This had become the most embarrassing moment in his life. Though Gervais didn't have the time to ponder what decisions led him to this moment, as another fist came flying.
He could see it coming. Locked as he was in this struggle, he couldn't dodge.
But then again, that didn't matter. Could've been the adrenaline kicking around his bloodstream, but that punch felt more like a slap than anything else. A wake-up slap, if you will. Cecil had one hand on the weapon, Gervais had two. And Gervais also had two free feet.
Gervais aimed for the groin attack, and he could feel his right foot land on something soft but that wasn't quite it. 'Nevermind. Cecil stumbled. Let go of the rifle. Gervais pulled his now free gun closer to his chest.
In the second that followed. Gervais' adrenaline rush began to cool down. Despite the pain in his tight, he let out a heartfelt growl at Cecil, and bolted.
[[Gervais Frans Lambotte, continued in Strategic Realism]]
Lonely as the Sound of Lying on the Ground of an Airplane Going Down
Day 1, Evening, Open
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LeslieFranc
- Posts: 194
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 11:22 pm
Perhaps it was that brief moment of having the advantage that cost Cecil said advantage. He was overconfident with the situation, and something in him whispered you can relax now, you got this, and maybe it just lasted so short that it should’ve been nothing, but it was enough for him to let his guard down and dearly pay for that. Maybe it was the perpetual urge to lay down and rest deciding to pester him now. Cecil realized his mistake once he threw the punch, and ah shit no that’s wrong what were you thinking that’s weak of you shouldn’t have and Gervais had hit back with some renewed vigor.
The direction of Gervais’s attack was quite off, but it did its job of getting Cecil off balance. With one of his feet stepping on a knife, he wasn’t able to get on his feet faster than he should’ve, and with only one hand on the gun, it was easy for Gervais to finally pry it off his grasp.
It still hurt him though, and Cecil crouched down both to nurse the pain and for his hand to reach down for the knife.
He glared at Gervais, and there seemed to be a deathly promise coming from the both of them, but before anything else could happen, Gervais hastily ran off.
Cecil was left dumbfounded, before a rush of anger swept him, both at Gervais and at himself. But Gervais was gone, and so he could only chide and scold himself for that.
I had him. I fucking had him. I stabbed him, he was punched, then I punched him. I got the gun. I got the knife back. And he still got away. Shit. Fuck. He was wounded and I still let him get away. Where did it go wrong?
Idiot. Fucking idiot.
He should’ve punched him in the neck or something. He should’ve immediately picked up the knife instead. He should’ve made him fall down. Should’ve kept targeting the wound. So many should’ve.
He left with a stab wound and a few bruises but still with the gun. And he was over here still without a gun, but with the fucker’s vomit on his hands instead.
Pathetic.
Too wrapped up about losing the battle to realize the weight of the sinister thoughts behind them, he dejectedly picked up his knife, the handle and his bag from the floor.
So damn tired.
Shaking his head in order to snap himself out of another instance of either self-deprecating thoughts or encouragements of stagnancy, he started to frantically look around for…something, right before belatedly realizing that he was the only one left inside.
There was no guy who helped with Gervais. No kid named Bill. No Drew.
Drew who got shot.
“Drew?” he immediately called out before running towards outside.
Cecil kept chanting idiot idiot idiot in his mind, but he wasn’t completely sure whether he was directing that to himself or to Drew. Maybe both.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw that it wasn’t Drew who was by the door, instead it was the one kid Cecil didn’t have a name to.
It was the boy who came out of nowhere to help take Gervais down, and a part of him wanted to be more wary than he was, but he wasn’t. He didn’t raise the knife that he probably should get around to setting up with the handle later, but he did take a small step back.
“Where’s Drew?” he unthinkingly asked.
The direction of Gervais’s attack was quite off, but it did its job of getting Cecil off balance. With one of his feet stepping on a knife, he wasn’t able to get on his feet faster than he should’ve, and with only one hand on the gun, it was easy for Gervais to finally pry it off his grasp.
It still hurt him though, and Cecil crouched down both to nurse the pain and for his hand to reach down for the knife.
He glared at Gervais, and there seemed to be a deathly promise coming from the both of them, but before anything else could happen, Gervais hastily ran off.
Cecil was left dumbfounded, before a rush of anger swept him, both at Gervais and at himself. But Gervais was gone, and so he could only chide and scold himself for that.
I had him. I fucking had him. I stabbed him, he was punched, then I punched him. I got the gun. I got the knife back. And he still got away. Shit. Fuck. He was wounded and I still let him get away. Where did it go wrong?
Idiot. Fucking idiot.
He should’ve punched him in the neck or something. He should’ve immediately picked up the knife instead. He should’ve made him fall down. Should’ve kept targeting the wound. So many should’ve.
