"Aannnnnnnnd the Husky's enter the rink, look at those blue, white and gold jerseys. The crowd is real excited tonight Averman."
"That's right Dean, the Kronwell's have done well this season, leading the team to victory after victory, I think we're going to see some great things coming from those boys later on. The Husky's have had a great run so far with only three losses coming up to the end of the season.
"Spot on Averman, that close win against the Cougars shocked them pretty bad, but they were saved by that controversial hit by Phillip Ward. That shoulder was pretty high and I'm sure Tobins was missing a few teeth after that check."
"Speaking of which Dean, being their coach, what do you think of that I... and speak of the devil, here comes the Husky's brute enforcer now. Lets have a cheer from the crowd for number 14, PHIIILIIIIIIIIIP WAAAAAAAAAAARD.
Phillip Ward inhaled heavily as he stopped to catch his breath. The dense woods had slowly given way to first bushland and then sand, finally ending in a beach that stretched as far as he could see. The docks themselves lay less than a few hundred feet away and Phil took the opportunity to turn back to those in tow. Although Marco was leading the group Phil had found himself setting the pace, his body aching from the time spent on the move. He moved slow enough so that Jen could keep up and tried to keep himself between the girl and Alex whenever he could. The smell of the ocean let him somehow relax, the salty air filling his lungs. Phil guessed they might of overshot the town but he was tired, and he could really do with just sitting down and resting for a moment. Maybe he could sit out on the pier just like they always did in those movies, looking out in to the waves, knowing, just knowing that everything would turn out fine.
Despite the horrific events that had happened Phil felt that he had learned so much, that he had become a better person. He hadn't killed anyone, he was a good boy. He had protected Jennifer and despite being a tad abrasive he didn't think he was cruel to anyone. At least thats what he thought anyway. He deserved the rest.
Final Third Foul
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2754
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Jennifer Perez continued from Still Going Strong))
They'd been headed towards the town, probably. Of course, Jennifer had known they were going the wrong way for some time. She had known they were overshooting, heading to the docks. She hadn't said a thing.
She'd seen the ocean once in her life, and that just didn't seem like enough.
She stayed to the back of the group, watchful, wary. Worried. Soon enough, something would go wrong. It always did. She would find herself in trouble, maybe faced with death yet again. Maybe once more thrust into the middle of a situation she couldn't defuse. She was starting to feel useless, like a spare tire with a hole in it. She wasn't very strong. Wasn't very smart, very skilled at anything really relevant. All she could do was walk well, and even that had become a total fucking pain of late.
Scratch, scratch.
That was how walking felt, now. That was what she got for not thinking to bring actual pants, or, failing that, a fucking razor to shave her legs so they wouldn't chafe. Walking was one of her few pleasures that actually could be indulged here, and it had to be fucking ruined because of something so minor she'd never even really considered it when packing her colorful skirts. It'd probably be at least a day or two before her leg hair had grown out enough not to prickle.
And then there were Alex and Marco. She still didn't really feel that comfortable around them. When they were strangers in the woods, in need of help, it had been different. Then there was only one human thing to do, only one choice she could make. Now, though, they were traveling companions, a group. A little band of misfits, dancing along to their deaths.
And still not a fucking sign of Maf, not a word from the speakers nor a sign of his presence. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe he wasn't here. Maybe somehow, he'd got sick and pulled off the bus at the last second. She could hope. Nothing more to do. Until she knew that for sure, though, until she had scoured this island top to bottom and heard every single dead person named on that final roll call, until she stood in that final area, facing the other three ragged, scraggly survivors, she would keep searching, keep worrying.
It was becoming an obsession. It hadn't seemed such a big deal before, but now it was lurking at the back of her mind, poking, prodding, goading. By now, probably a quarter of the class was dead. One in four people on this fucking trip, gone. And through it all, through the smoke and flame and gunfire and chaos, she had emerged untouched, unharmed, and worrying because her fucking legs were chafing.
And of all the deaths, all the murders, not a single name meant a thing to her. She could conjure faces, images, clips of recall: laughter in the hallways, smiles in class. It was all pointless, though. All worthless. There would always be more faces. Always more laughter and smiles. Always more tears and sorrow. Always, as long as the world still spun.
Maf was alive. Nick was alive. Phil was alive. Melissa Morgan Rosa Robert Bounce Vic Carla Ben Mike Allen Bill, all alive.
Phil was at the end of the pier. Jennifer moved towards him, forgetting her place in back, looking out to sea. Watching the waves. Smelling the salty air. No matter what happened, the sea would go on.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
No "uh"s, "um"s. Just a statement of fact. One last little moment of appreciation. One more thing that couldn't be taken away.
They'd been headed towards the town, probably. Of course, Jennifer had known they were going the wrong way for some time. She had known they were overshooting, heading to the docks. She hadn't said a thing.
She'd seen the ocean once in her life, and that just didn't seem like enough.
She stayed to the back of the group, watchful, wary. Worried. Soon enough, something would go wrong. It always did. She would find herself in trouble, maybe faced with death yet again. Maybe once more thrust into the middle of a situation she couldn't defuse. She was starting to feel useless, like a spare tire with a hole in it. She wasn't very strong. Wasn't very smart, very skilled at anything really relevant. All she could do was walk well, and even that had become a total fucking pain of late.
Scratch, scratch.
That was how walking felt, now. That was what she got for not thinking to bring actual pants, or, failing that, a fucking razor to shave her legs so they wouldn't chafe. Walking was one of her few pleasures that actually could be indulged here, and it had to be fucking ruined because of something so minor she'd never even really considered it when packing her colorful skirts. It'd probably be at least a day or two before her leg hair had grown out enough not to prickle.
And then there were Alex and Marco. She still didn't really feel that comfortable around them. When they were strangers in the woods, in need of help, it had been different. Then there was only one human thing to do, only one choice she could make. Now, though, they were traveling companions, a group. A little band of misfits, dancing along to their deaths.
And still not a fucking sign of Maf, not a word from the speakers nor a sign of his presence. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe he wasn't here. Maybe somehow, he'd got sick and pulled off the bus at the last second. She could hope. Nothing more to do. Until she knew that for sure, though, until she had scoured this island top to bottom and heard every single dead person named on that final roll call, until she stood in that final area, facing the other three ragged, scraggly survivors, she would keep searching, keep worrying.
It was becoming an obsession. It hadn't seemed such a big deal before, but now it was lurking at the back of her mind, poking, prodding, goading. By now, probably a quarter of the class was dead. One in four people on this fucking trip, gone. And through it all, through the smoke and flame and gunfire and chaos, she had emerged untouched, unharmed, and worrying because her fucking legs were chafing.
And of all the deaths, all the murders, not a single name meant a thing to her. She could conjure faces, images, clips of recall: laughter in the hallways, smiles in class. It was all pointless, though. All worthless. There would always be more faces. Always more laughter and smiles. Always more tears and sorrow. Always, as long as the world still spun.
Maf was alive. Nick was alive. Phil was alive. Melissa Morgan Rosa Robert Bounce Vic Carla Ben Mike Allen Bill, all alive.
Phil was at the end of the pier. Jennifer moved towards him, forgetting her place in back, looking out to sea. Watching the waves. Smelling the salty air. No matter what happened, the sea would go on.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
No "uh"s, "um"s. Just a statement of fact. One last little moment of appreciation. One more thing that couldn't be taken away.
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Lord_Shadow*
- Posts: 26
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 7:15 am
((Alexander Seymour continued from Still Going Strong))
Alex was beginning to doubt his brilliance. He had put himself with a group that hadn't come across anyone else. They hadn't so much as bickered with each other. That was no good. No opportunity to grab a weapon and leave presented itself. And if they kept going like they were going, he was going to have to come up with an alternative to his plan.
He rubbed his eyes. He was still so very tired. Counting steps had kept him focused for a while, but it had lost its effectiveness long ago. He took another pill. There was no way he could keep relying on those pills, especially since he was down to his last one. He touched his hand to his cheek. Looking back, he had been pretty stupid to hit himself on the cheek with a rock.
What idiocy had possessed him to do that? He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He ignored whatever it was. It was most likely just a figment of his imagination. Jennifer had said that the ocean was beautiful. That was a stupid thought. Of course it was, but what the hell did that matter?
