and for all that Zora bitched, she hadn't left him until he was patched up. She hadn't stolen his stuff. He was alive, and maybe he had her and John to thank for staying that way a little longer. He was a believer in karma, to some extent. Maybe a little bit of humanity here would come back around for them.

Angelo probably wouldn't know. He sure wasn't sticking around here to wait and see if either of them changed their minds on that count. Humanity was one thing; now he wanted civilization, even a little echo of it. So he shouldered the bag, hefted the sword, and once again started trudging through the snow towards some unknown destination.

((Angelo Lee continued in I'm Just A Shot Away From You))