He left with a stab wound and a few bruises but still with the gun. And he was over here still without a gun, but with the fucker’s vomit on his hands instead.
Pathetic.
Too wrapped up about losing the battle to realize the weight of the sinister thoughts behind them, he dejectedly picked up his knife, the handle and his bag from the floor.
So damn tired.
Shaking his head in order to snap himself out of another instance of either self-deprecating thoughts or encouragements of stagnancy, he started to frantically look around for…something, right before belatedly realizing that he was the only one left inside.
There was no guy who helped with Gervais. No kid named Bill. No Drew.
Drew who got shot.
“Drew?” he immediately called out before running towards outside.
Cecil kept chanting idiot idiot idiot in his mind, but he wasn’t completely sure whether he was directing that to himself or to Drew. Maybe both.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw that it wasn’t Drew who was by the door, instead it was the one kid Cecil didn’t have a name to.
It was the boy who came out of nowhere to help take Gervais down, and a part of him wanted to be more wary than he was, but he wasn’t. He didn’t raise the knife that he probably should get around to setting up with the handle later, but he did take a small step back.
“Where’s Drew?” he unthinkingly asked.
Jackson stared in bewilderment at the desolate area in front of him. Drew was gone. The place he’d left him held nothing now except his two bags, still left haphazardly open. Where did he go? He was hurt badly, so he couldn’t have made it very far. Why did he leave? Did someone chase him off? Did Bill force the wounded boy to follow him as he fled the area? A lot of things could have happened while he was inside with Gervais and Cecil, but whatever it was that had happened, the other boys were no longer here, and for some reason that made Jackson feel a knot begin to form in the pit of his stomach.
Before he had a chance to linger on the disappearance of the other boys for any longer, a figure burst forth from the doorway of the house, and Jackson spun on his heel in surprise. It was Gervais! He didn’t seem intent on sticking around, as he continued his sprint out of the house and bolted out of the area before Jackson could make any move to stop him.
Jackson cursed under his breath as he watched him leave, noticing that he still had his gun on him as he went. Then he felt a rush of fear. What had happened to Cecil? He turned to head into the house to see what had happened, but before he could make it inside, Cecil too came bursting out the door. He questioned the whereabouts of Drew, and Jackson hung his head and shrugged his shoulders dejectedly.
“I dunno. I left him out here, but… Looks like he ran off.”
Before he had a chance to linger on the disappearance of the other boys for any longer, a figure burst forth from the doorway of the house, and Jackson spun on his heel in surprise. It was Gervais! He didn’t seem intent on sticking around, as he continued his sprint out of the house and bolted out of the area before Jackson could make any move to stop him.
Jackson cursed under his breath as he watched him leave, noticing that he still had his gun on him as he went. Then he felt a rush of fear. What had happened to Cecil? He turned to head into the house to see what had happened, but before he could make it inside, Cecil too came bursting out the door. He questioned the whereabouts of Drew, and Jackson hung his head and shrugged his shoulders dejectedly.
“I dunno. I left him out here, but… Looks like he ran off.”
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LeslieFranc
- Posts: 194
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 11:22 pm
“You left him out here—” Cecil started to repeat, almost sputtering but did not do that as that would be undignified, and cut himself off with a disbelieving huff. “And, and now he’s just—he just—he just left?”
He looked around the houses and the path, as if hoping this wasn’t real, or maybe at least Drew had hidden somewhere. But it was nighttime, and Cecil couldn’t see anything clearly, especially with an exhausted mind and body. If anything, everything just frustrated him more, which also did not help in trying to see Drew out there or denying the information that was given to him. He just wanted it all to end.
He must looked so fucking clueless. So fucking stupid.
Goddammit, why wasn’t I paying attention?
Cecil’s hand reached up to massage his temple or run it through his scalp in order to ease an oncoming headache, but stopped midway as he remembered his hands’ current state. I’ll have to use that hand sanitizer later. He irritably clenched his hand to a fist instead.
Take a deep breath.
Cecil exhaled. He tried to think through the anger and worry.
Drew is much dumber than I thought.
“He was—he was bleeding. Bad. I…” Why the hell was sit so hard for him to complete sentences right now? “He shouldn’t have—I mean, even his bags are gone.” What the hell am I saying? “But he couldn’t have gone far and…”
And what? Run after somebody who left you? An easier target, now more than ever? A burden? Or maybe that’s not what’s on your mind. Either way, he just ran out on you. He didn’t even wait.
Why run after him? Why wait for him? What’s the point?
Ah shit.
He unwinded his clenched fist. He didn’t want to think anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead and finally looked at the boy properly. “I…can’t recall your name. I’m Cecil. You…tried to help, right?”