Alex frowned. She might as well have asked if the sky was blue. Nothing would change with the admission or dismissal of that statement. But he might as well say something. "Yes. It is. Very beautiful." His frown remained. He was getting fed up with not having a weapon. If he didn't get one soon, he was going to die. He had no intention of dying.
Right. Whatever. You keep talking about how great the ocean is. I'm going to be here not dying. You can just go ahead and die. All of you can. But not me. I'm not going to have come this far just to die.
Alex was beginning to doubt his brilliance. He had put himself with a group that hadn't come across anyone else. They hadn't so much as bickered with each other. That was no good. No opportunity to grab a weapon and leave presented itself. And if they kept going like they were going, he was going to have to come up with an alternative to his plan.
He rubbed his eyes. He was still so very tired. Counting steps had kept him focused for a while, but it had lost its effectiveness long ago. He took another pill. There was no way he could keep relying on those pills, especially since he was down to his last one. He touched his hand to his cheek. Looking back, he had been pretty stupid to hit himself on the cheek with a rock.
What idiocy had possessed him to do that? He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He ignored whatever it was. It was most likely just a figment of his imagination. Jennifer had said that the ocean was beautiful. That was a stupid thought. Of course it was, but what the hell did that matter?
Alex frowned. She might as well have asked if the sky was blue. Nothing would change with the admission or dismissal of that statement. But he might as well say something. "Yes. It is. Very beautiful." His frown remained. He was getting fed up with not having a weapon. If he didn't get one soon, he was going to die. He had no intention of dying.
Right. Whatever. You keep talking about how great the ocean is. I'm going to be here not dying. You can just go ahead and die. All of you can. But not me. I'm not going to have come this far just to die.
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Little Boy*
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
[[Jimmy Brennan continues from Late Dawns and Early Sunsets ]]
He didn't know how long he had been walking. His foot was bleeding. Every step was agony. Jimmy was dead on his feet, but he couldn't stop. He had stopped everything else, he had accomplished nothing else. The least he could do was keep walking. Walking until Until what?
I'm hardcore. I'm not a no one. I'm not, I'm not.
It wasn't working. Jimmy was battered and bruised but for the most part alive. At least on the outside. On the inside? Being honest, Jimmy didn't even know if he was Jimmy Brennan anymore. It was surreal, nightmarish. It was as if his entire life, his identity had contracted in on itself, into nothing. Leaving only the pain, the endless pain that not even his inner thoughts could drown out.
I'm not a no one. People like me. I'm not a no one. I'm a someone. People, they just don't get it. It's all them. It's all them.
He couldn't shut it up, he couldn't shut himself up. As hard as he tried, the voice inside his head persisted, driving him mad with false hope.
What do I expect? Fucking Leila, jump out of a fucking tree, naked? Grow up Jimmy. This is it.
The list of the dead was long, depressingly long, but Jimmy knew it wasn't enough. What hope would he have, armed with a can of soda? Others had been slaughtering their way across the Island. It was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. Until Jason and his crew felt Jimmy WAS worth a bullet. Until Alex strolled out of the forest for the second and last time, to finish the job he'd started. Jimmy was scared. Jimmy wasn't scared, he was fucking terrified. And there was nothing to hide behind anymore. No way of escaping, no way of fighting, no way of being taken fucking SERIOUSLY. Jimmy's teeth chattered as he made his way through the brush, his feet sending jolts of pain up his body with every step.
I can take pain. I got smacked, I got smacked real hard. My fucking foot, it feels like it's gonna fall off. So yeah, I can take pain. They don't think I can take pain? I could. I can. No, no, no, I am is what I'm doing. See Jimmy? See?
He trudged along, giving no attention to his thoughts.
I can't die. I don't deserve to die, I haven't done anything wrong. I just wanted a weapon, I just wanted supplies. I just want to GO HOME! But I can't have that, can I? Oh no, I'm Jimmy Brennan, I don't deserve anything! Fucking cunts. I deserve more than they ever got. I'm going through hell, and I'm gonna get cut down. Is that fair!? That isn't fair. I'm still walking. That should be enough! I gave it enough! I DID, I SWEAR I did!
"S'all luck. I shoulda' won. I shoulda' been."
The trees gradually parted, to reveal a sandy beach and in the distance, a dock of some kind. Jimmy had hope, for a brief second at the thought of a boat, anything he could use to escape the Island. His hopes were dashed, just as quickly. Jimmy looked around, grunting. The area seemed empty. If it wasn't, who cared? He wasn't any problem. Alex had taught him that.
"I deserved to be happy." He said, blankly, to no one in particular.
What the fuck am I talking about? Everyone in America can see me. Everyone in America probably hates me, but they fucking see me.
Walking up the sandy beach, Jimmy kicked off his remaining shoe. The sand felt warm on his feet, but nonetheless proved to be a pain. With awkward jerking motions, Jimmy made his way towards the dock, cursing with every footfall. He squinted, someone WAS there. At the end of the dock, he could barely make out a group staring out at... what? Nothing?
Fucking idiots. You're looking the wrong way. The dead kids are back thatta' way.
It should have been different. I shoulda' got a gun. I shoulda' got a gun and blown their brains out. Every last fucker here. Danya could have patted me on the back, and I'd go back to St. Paul, happiest fucker alive. Moxie. He gave me moxie. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Throw it at the psychopath with a chainsaw? It shoulda' been different. Carly Jean should be dead, hell, I should be dead already. Those fuckers on the mountain, that smug motherfucker, in the suit. They should be dead. Everyone here deserves it, because they wouldn't give me shit all. I hope they don't escape. I hope they all die, starting from the top, starting with those fucks who think they can actually get out. I was enough. They just didn't get it, so they can fuck off. They can fuck off and die alone, just like me.
I pissed myself in the forest. The smell that was- oh fucking Christ. Fucking. Christ.
With a groan, Jimmy began to awkwardly shamble towards the coast. The group hadn't seen him yet, and that was good. As afraid as he was of contact, Jimmy wasn't about to turn around and trudge back into the living nightmare that was the forest. Kicking off his other shoe, Jimmy cursed and squinted in the sun, trying to identify the group.
Maybe it's Leila again. Maybe it's those fucking assholes with the guns..., wouldn't give me anything Maybe it's fucking Jesus. Maybe I don't fucking care.
And that was just it. For one, blissful moment, Jimmy didn't care. He had reached the beach.
It had to mean something.
He didn't know how long he had been walking. His foot was bleeding. Every step was agony. Jimmy was dead on his feet, but he couldn't stop. He had stopped everything else, he had accomplished nothing else. The least he could do was keep walking. Walking until Until what?
I'm hardcore. I'm not a no one. I'm not, I'm not.
It wasn't working. Jimmy was battered and bruised but for the most part alive. At least on the outside. On the inside? Being honest, Jimmy didn't even know if he was Jimmy Brennan anymore. It was surreal, nightmarish. It was as if his entire life, his identity had contracted in on itself, into nothing. Leaving only the pain, the endless pain that not even his inner thoughts could drown out.
I'm not a no one. People like me. I'm not a no one. I'm a someone. People, they just don't get it. It's all them. It's all them.
He couldn't shut it up, he couldn't shut himself up. As hard as he tried, the voice inside his head persisted, driving him mad with false hope.
What do I expect? Fucking Leila, jump out of a fucking tree, naked? Grow up Jimmy. This is it.
The list of the dead was long, depressingly long, but Jimmy knew it wasn't enough. What hope would he have, armed with a can of soda? Others had been slaughtering their way across the Island. It was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. Until Jason and his crew felt Jimmy WAS worth a bullet. Until Alex strolled out of the forest for the second and last time, to finish the job he'd started. Jimmy was scared. Jimmy wasn't scared, he was fucking terrified. And there was nothing to hide behind anymore. No way of escaping, no way of fighting, no way of being taken fucking SERIOUSLY. Jimmy's teeth chattered as he made his way through the brush, his feet sending jolts of pain up his body with every step.
I can take pain. I got smacked, I got smacked real hard. My fucking foot, it feels like it's gonna fall off. So yeah, I can take pain. They don't think I can take pain? I could. I can. No, no, no, I am is what I'm doing. See Jimmy? See?
