Survival Of The Fittest

One of the guards had already started dragging June away by the shoulder, pushed her around a corner into the hall. His meaty hand was iron-gripped on her shoulder, enough for it to hurt. She struggled and struggled as one might against the tide, futilely.

It always frustrated her how, despite all the fury and rage she felt, it never reflected properly in the real world. So smothering and all-encompassing was her rage that it dominated everything, and yet everyone else got to go about their life. She raged and she raged and she raged and yet, it did not extinguish Matthew, did not burn or singe or so much as warm him even. Aside from a few prickly questions, no one mobbed or beat down on him. Matthew was still here, alive, slandering all her dead friends to this very moment, and all her rage did nothing to affect him.

She pushed against the guard’s grip.

“I HOPE YOU- I HOPE YOU HAVE TO DEFEND YOURSELF FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.”

Pushed again.

“I HOPE-”

And burst free. Sprinted towards the stage.

“I HOPE YOU NEVER GET A MOMENT’S PEACE.”

She pulled off one of her flip-flops, and with all of her strength, she lobbed it at Matthew’s forehead.

It missed. Because, all the invectives and vitriol and curses she yelled at Matthew would only ever just be that. Words.

The guard yanked her back, two hands on her now, one on her shoulder and one on her elbow. And, long after she disappeared from view, her shrieks and screams of ‘MURDERER’ rang throughout the conference room.

((June Madison continues elsewhere))

June’s flip-flop sailed directly over his shoulder even without him ducking, which was a blessing, because he didn’t wanna get smacked like Bush, and a curse, because he was pretty sure he could get her arrested for assault if it did hit him. Ah well, at least he had a Bush moment, as long as he didn’t start talking about how fish and man could be great allies or some Bushism he'd be alright.

“Sorry guys, just people who can’t get over what happened on the island, can’t let it go.” Matthew spoke into the mic before being ushered off stage by a combination of his parents and one of the guards. This had gone a lot worse than he had expected, but maybe that was because he expected the guards would be competent. He didn’t know if he could sue the other survivors. First Amendment and all that. But, uh, there were some sketchy podcasts and conspiracy nuts online who’d been ranting about how SOTF was rigged, stuff like that.

Surely they’d like to know the phone numbers and addresses of June, Evie and Marshall.

Could make for some interesting content.

((Matthew Bell concluded in The Start of Ambition))

Raban’s photographer flashed at June throwing her sandal at Matthew. It was almost like deja vu. This was made to be a statement from June to Matthew.

Then, Matthew ended up saying something in front of everyone that managed to break Raban’s stoic expression. One that has caused the mask to slip into a half-hidden scowl.

“Sorry guys, just people who can’t get over what happened on the island, can’t let it go.”

Raban didn’t say anything. He started writing things down on his notepad as usual, but now he was considering adding some flair to it. One that can determine the truth of the situation, even with the footage may or may not be released to the public.

Raban motioned to his photographer that it was time to leave, after Matthew Bell had left the stage. Raban Verity had heard enough to establish what was the truth and what was judgment.

((Raban Verity silently left the room with his photographer in tow))