He looked around the houses and the path, as if hoping this wasn’t real, or maybe at least Drew had hidden somewhere. But it was nighttime, and Cecil couldn’t see anything clearly, especially with an exhausted mind and body. If anything, everything just frustrated him more, which also did not help in trying to see Drew out there or denying the information that was given to him. He just wanted it all to end.
He must looked so fucking clueless. So fucking stupid.
Goddammit, why wasn’t I paying attention?
Cecil’s hand reached up to massage his temple or run it through his scalp in order to ease an oncoming headache, but stopped midway as he remembered his hands’ current state. I’ll have to use that hand sanitizer later. He irritably clenched his hand to a fist instead.
Take a deep breath.
Cecil exhaled. He tried to think through the anger and worry.
Drew is much dumber than I thought.
“He was—he was bleeding. Bad. I…” Why the hell was sit so hard for him to complete sentences right now? “He shouldn’t have—I mean, even his bags are gone.” What the hell am I saying? “But he couldn’t have gone far and…”
And what? Run after somebody who left you? An easier target, now more than ever? A burden? Or maybe that’s not what’s on your mind. Either way, he just ran out on you. He didn’t even wait.
Why run after him? Why wait for him? What’s the point?
Ah shit.
He unwinded his clenched fist. He didn’t want to think anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead and finally looked at the boy properly. “I…can’t recall your name. I’m Cecil. You…tried to help, right?”
“He was right here. I swear I…” Jackson’s words trailed off as he felt the frustration begin to set in.
Why had drew fled? Why hadn’t he stayed to make sure he was okay? Why was he so fucking useless? He didn’t help at all when Cecil was fighting Gervais. He couldn’t even make sure that one injured boy was safe, why the fuck did he think he could do anything right? Who did he think he was, running in there with no weapon or plan? He did nothing to help anyone. Such a fucking waste of space. First Mikki and Bree… He just let them go off on their own. Now Drew, too. What the fuck was wrong with him? Couldn’t he do one goddamn thing right?
Cecil was talking to him. Fuck.
“His arm was fucked. I wrapped it. I told him to wait.” He said with a tremble in his voice.
What if he was dead? What if he didn’t wrap it good enough? That kid could be wandering around bleeding out as they spoke and it would be all Jackson’s fault. Useless. Pathetic.
“It’s Jackson.” He introduced himself. He’d had some classes with Cecil, but he didn’t really care that he didn’t know who he was.
“I barely did anything. I’m sorry. I-” He felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. He felt so terrible and useless right now he just wanted to fucking scream.
“Fuck, man. I could really use a fucking drink right now.”
Why had drew fled? Why hadn’t he stayed to make sure he was okay? Why was he so fucking useless? He didn’t help at all when Cecil was fighting Gervais. He couldn’t even make sure that one injured boy was safe, why the fuck did he think he could do anything right? Who did he think he was, running in there with no weapon or plan? He did nothing to help anyone. Such a fucking waste of space. First Mikki and Bree… He just let them go off on their own. Now Drew, too. What the fuck was wrong with him? Couldn’t he do one goddamn thing right?
Cecil was talking to him. Fuck.
“His arm was fucked. I wrapped it. I told him to wait.” He said with a tremble in his voice.
What if he was dead? What if he didn’t wrap it good enough? That kid could be wandering around bleeding out as they spoke and it would be all Jackson’s fault. Useless. Pathetic.
“It’s Jackson.” He introduced himself. He’d had some classes with Cecil, but he didn’t really care that he didn’t know who he was.
“I barely did anything. I’m sorry. I-” He felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. He felt so terrible and useless right now he just wanted to fucking scream.
“Fuck, man. I could really use a fucking drink right now.”
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LeslieFranc
- Posts: 194
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 11:22 pm
Everything was somehow cooling and crashing down at the same time. It was night, his fight with Gervais felt like something he should sit down to think about, and Drew’s desertion of him left him hollow. The urge to pass out was stronger than ever, and he was barely mustering up the energy to fight it. But he was having a conversation with someone right now, so he can’t get lost in his thoughts or impulses yet.
He listened to Jackson trying to explain what happened, and maybe he was just tired of it all and it’d be a mistake to just accept it, but he found nothing to be suspicious about his account. Or maybe he sensed the frustration from the other boy’s voice and apologies, and he was tempted to continue along their rant of just how fucked everything was right now, but he thought that the fact he already did before Jackson was sufficient enough. Nonetheless, he had calmed down a bit.
Just enough to give Jackson an empty smile and say, “Your effort was appreciated.” rather soullessly.
His eyes happened to glance down from looking directly at the boy, and that was when he saw the dark and wet spot from the boy’s shirt. Might be ripped too now that he got a look at it.