He trudged along, giving no attention to his thoughts.
I can't die. I don't deserve to die, I haven't done anything wrong. I just wanted a weapon, I just wanted supplies. I just want to GO HOME! But I can't have that, can I? Oh no, I'm Jimmy Brennan, I don't deserve anything! Fucking cunts. I deserve more than they ever got. I'm going through hell, and I'm gonna get cut down. Is that fair!? That isn't fair. I'm still walking. That should be enough! I gave it enough! I DID, I SWEAR I did!
"S'all luck. I shoulda' won. I shoulda' been."
The trees gradually parted, to reveal a sandy beach and in the distance, a dock of some kind. Jimmy had hope, for a brief second at the thought of a boat, anything he could use to escape the Island. His hopes were dashed, just as quickly. Jimmy looked around, grunting. The area seemed empty. If it wasn't, who cared? He wasn't any problem. Alex had taught him that.
"I deserved to be happy." He said, blankly, to no one in particular.
What the fuck am I talking about? Everyone in America can see me. Everyone in America probably hates me, but they fucking see me.
Walking up the sandy beach, Jimmy kicked off his remaining shoe. The sand felt warm on his feet, but nonetheless proved to be a pain. With awkward jerking motions, Jimmy made his way towards the dock, cursing with every footfall. He squinted, someone WAS there. At the end of the dock, he could barely make out a group staring out at... what? Nothing?
Fucking idiots. You're looking the wrong way. The dead kids are back thatta' way.
It should have been different. I shoulda' got a gun. I shoulda' got a gun and blown their brains out. Every last fucker here. Danya could have patted me on the back, and I'd go back to St. Paul, happiest fucker alive. Moxie. He gave me moxie. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Throw it at the psychopath with a chainsaw? It shoulda' been different. Carly Jean should be dead, hell, I should be dead already. Those fuckers on the mountain, that smug motherfucker, in the suit. They should be dead. Everyone here deserves it, because they wouldn't give me shit all. I hope they don't escape. I hope they all die, starting from the top, starting with those fucks who think they can actually get out. I was enough. They just didn't get it, so they can fuck off. They can fuck off and die alone, just like me.
I pissed myself in the forest. The smell that was- oh fucking Christ. Fucking. Christ.
With a groan, Jimmy began to awkwardly shamble towards the coast. The group hadn't seen him yet, and that was good. As afraid as he was of contact, Jimmy wasn't about to turn around and trudge back into the living nightmare that was the forest. Kicking off his other shoe, Jimmy cursed and squinted in the sun, trying to identify the group.
Maybe it's Leila again. Maybe it's those fucking assholes with the guns..., wouldn't give me anything Maybe it's fucking Jesus. Maybe I don't fucking care.
And that was just it. For one, blissful moment, Jimmy didn't care. He had reached the beach.
It had to mean something.
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JamesRenard*
- Posts: 239
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
((Marco Stonecastle continued from Still Going Strong))
By the time Marco realised his map reading had been slightly off, the small group had already arrived at the beach close to the docks. 'Oh, this can't be right, where did I go wrong...?' Marco thought, grabbing the map and looking for their current position. Pinpointing it, he could see they were just southeast of the docks, not terribly far from the town, so it wasn't too bad, at least in his opinion.
"Okay guys, I experienced a minor, uh, navigation issue here, but if we just follow the coast that-a-way," he said, pointing towards the docks, "then we should be able to reach the town in a short while." He felt confident that he'd be able to lead them in the right direction this time round. He had to be confident, had to show he was confident. He was the one leading the group after all.
Jennifer mentioned how beautiful the place looked, and Marco found himself nodding in agreement. The turquoise sea shimmering in front of them, the sun hanging over the horizon, golden white sands stretching down the coastline. It was like he'd been transported from the island to a holiday resort, to paradise.
Paradise was abruptly lost when a crackle sounded out somewhere in the trees behind him. What followed was the harsh sound of feedback, and then the harsher tones of Danya's voice. 'Oh no...' Marco thought, falling backwards onto his behind on the soft sand. The third announcement had begun. As much as it ashamed him, Marco didn't know many of the people whose names were being read out. Hermione, Samaya, Max, Miranda, they were simply names to him.
Daniel Kensrue's name then came up, and instead of a killer, which was an unfortunate trend among the hockey players it seemed, he was announced as a victim. Marco felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach at that revelation.
"What the-Daniel's died?! Holy shit..." Marco gawped upon hearing his old hockey buddy had bitten the dust. "No, not Dan... damn you Claire, why'd you do it?" he spoke, tilting his head up to the heavens. Tears were already brimming at his eyes, he couldn't believe it. "Why'd you kill him, why?"
While Marco continued his quiet ranting towards Claire, Danya just continued listing out the recently deceased. "...Seventeenth to be fitted for a coffin was Dominic Stratford, who after a long, hard struggle and a battle with Alex Seymour-"
The phantom fist connected with Marco's gut once more, much more harder this time, and now it felt like all the blood from his head had been sucked away at the same time, leaving him feeling numb, dazed and lightheaded.
'No... no way... There's no way that... oh God, did I let a killer join us?' he thought, looking round to Alex. He was a murderer, according to Danya. But Alex had said he'd only beaten a guy up in self-defense, and that he hadn't killed him. But someone had died by his hands. Was it the same person that Alex had been talking about, or was it someone else completely?
Marco usually stayed calm and collected whenever a problem arose, but this was no ordinary situation. He had a murderer standing right in front of him. "Y-you said you didn't kill him!" he cried out, standing up and pointing his index finger directly at Alex's face. "What the hell happened?! And we want the truth this time!"
By the time Marco realised his map reading had been slightly off, the small group had already arrived at the beach close to the docks. 'Oh, this can't be right, where did I go wrong...?' Marco thought, grabbing the map and looking for their current position. Pinpointing it, he could see they were just southeast of the docks, not terribly far from the town, so it wasn't too bad, at least in his opinion.
"Okay guys, I experienced a minor, uh, navigation issue here, but if we just follow the coast that-a-way," he said, pointing towards the docks, "then we should be able to reach the town in a short while." He felt confident that he'd be able to lead them in the right direction this time round. He had to be confident, had to show he was confident. He was the one leading the group after all.
Jennifer mentioned how beautiful the place looked, and Marco found himself nodding in agreement. The turquoise sea shimmering in front of them, the sun hanging over the horizon, golden white sands stretching down the coastline. It was like he'd been transported from the island to a holiday resort, to paradise.
Paradise was abruptly lost when a crackle sounded out somewhere in the trees behind him. What followed was the harsh sound of feedback, and then the harsher tones of Danya's voice. 'Oh no...' Marco thought, falling backwards onto his behind on the soft sand. The third announcement had begun. As much as it ashamed him, Marco didn't know many of the people whose names were being read out. Hermione, Samaya, Max, Miranda, they were simply names to him.
Daniel Kensrue's name then came up, and instead of a killer, which was an unfortunate trend among the hockey players it seemed, he was announced as a victim. Marco felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach at that revelation.
"What the-Daniel's died?! Holy shit..." Marco gawped upon hearing his old hockey buddy had bitten the dust. "No, not Dan... damn you Claire, why'd you do it?" he spoke, tilting his head up to the heavens. Tears were already brimming at his eyes, he couldn't believe it. "Why'd you kill him, why?"
While Marco continued his quiet ranting towards Claire, Danya just continued listing out the recently deceased. "...Seventeenth to be fitted for a coffin was Dominic Stratford, who after a long, hard struggle and a battle with Alex Seymour-"
The phantom fist connected with Marco's gut once more, much more harder this time, and now it felt like all the blood from his head had been sucked away at the same time, leaving him feeling numb, dazed and lightheaded.
'No... no way... There's no way that... oh God, did I let a killer join us?' he thought, looking round to Alex. He was a murderer, according to Danya. But Alex had said he'd only beaten a guy up in self-defense, and that he hadn't killed him. But someone had died by his hands. Was it the same person that Alex had been talking about, or was it someone else completely?
Marco usually stayed calm and collected whenever a problem arose, but this was no ordinary situation. He had a murderer standing right in front of him. "Y-you said you didn't kill him!" he cried out, standing up and pointing his index finger directly at Alex's face. "What the hell happened?! And we want the truth this time!"
"Oh and thats a quick shot by the power forward of the Husky's there. The Firebirds won't like that one."
"Damn straight Averman, that Kensrue is dominating this year and OHHHHHH, did you seeeeeeee that?! Someon'es just taken him out from behind and that leg does not look good! I don't think he's getting up from that one Dean!"
By the time the announcements crackled in to the air Phil was already well away from the group, the desire to simply swim in the cool ocean was far too tempting, plus it seemed like they were far far away from the chaos of the rest of the island. Call it a respite. A despite his best efforts to block out the pain of the burns he had suffered to the stomach Phil still felt the warm raw pain of the wounds and he hoped the ocean would ease the sensation. His eye's flicked to an old run down store at the edge of the docks proper. The door was open, swinging gently in the wind. The thing that caught Phil's eye though was the body on the floor. Daniel Kensrue. He'd played with him a few years ago, before the unfortunate accident that ruined the player's promising hockey career. The look on his face was a mix between regret and acceptance but the corpse still gave off an air unfulfilled potential. DK didn't deserve to go out that way Phil thought to himself, not like that, not left to rot in some abandoned shack, forgotten by the world. Phil's fist clenched involuntarily in anger. He could feel the rage burning.
Phil was brought out of his reverie by the sound of a splash. Jimmy Brennan, that knob who tried out for the hockey team this year, one who didn't even deserve a place like DK did. Hell, the injured (well, now dead) boy probably could play better than the ugly little ginger. Phil's eyes narrowed. That little dweeb probably had snuck up on DK and shot him in the back or something. No way a kid like that deserved to live if someone like DK was dead. Phil would teach him not to mess with the team. Phil pushed off and bolted towards Jimmy, every fiber of his being focused on taking down the boy who stood staring out in to the ocean, like Phil had barely moments ago. He could feel the sand give way beneath his feet and it seemed like Jimmy heard something as he slowly turned around. The damage was done however, the distance closed and Phil impacted the smaller boy with all the fury of a brick shithouse. Plowing in to Jimmy Phil raised his fist yelling out.
"Jimmy I told you not to fuck with me"
The balled hand came down, straight in to Jimmy's ribs, causing the boy to wince with pain. The hands came up and down again and again without recompense, thundering away without a care.
"You little fuck. You killed him! Well I'ma kill you, the team sticks together. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us! There ain't no teachers to save you this time."
Phil paused for a second to catch his breath, the rage still boiling away and Jimmy scrambled back, stumbling towards the ocean, his hand reaching to grab something from his pack. Phil didn't care. Instead he got up slowly from the sand as Jimmy entered the surf and let out a roar.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH
Phil launched himself towards the boy, crashing in to the water and leapt.
"And that's the end of the second third Averman, It's been a tight battle this time around and it looks like the Husky's aren't doing so well. If they're going to save the game someone really has to make sure Torres doesn't get any more opportunities to shoot. He's cutting their defense to shreds. Looks like some changes are going to be made during the time out. Akins out, Ward in."
"He's a nasty looking brute"
"Sure is, but I think he's got what the Husky's need at this point, sheer brute force. He should be able to shut down that pesky winger without too much effort. I don't see the kid managing to get by him unless something comes out of nowhere. And now a word from our sponsors."
"Tired of not keeping up with your favourite stars in the rink? Then take it from James Brunin: Make Mine Moxie. Moxie, the real mans drink."
"Damn straight Averman, that Kensrue is dominating this year and OHHHHHH, did you seeeeeeee that?! Someon'es just taken him out from behind and that leg does not look good! I don't think he's getting up from that one Dean!"
By the time the announcements crackled in to the air Phil was already well away from the group, the desire to simply swim in the cool ocean was far too tempting, plus it seemed like they were far far away from the chaos of the rest of the island. Call it a respite. A despite his best efforts to block out the pain of the burns he had suffered to the stomach Phil still felt the warm raw pain of the wounds and he hoped the ocean would ease the sensation. His eye's flicked to an old run down store at the edge of the docks proper. The door was open, swinging gently in the wind. The thing that caught Phil's eye though was the body on the floor. Daniel Kensrue. He'd played with him a few years ago, before the unfortunate accident that ruined the player's promising hockey career. The look on his face was a mix between regret and acceptance but the corpse still gave off an air unfulfilled potential. DK didn't deserve to go out that way Phil thought to himself, not like that, not left to rot in some abandoned shack, forgotten by the world. Phil's fist clenched involuntarily in anger. He could feel the rage burning.
Phil was brought out of his reverie by the sound of a splash. Jimmy Brennan, that knob who tried out for the hockey team this year, one who didn't even deserve a place like DK did. Hell, the injured (well, now dead) boy probably could play better than the ugly little ginger. Phil's eyes narrowed. That little dweeb probably had snuck up on DK and shot him in the back or something. No way a kid like that deserved to live if someone like DK was dead. Phil would teach him not to mess with the team. Phil pushed off and bolted towards Jimmy, every fiber of his being focused on taking down the boy who stood staring out in to the ocean, like Phil had barely moments ago. He could feel the sand give way beneath his feet and it seemed like Jimmy heard something as he slowly turned around. The damage was done however, the distance closed and Phil impacted the smaller boy with all the fury of a brick shithouse. Plowing in to Jimmy Phil raised his fist yelling out.
"Jimmy I told you not to fuck with me"
The balled hand came down, straight in to Jimmy's ribs, causing the boy to wince with pain. The hands came up and down again and again without recompense, thundering away without a care.
"You little fuck. You killed him! Well I'ma kill you, the team sticks together. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us! There ain't no teachers to save you this time."
Phil paused for a second to catch his breath, the rage still boiling away and Jimmy scrambled back, stumbling towards the ocean, his hand reaching to grab something from his pack. Phil didn't care. Instead he got up slowly from the sand as Jimmy entered the surf and let out a roar.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH
Phil launched himself towards the boy, crashing in to the water and leapt.
"And that's the end of the second third Averman, It's been a tight battle this time around and it looks like the Husky's aren't doing so well. If they're going to save the game someone really has to make sure Torres doesn't get any more opportunities to shoot. He's cutting their defense to shreds. Looks like some changes are going to be made during the time out. Akins out, Ward in."
"He's a nasty looking brute"
"Sure is, but I think he's got what the Husky's need at this point, sheer brute force. He should be able to shut down that pesky winger without too much effort. I don't see the kid managing to get by him unless something comes out of nowhere. And now a word from our sponsors."
"Tired of not keeping up with your favourite stars in the rink? Then take it from James Brunin: Make Mine Moxie. Moxie, the real mans drink."
-
Little Boy*
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy hobbled his way towards the shoreline, his nerves shattered to hell and back. He felt as if he was walking on a box of nails, the soles of his feet a constant never-ending agony. His mouth was dry, but he couldn't stop, not for a second. Jimmy had to reach the ocean. He had to accomplish it. In the back of his mind, Jimmy was suspecting he had gone crazy. He was going to die, there was no question. There were people on the dock, people he didn't know, but people all the same.
I should be running. No shame in running. I've got no shame left, I should run, I should be fucking RUNNING.
But despite his inner pleading, Jimmy hobbled onwards, finally coming to the end of the beach, the surf, the tide. Dropping his bag in the sand, Jimmy let out a sigh, breathing in the salty air. Jimmy stumbled backwards, holding his hands out to keep his balance. He felt dizzy, lightheaded like as if he were walking on clouds.
I did it. I made it to the beach. No one can say I never did anything. I made it.
A shrill noise suddenly irrupted from the jungle. Jimmy turned, drawn to the noise. The announcements. He had made it to the next announcements. He would have felt joy, should have felt it for his continuing luck. But all Jimmy felt was bitterness, deep within him. The names were listed off, some familiar, some unknown. Vera Osbourne, that pretentious bitch was dead. So were Brock Mason, and the fat bastard, Craig Hoyle. Craig had never been cruel to Jimmy, unlike many of his fellow football players. It didn't matter. He was glad he was dead.
They should've all died by now. It's just not fair.