He got stabbed, he realized.
Huh.
It shouldn’t be too serious if Jackson seemed fine, for the most part. Or maybe Jackson hadn’t realized he was stabbed, now that would be pretty bad. Maybe Cecil could just—
Wait, no. I don’t know him. It doesn’t matter. It’s just some guy. Don’t use your supplies on him. So what if he apparently tried to help you and Drew? Just leave.
But he couldn’t help himself as he pointed it out to Jackson in the end.
“And what you need is to take care of that,” he said, gesturing at the stab wound. “Have a nice evening.” And then with a nod, Cecil went on his way to find another house he could clean himself up in.
((Cecil Salazar-Loveless continued in Dangerous Burns))
He listened to Jackson trying to explain what happened, and maybe he was just tired of it all and it’d be a mistake to just accept it, but he found nothing to be suspicious about his account. Or maybe he sensed the frustration from the other boy’s voice and apologies, and he was tempted to continue along their rant of just how fucked everything was right now, but he thought that the fact he already did before Jackson was sufficient enough. Nonetheless, he had calmed down a bit.
Just enough to give Jackson an empty smile and say, “Your effort was appreciated.” rather soullessly.
His eyes happened to glance down from looking directly at the boy, and that was when he saw the dark and wet spot from the boy’s shirt. Might be ripped too now that he got a look at it.
He got stabbed, he realized.
Huh.
It shouldn’t be too serious if Jackson seemed fine, for the most part. Or maybe Jackson hadn’t realized he was stabbed, now that would be pretty bad. Maybe Cecil could just—
Wait, no. I don’t know him. It doesn’t matter. It’s just some guy. Don’t use your supplies on him. So what if he apparently tried to help you and Drew? Just leave.
But he couldn’t help himself as he pointed it out to Jackson in the end.
“And what you need is to take care of that,” he said, gesturing at the stab wound. “Have a nice evening.” And then with a nod, Cecil went on his way to find another house he could clean himself up in.
((Cecil Salazar-Loveless continued in Dangerous Burns))
Jackson felt the ominous dredge of self-doubt and frustration creep it’s way into his mind, attempting to take hold. This whole day had been nothing but a constant stream of insane events that he personally never thought he’d have to go through. Not once did it ever cross his mind that he’d have to drag the dead body of one of his classmates out of the mud. Never did he think he’d have to bandage the wound of someone he barely knew because one of his friends decided it would be okay to put a bullet in his arm. Never dd he consider that one day he’d be trapped on an island in the middle of nowhere forced to participate in a death game if he ever wanted the chance to see home again
It was all just too much.
It was dark, he was exhausted. Cecil was kind enough to attempt to ease his obvious anxiety by telling him his help, what little there was, was appreciated. That made Jackson smile, if only barely. At least someone didn’t think he was absolutely useless and in the way. That must have been how Mikki felt when she ran that morning. Why saddle herself with someone as weak-willed as him? He didn’t fault her for it. It made sense. Cecil would probably do the same soon.
As if on cue, Cecil pointed out that he should take care of his wound, and then sauntered away into the night, without so much as a goodbye or good luck. His point proven so immediately almost made him laugh. The darkness felt so much heavier now that he was standing there on his own. It wasn’t as if he was scared. Not really, at least. He just felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair.
He knew only one thing, he couldn’t stay there any more.
He had to keep moving.
Jackson grabbed his bags and slung them over his shoulder. The pain radiating from the cut on his abdomen stung like a bitch, but it was more than manageable. He could keep going. He could make it through this lonely night.
So he walked off. Alone again.
[Jackson Sullivan Continued In Full Nelson]
It was all just too much.
It was dark, he was exhausted. Cecil was kind enough to attempt to ease his obvious anxiety by telling him his help, what little there was, was appreciated. That made Jackson smile, if only barely. At least someone didn’t think he was absolutely useless and in the way. That must have been how Mikki felt when she ran that morning. Why saddle herself with someone as weak-willed as him? He didn’t fault her for it. It made sense. Cecil would probably do the same soon.
As if on cue, Cecil pointed out that he should take care of his wound, and then sauntered away into the night, without so much as a goodbye or good luck. His point proven so immediately almost made him laugh. The darkness felt so much heavier now that he was standing there on his own. It wasn’t as if he was scared. Not really, at least. He just felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair.
He knew only one thing, he couldn’t stay there any more.
He had to keep moving.
Jackson grabbed his bags and slung them over his shoulder. The pain radiating from the cut on his abdomen stung like a bitch, but it was more than manageable. He could keep going. He could make it through this lonely night.
So he walked off. Alone again.
[Jackson Sullivan Continued In Full Nelson]