As the announcements came to an end, Jimmy let out a sigh. Several of his peers had become particularly enthusiastic. Maxwell Lombardi was carving his way across the Island still. Reiko or Reika, one of the Asian kids was doing the same. Jimmy shivered at the thought of coming across either of them.
That stupid British fag. He'd kill me, humiliate me and kill me! What the fuck does he think it's gonna get him? A trip outta here? Yeah fucking right. That chink bitch will probably get him sooner or later. Or any one of those sadistic fucks out there. Max. He's just like me. No one here likes him. The only difference is he`s a man.
He`s got a gun.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jimmy felt it. A strange feeling, deep in his gut. He thought he was puking at first but no, no it was different. Something was wrong, something was about to go very wrong. Wiping his nose with his sweater, Jimmy turned back from the forest, looking towards the group on the dock. They hadn't moved. But something else had. Something was making its way towards him, across the beach. Jimmy turned his head.
And screamed.
Phillip Ward ran at a breakneck pace towards him, murder in his eyes. For a second Jimmy felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. His death had come, and it wouldn't be calm and it wouldn't be pleasant. Jimmy Brennan was going to get what the world said he deserved.
Phillip Ward was going to beat the ever living fuck out of him, and this time the Coach wouldn't be there to blow the whistle.
WHAT DID I DO, OHGOD OHGOD, WHAT DID I DO WRO-
Jimmy's internal voice grinded to an abrupt halt as Phillip collided with him, blasting the air out of his lungs. His head was screaming, the world was spinning. And over the chaos he could hear him, he could hear his death yelling in his ear.
"JIMMY BRENNAN I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCK WITH ME!"
Colliding with the ground, Jimmy barely had time to comprehend his pain before Phil was on him, throwing punch after punch into his side. Jimmy hadn't even realized he had thrown his arms up, for all the good they were doing him. Phil was relentless, screaming incoherently at him with every blow. Something about a boy, something about killing. Beneath the dried blood on his face, Jimmy's skin was pale white.
He's going to kill me! HE'S GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME!
The blows continued, hammering into his sides. Jimmy's feeble attempts to throw Phil off was little use, the boy was built like a cannon and even on a good day, Jimmy had no chance.
SLAM. SLAM. Pain shot through Jimmy and he screamed, trying in vain to squeeze his way out from under Phil to escape, to run, to hide. It wasn't to be. Jimmy's luck had run out. Tears of pain filled his eyes. He could taste blood and sand in his mouth. He was rather vaguely aware his nose was bleeding again. With every blow he let out an agonizing shriek, which only seemed to encourage the other boy.
"AIIIIIIIGHHHH!!!!"
Suddenly, as if it were nothing, Phil stood, panting. Jimmy wiggled backwards, feeling the cold water touch his neck. He swung his head around, looking for anything, any escape. He couldn't swim away, he couldn't run. There was nothing left to do, nothing left for Jimmy but to scream and die. Snot and blood dribbled down his nose, he felt as if he was hyperventilating, the fear was shooting through him almost as much as the pain was. Edging backwards into the water, Jimmy brushed up against something, causing him to turn.
My bag!
For a second Jimmy felt hope, a last, desperate hope that he had been wrong, that Danya had packed a semi-automatic already loaded hand cannon in his bag, deliverance from the beast known as Phillip Ward. Looking up, the terror within him increased. Phil was ready for round two. Scrambling back farther into the surf, Jimmy reached in his bag, fumbling about for something, anything he could use.
And then, just like that, Phil was in the air, flying towards him, letting loose a horrific primal scream. Jimmy fell back into the surf just as his hand locked around a small metal object within his pack.
Or to be more specific, aluminum.
Moxie?
Jimmy whipped his hand around, bringing up the object to collide with Phillips' face. He could see the boy's surprised expression as the object exploded, drenching Phil's head with carbonated soda. At the last second his heart pounding, Jimmy dived to the left. Phil went right, crashing into the sea next to Jimmy, his face red with rage. Jimmy wasted no time. Jumping upwards and stumbling backwards towards the beach, Jimmy dropped the exploded and now half empty soda in the sand.
"Ohgod, ohgod ohgod!" His words a barely audible high pitched shriek. Phillip rose out of the surf. Jimmy screamed and spun, tearing off down the shoreline as fast as his broken feet would carry him.
Ohgod, OHGOD PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP ME, FUCKING CHRIST, FUCKING CHRIST!
"FUUUCKKKKKK!!!!!" He hollered, casting a glance back over his shoulder. Phillip was already on his feet, flying towards him.
Phillip Ward was going to kill him. But first, Phillip Ward had to catch him.
I should be running. No shame in running. I've got no shame left, I should run, I should be fucking RUNNING.
But despite his inner pleading, Jimmy hobbled onwards, finally coming to the end of the beach, the surf, the tide. Dropping his bag in the sand, Jimmy let out a sigh, breathing in the salty air. Jimmy stumbled backwards, holding his hands out to keep his balance. He felt dizzy, lightheaded like as if he were walking on clouds.
I did it. I made it to the beach. No one can say I never did anything. I made it.
A shrill noise suddenly irrupted from the jungle. Jimmy turned, drawn to the noise. The announcements. He had made it to the next announcements. He would have felt joy, should have felt it for his continuing luck. But all Jimmy felt was bitterness, deep within him. The names were listed off, some familiar, some unknown. Vera Osbourne, that pretentious bitch was dead. So were Brock Mason, and the fat bastard, Craig Hoyle. Craig had never been cruel to Jimmy, unlike many of his fellow football players. It didn't matter. He was glad he was dead.
They should've all died by now. It's just not fair.
As the announcements came to an end, Jimmy let out a sigh. Several of his peers had become particularly enthusiastic. Maxwell Lombardi was carving his way across the Island still. Reiko or Reika, one of the Asian kids was doing the same. Jimmy shivered at the thought of coming across either of them.
That stupid British fag. He'd kill me, humiliate me and kill me! What the fuck does he think it's gonna get him? A trip outta here? Yeah fucking right. That chink bitch will probably get him sooner or later. Or any one of those sadistic fucks out there. Max. He's just like me. No one here likes him. The only difference is he`s a man.
He`s got a gun.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jimmy felt it. A strange feeling, deep in his gut. He thought he was puking at first but no, no it was different. Something was wrong, something was about to go very wrong. Wiping his nose with his sweater, Jimmy turned back from the forest, looking towards the group on the dock. They hadn't moved. But something else had. Something was making its way towards him, across the beach. Jimmy turned his head.
And screamed.
Phillip Ward ran at a breakneck pace towards him, murder in his eyes. For a second Jimmy felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. His death had come, and it wouldn't be calm and it wouldn't be pleasant. Jimmy Brennan was going to get what the world said he deserved.
Phillip Ward was going to beat the ever living fuck out of him, and this time the Coach wouldn't be there to blow the whistle.
WHAT DID I DO, OHGOD OHGOD, WHAT DID I DO WRO-
Jimmy's internal voice grinded to an abrupt halt as Phillip collided with him, blasting the air out of his lungs. His head was screaming, the world was spinning. And over the chaos he could hear him, he could hear his death yelling in his ear.
"JIMMY BRENNAN I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCK WITH ME!"
Colliding with the ground, Jimmy barely had time to comprehend his pain before Phil was on him, throwing punch after punch into his side. Jimmy hadn't even realized he had thrown his arms up, for all the good they were doing him. Phil was relentless, screaming incoherently at him with every blow. Something about a boy, something about killing. Beneath the dried blood on his face, Jimmy's skin was pale white.
He's going to kill me! HE'S GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME!
The blows continued, hammering into his sides. Jimmy's feeble attempts to throw Phil off was little use, the boy was built like a cannon and even on a good day, Jimmy had no chance.
SLAM. SLAM. Pain shot through Jimmy and he screamed, trying in vain to squeeze his way out from under Phil to escape, to run, to hide. It wasn't to be. Jimmy's luck had run out. Tears of pain filled his eyes. He could taste blood and sand in his mouth. He was rather vaguely aware his nose was bleeding again. With every blow he let out an agonizing shriek, which only seemed to encourage the other boy.
"AIIIIIIIGHHHH!!!!"
Suddenly, as if it were nothing, Phil stood, panting. Jimmy wiggled backwards, feeling the cold water touch his neck. He swung his head around, looking for anything, any escape. He couldn't swim away, he couldn't run. There was nothing left to do, nothing left for Jimmy but to scream and die. Snot and blood dribbled down his nose, he felt as if he was hyperventilating, the fear was shooting through him almost as much as the pain was. Edging backwards into the water, Jimmy brushed up against something, causing him to turn.
My bag!
For a second Jimmy felt hope, a last, desperate hope that he had been wrong, that Danya had packed a semi-automatic already loaded hand cannon in his bag, deliverance from the beast known as Phillip Ward. Looking up, the terror within him increased. Phil was ready for round two. Scrambling back farther into the surf, Jimmy reached in his bag, fumbling about for something, anything he could use.
And then, just like that, Phil was in the air, flying towards him, letting loose a horrific primal scream. Jimmy fell back into the surf just as his hand locked around a small metal object within his pack.
Or to be more specific, aluminum.
Moxie?
Jimmy whipped his hand around, bringing up the object to collide with Phillips' face. He could see the boy's surprised expression as the object exploded, drenching Phil's head with carbonated soda. At the last second his heart pounding, Jimmy dived to the left. Phil went right, crashing into the sea next to Jimmy, his face red with rage. Jimmy wasted no time. Jumping upwards and stumbling backwards towards the beach, Jimmy dropped the exploded and now half empty soda in the sand.
"Ohgod, ohgod ohgod!" His words a barely audible high pitched shriek. Phillip rose out of the surf. Jimmy screamed and spun, tearing off down the shoreline as fast as his broken feet would carry him.
Ohgod, OHGOD PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP ME, FUCKING CHRIST, FUCKING CHRIST!
"FUUUCKKKKKK!!!!!" He hollered, casting a glance back over his shoulder. Phillip was already on his feet, flying towards him.
Phillip Ward was going to kill him. But first, Phillip Ward had to catch him.
"Oh! Another nice body check by Ward there. Torres won't be too keen on trying that again. Hell he looks like he's slinking away from that one."
"Damn straight Averman he is absolutely shutting down that forward line, they simply just can't get past him. Wait, hold on to that thought, Torres just yelled something. I didn't manage to catch it but whatever it is, it's pissed Ward off, he's coming at him hard! This will be brutal!"
The impact of the can took Phil by surprise, one second he was ready to pummel Jimmy in to the surf and the next moment he had a fine spray of Moxie launched in to his face.
"JIMMY I'M GOING TO - WHARRGARBLPFF" Phil's yell was cut off abruptly as the mixture of aluminium and carbonated soda burst in his face, stunning him and making him stumble to one side. Disorientated and confused Phil took a moment to wipe the liquid from his face.
What the hell? Phil thought to himself as he licked his lips. Was that... Moxie?
Looking up he saw Jimmy was already making a quick getaway. Phil began to run after him. He felt a little woozy and he took off, his throat felt raw, constricted even. No matter, he shrugged it off. He had felt worse in games and still played it out, no worse for the effort. Jimmy had a decent pair of legs, but he was no athlete, Phil quickly picked up the pace and gained on the orange haired kid.
"Get back here Jimmy! I'm going to... hurk" Phil coughed, he was having trouble breathing. "I'm going to." Phil grabbed his throat with one hand. It felt tender. Screw it, he thought to himself and powered towards Jimmy, ignoring the shortness of breath. Lunging he grabbed Jimmy's leg, causing the boy to fall to the ground face first, crashing to the sand. Phil tried to laugh but couldn't. His heart was beating frantically. He towered over Jimmy who now had begun to try and crawl away. Phil looked at the boy's destination. An thick branch, washed up on the beach. An effective bludgeoning weapon, if used with enough force.
He wasn't concerned, he could easily stop Jimmy before he reached the weapon. Phil moved to step on Jimmy's hand and stopped. His hands went to his throat, he couldn't breath! A hand went out as he tried to force a breath out. Jimmy wasn't watching, instead the boy had grabbed a hold of the tree branch. Phil fell to his knees.
"That's one hell of a scuffle there Averman! Oh and both teams are getting in to it. The ref's can't sit back on this one. They're... Oh no, Torres is not going to just! OH he diiiiid! That's a brutal smack on Wards head. Mind you the kid should not have taken off his helmet and try and bludgeon that Keeper with it."
"Wait a second Dean, I don't think Ward's getting up. There's a lot of blood there. That fight's gone south, those Refs are in now. The kid looks real hurt. Lesson for all those aspiring players out there. Always keep your helmet on! Geez, paramedics are out on the rink now, he's not looking well."
Phil stared up. His vision was narrowing. He tried to say something. One last taunt, his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. Jimmy stood in front of him, saying something. Well his mouth was moving anyway, Phil couldn't tell, he felt light headed. Jimmy swung the branch.
He didn't think that his last thoughts would be so inane, but none the less as his visioned dimmed, his heart gave out, the branch contacting his temple all Phil could hear was that time old jingle.
Just Make It Moxie for Mine
Make Mine Moxie.
B091: PHILLIP WARD - DECEASED
"Damn straight Averman he is absolutely shutting down that forward line, they simply just can't get past him. Wait, hold on to that thought, Torres just yelled something. I didn't manage to catch it but whatever it is, it's pissed Ward off, he's coming at him hard! This will be brutal!"
The impact of the can took Phil by surprise, one second he was ready to pummel Jimmy in to the surf and the next moment he had a fine spray of Moxie launched in to his face.
"JIMMY I'M GOING TO - WHARRGARBLPFF" Phil's yell was cut off abruptly as the mixture of aluminium and carbonated soda burst in his face, stunning him and making him stumble to one side. Disorientated and confused Phil took a moment to wipe the liquid from his face.
What the hell? Phil thought to himself as he licked his lips. Was that... Moxie?
Looking up he saw Jimmy was already making a quick getaway. Phil began to run after him. He felt a little woozy and he took off, his throat felt raw, constricted even. No matter, he shrugged it off. He had felt worse in games and still played it out, no worse for the effort. Jimmy had a decent pair of legs, but he was no athlete, Phil quickly picked up the pace and gained on the orange haired kid.
"Get back here Jimmy! I'm going to... hurk" Phil coughed, he was having trouble breathing. "I'm going to." Phil grabbed his throat with one hand. It felt tender. Screw it, he thought to himself and powered towards Jimmy, ignoring the shortness of breath. Lunging he grabbed Jimmy's leg, causing the boy to fall to the ground face first, crashing to the sand. Phil tried to laugh but couldn't. His heart was beating frantically. He towered over Jimmy who now had begun to try and crawl away. Phil looked at the boy's destination. An thick branch, washed up on the beach. An effective bludgeoning weapon, if used with enough force.
He wasn't concerned, he could easily stop Jimmy before he reached the weapon. Phil moved to step on Jimmy's hand and stopped. His hands went to his throat, he couldn't breath! A hand went out as he tried to force a breath out. Jimmy wasn't watching, instead the boy had grabbed a hold of the tree branch. Phil fell to his knees.
"That's one hell of a scuffle there Averman! Oh and both teams are getting in to it. The ref's can't sit back on this one. They're... Oh no, Torres is not going to just! OH he diiiiid! That's a brutal smack on Wards head. Mind you the kid should not have taken off his helmet and try and bludgeon that Keeper with it."
"Wait a second Dean, I don't think Ward's getting up. There's a lot of blood there. That fight's gone south, those Refs are in now. The kid looks real hurt. Lesson for all those aspiring players out there. Always keep your helmet on! Geez, paramedics are out on the rink now, he's not looking well."
Phil stared up. His vision was narrowing. He tried to say something. One last taunt, his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. Jimmy stood in front of him, saying something. Well his mouth was moving anyway, Phil couldn't tell, he felt light headed. Jimmy swung the branch.
He didn't think that his last thoughts would be so inane, but none the less as his visioned dimmed, his heart gave out, the branch contacting his temple all Phil could hear was that time old jingle.
Just Make It Moxie for Mine
Make Mine Moxie.
B091: PHILLIP WARD - DECEASED
-
Little Boy*
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy's lungs burned. His legs hurt. His pants were falling down, snot and blood was dribbling down his nose, and he was about to have a heart attack. Jimmy Brennan felt like shit, and the rational part of his mind was screaming for an end, an eternal blackness sure to be brought by the cold hands of Phillip Ward. But he couldn't stop. He wanted to. But he couldn't. Jimmy pounded his way down the shoreline, his vision hazy, blood dribbling from his mouth. He was going to die, that was for sure. It was just a matter of when.
Jimmy's ribs were pounding with every breath, sending a dull throbbing pain cascading up his body. He momentarily wondered if Phil had fractured something, but he couldn't spare a thought, not now.
Run! Run, run, run, -fucking CHRIST- don't think about it just RUN!
Lungs burning something awful, Jimmy could hear Phil shouting behind him, shouting and trailing off ? Had he lost him? It was too good to be true. The ground swayed in and out of focus, Jimmy's head throbbed. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and it was only going to get worse. Jimmy felt it building up inside him, the overwhelming urge to drop, to quit. It took hold inside him, snatching away control from his limbs. Gasping for air, Jimmy slowed down and careened sideways into the surf, splashing to a halt.
All All I had to do. I had to run. That was all I had to do. I couldn't even get that right. I couldn't even
Jimmy Brennan closed his eyes and swallowed sea water. Choking and coughing, he weakly raised his head above the surf, glancing about, awaiting the blow. He could hear Phil coming; he could almost feel the anger radiating out from the boy. There would be no mercy. Phillip Ward was a killer, and Jimmy Brennan was nothing.
Worse than nothing. I'm a step on his way to freedom. That's all I am. That's what they think of me as. Just the first step to getting outta' here. And why the hell wouldn't they? I don't have a fucking weapon. I can't fucking do anything. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, right here right now.
Jimmy raised his hands above his head and turtled in the surf, letting the wave crash over him, a low sob emanating from his throat. He couldn't run anymore. Death was now. Jimmy shut his eyes, awaiting oblivion.
Any second.
Annnny second.
Jimmy felt something brush up against his head in the surf. Weakly raising his head, he saw it to be a piece of wood. Not just any ordinary driftwood, but a broken tree branch roughly the size of a baseball bat.. Jimmy barely had a chance to take it in before he heard it, the splashing noise indicating Phil was nearby. Jimmy looked up, shaking with fear to see-
Deliverance.
Phillp Ward ambled to a halt, clutching his neck. There was something wrong. He couldn't breathe, his outreached hands groped towards Jimmy. He had been saying something, or rather, trying to say something. A strange hurking noise came from his mouth and the boy blinked rapidly, his face going red. Phil dropped to his knees in the surf, struggling to remain upright. For a moment, Jimmy could only stare dumbstruck at the strange turn of events, unsure of what to make of it. The waves send the piece of driftwood bumping into him again. Jimmy reached down into the surf, and raised the piece of wood up.
And he began to laugh.
A small laugh at first, as if embarrassed to be doing so. But with growing intensity, Jimmy began to laugh, his eyes bulging. Suddenly, his feet didn't feel too heavy anymore. Jimmy didn't even realize it, but he was on his feet, ambling over towards the choking Phil, the branch gripped tightly in his hands. Jimmy laughed and laughed as Phil struggled to breath, the branch trembling in his hands.
God help him, it was just too funny.
"PHIL! HEY, PHIL, YOU FUCKING FUCK! CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME?!" He screamed, stalking ever closer towards the downed hockey player.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU, YOU FUCKFACE! SPEAK UP! I SAID SPEAK UP, YOU- YOU-" Jimmy fought back tears, of laughter or sorrow he could not be sure.
"WHATCHA' TRYING TO SAY PHIL?! GOT SOMETHING YOU WANNA TELL THE KIDS BACK HOME!? LIKE HOW MUCH OF A- A FUCKING- A FUCKING SHIT EATING FAGGOT YOU ARE!? HUH?! YOU WANNA TELL MOM AND DAD THAT!? GO ON! GO ON YOU FUCKER! LOOK WHO'S LAUGHING NOW!"
Jimmy leaned back his head and let out a loud whoop of joy. It was too good to be true. For a split second, he thought he was dreaming, that Phil had killed him in the surf and he was hallucinating. But no. It was real. The sun was beating down. His chest was on fire, blood was dribbling down his face. He was soaking wet, tired and hungry. But he was alive.
Jimmy Brennan was alive. And Phillip Ward?
Jimmy lowered the branch, holding it close to Phil's head. The rational part of his mind had all but retreated inside him. His favourite song screamed through his head and Phil swung in and out of focus. The entire world seemed tinted red, and his entire core screamed at him, screamed for revenge, for gore. He was what he'd always dreamed to be. Jimmy was Jimmy Fucking Brennan, and he wanted blood. And when Jimmy Fucking Brennan wanted something, he got it.
"HEY! HEY PHIL! I'M TALKING TO YOU!" He screamed down into the boys' face. Jimmy Brennan giggled, swinging the branch behind his back as if he was winding up to take the tee off.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!!!!!"
Jimmy Brennan swung the branch. It arched through the air, slamming into Phil's face bringing about a satisfying crunch. Jimmy first felt, then heard, Phil's nose break apart, and saw it tearing into the boys' face with sickening glee. Phil's right eye exploded as a piece of the branch slammed into it, and stuck there. Jets of warm blood shot in the air, some of it even managing to reach high enough to hit Jimmy in the face. Phillip Ward seemed to crumple and fly backwards, his head slamming into the wet sand, blood gushing from his destroyed nose.
Jimmy stumbled and nearly fell but managed to keep himself standing. Holding the branch in his still trembling hands, Jimmy let out a whooping laugh and looked down at the bloodied boy. Raising the branch above him, Jimmy let out a triumphant shout and brought it down again with all the force he could muster.
"THIS IS FOR KICKING MY ASS!"
KHRUNCH.
"THIS IS FOR MAKING MY LIFE A LIVING HELL!"
KRUMPH.
"THIS IS FOR THINKING YOU COULD EVER- EVER BE BETTER THAN ME!"
SKRUCKKKK.
Jimmy staggered backwards, looking down at the bloodied and near unrecognizable face of Phillip Ward. The boy was dead, that much was obvious. With the last blow, Jimmy had nearly managed to break the boy's skull open. Bits of what Jimmy could only assume was brain mingled with his blood, although it looked nothing like what Jimmy thought a brain would look like. His stomach was doing flips as he starred down at the grotesque form. He was shaking, shaking and laughing. Tears streamed down his face, but Jimmy had never felt so good in his entire life. He staggered around the corpse, never taking his eyes away from it.
"You think you're tough!? You ain't tough! You ain't nothing! All this time! I've been stuck in this fucking jungle, EVERYONE HAS BEEN MAKING FUN OF ME! I've been running fucking scared; thinking every meeting, every single person- wants me dead! And y'know what Phil!? They fucking do! They all want to see me lose! And you know why!? Because I've never won! I've never gotten anything in my entire FUCKING LIFE! You know why everyone hates me!? BECAUSE THEY KNOW I CAN WIN THIS. THEY KNOW I DESERVE TO WIN THIS GAME. I'M THE HERO. ME. I'M NOT A JOKE, NOT ANYMORE AND NOT EVER AGAIN PHIL! HOW'S THE HOCKEY TEAM PHIL!? WIN ANY FUCKING TROPHIES FOR MOMMY AND DADDY?! DID YOU?! PITY I DIDN'T MAKE THE FUCKING TEAM!"
Jimmy brought the stick down again on Phil, smashing into his windpipe. Pulling back, Jimmy brought his foot down, kicking the dead corpse repeatedly in the side.
"HOW'S THAT FEEL YOU STUPID HOCKEY JOCK!? HOW'S THAT FEEL, THAT'S FUCKING KARMA! THAT'S FUCKING JUSTICE! HOW'S THAT FEEL!? YOU GOT KILLED BY THE HERO, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
Jimmy let out a whooping laugh, careening down the beach towards his scattered pack and supplies. Both the stick and his sweater were coated with Phil's blood, but he didn't care. Jimmy Brennan didn't have any cares. Hell, he didn't even hurt as bad. Laughing insanely, Jimmy stared down in the sand at his chosen weapon, the now broken and leaking can of Moxie Soda. Dropping the bloodied stick to the ground, Jimmy reached down and gingerly picked up the can, carefully cradling it. It had broken when he'd smashed it across Phil's face. The top had blown off, and most of the Soda had hit Phil head on. But some remained. Jimmy looked into the can.
Can't just drink it. Not like this. No, no no, not like this
Falling to his knees, Jimmy reached over towards the bloodied end of the branch, towards a particularly sharp piece. Placing his hands around it, Jimmy grinned.
Snap.
Holding the blood drenched piece of wood up, Jimmy stabbed it into the bottom of the can of soda, before quickly yanking it away. Carbonated goodness flowed out. Jimmy placed the can to his bloodied lips, pressing it against his broken nose. Tilting his head back, Jimmy shotgunned the remains of the soda.
After a second it was all gone. Jimmy stared down at the can, his breathes coming in ragged and pained intervals. He could feel the adrenaline fading, and knew the throbbing from before would only have increased. It didn't matter though. Jimmy had taken worse before. He had taken it, but he had not lived. Now though? Now he lived. Jimmy smashed the can against his head and threw the crumpled remains into the surf. With a smile and a laugh Jimmy reached out, gripping the bloodied branch.
Jimmy Brennan had lost his shit. But Jimmy Brennan was...
Hardcore.
I'm hardcore.
Jimmy's ribs were pounding with every breath, sending a dull throbbing pain cascading up his body. He momentarily wondered if Phil had fractured something, but he couldn't spare a thought, not now.
Run! Run, run, run, -fucking CHRIST- don't think about it just RUN!
Lungs burning something awful, Jimmy could hear Phil shouting behind him, shouting and trailing off ? Had he lost him? It was too good to be true. The ground swayed in and out of focus, Jimmy's head throbbed. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and it was only going to get worse. Jimmy felt it building up inside him, the overwhelming urge to drop, to quit. It took hold inside him, snatching away control from his limbs. Gasping for air, Jimmy slowed down and careened sideways into the surf, splashing to a halt.
All All I had to do. I had to run. That was all I had to do. I couldn't even get that right. I couldn't even
Jimmy Brennan closed his eyes and swallowed sea water. Choking and coughing, he weakly raised his head above the surf, glancing about, awaiting the blow. He could hear Phil coming; he could almost feel the anger radiating out from the boy. There would be no mercy. Phillip Ward was a killer, and Jimmy Brennan was nothing.
Worse than nothing. I'm a step on his way to freedom. That's all I am. That's what they think of me as. Just the first step to getting outta' here. And why the hell wouldn't they? I don't have a fucking weapon. I can't fucking do anything. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, right here right now.
Jimmy raised his hands above his head and turtled in the surf, letting the wave crash over him, a low sob emanating from his throat. He couldn't run anymore. Death was now. Jimmy shut his eyes, awaiting oblivion.
Any second.
Annnny second.
Jimmy felt something brush up against his head in the surf. Weakly raising his head, he saw it to be a piece of wood. Not just any ordinary driftwood, but a broken tree branch roughly the size of a baseball bat.. Jimmy barely had a chance to take it in before he heard it, the splashing noise indicating Phil was nearby. Jimmy looked up, shaking with fear to see-
Deliverance.
Phillp Ward ambled to a halt, clutching his neck. There was something wrong. He couldn't breathe, his outreached hands groped towards Jimmy. He had been saying something, or rather, trying to say something. A strange hurking noise came from his mouth and the boy blinked rapidly, his face going red. Phil dropped to his knees in the surf, struggling to remain upright. For a moment, Jimmy could only stare dumbstruck at the strange turn of events, unsure of what to make of it. The waves send the piece of driftwood bumping into him again. Jimmy reached down into the surf, and raised the piece of wood up.
And he began to laugh.
A small laugh at first, as if embarrassed to be doing so. But with growing intensity, Jimmy began to laugh, his eyes bulging. Suddenly, his feet didn't feel too heavy anymore. Jimmy didn't even realize it, but he was on his feet, ambling over towards the choking Phil, the branch gripped tightly in his hands. Jimmy laughed and laughed as Phil struggled to breath, the branch trembling in his hands.
God help him, it was just too funny.
"PHIL! HEY, PHIL, YOU FUCKING FUCK! CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME?!" He screamed, stalking ever closer towards the downed hockey player.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU, YOU FUCKFACE! SPEAK UP! I SAID SPEAK UP, YOU- YOU-" Jimmy fought back tears, of laughter or sorrow he could not be sure.
"WHATCHA' TRYING TO SAY PHIL?! GOT SOMETHING YOU WANNA TELL THE KIDS BACK HOME!? LIKE HOW MUCH OF A- A FUCKING- A FUCKING SHIT EATING FAGGOT YOU ARE!? HUH?! YOU WANNA TELL MOM AND DAD THAT!? GO ON! GO ON YOU FUCKER! LOOK WHO'S LAUGHING NOW!"
Jimmy leaned back his head and let out a loud whoop of joy. It was too good to be true. For a split second, he thought he was dreaming, that Phil had killed him in the surf and he was hallucinating. But no. It was real. The sun was beating down. His chest was on fire, blood was dribbling down his face. He was soaking wet, tired and hungry. But he was alive.
Jimmy Brennan was alive. And Phillip Ward?
Jimmy lowered the branch, holding it close to Phil's head. The rational part of his mind had all but retreated inside him. His favourite song screamed through his head and Phil swung in and out of focus. The entire world seemed tinted red, and his entire core screamed at him, screamed for revenge, for gore. He was what he'd always dreamed to be. Jimmy was Jimmy Fucking Brennan, and he wanted blood. And when Jimmy Fucking Brennan wanted something, he got it.
"HEY! HEY PHIL! I'M TALKING TO YOU!" He screamed down into the boys' face. Jimmy Brennan giggled, swinging the branch behind his back as if he was winding up to take the tee off.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!!!!!"
Jimmy Brennan swung the branch. It arched through the air, slamming into Phil's face bringing about a satisfying crunch. Jimmy first felt, then heard, Phil's nose break apart, and saw it tearing into the boys' face with sickening glee. Phil's right eye exploded as a piece of the branch slammed into it, and stuck there. Jets of warm blood shot in the air, some of it even managing to reach high enough to hit Jimmy in the face. Phillip Ward seemed to crumple and fly backwards, his head slamming into the wet sand, blood gushing from his destroyed nose.
Jimmy stumbled and nearly fell but managed to keep himself standing. Holding the branch in his still trembling hands, Jimmy let out a whooping laugh and looked down at the bloodied boy. Raising the branch above him, Jimmy let out a triumphant shout and brought it down again with all the force he could muster.
"THIS IS FOR KICKING MY ASS!"
KHRUNCH.
"THIS IS FOR MAKING MY LIFE A LIVING HELL!"
KRUMPH.
"THIS IS FOR THINKING YOU COULD EVER- EVER BE BETTER THAN ME!"
SKRUCKKKK.
Jimmy staggered backwards, looking down at the bloodied and near unrecognizable face of Phillip Ward. The boy was dead, that much was obvious. With the last blow, Jimmy had nearly managed to break the boy's skull open. Bits of what Jimmy could only assume was brain mingled with his blood, although it looked nothing like what Jimmy thought a brain would look like. His stomach was doing flips as he starred down at the grotesque form. He was shaking, shaking and laughing. Tears streamed down his face, but Jimmy had never felt so good in his entire life. He staggered around the corpse, never taking his eyes away from it.
"You think you're tough!? You ain't tough! You ain't nothing! All this time! I've been stuck in this fucking jungle, EVERYONE HAS BEEN MAKING FUN OF ME! I've been running fucking scared; thinking every meeting, every single person- wants me dead! And y'know what Phil!? They fucking do! They all want to see me lose! And you know why!? Because I've never won! I've never gotten anything in my entire FUCKING LIFE! You know why everyone hates me!? BECAUSE THEY KNOW I CAN WIN THIS. THEY KNOW I DESERVE TO WIN THIS GAME. I'M THE HERO. ME. I'M NOT A JOKE, NOT ANYMORE AND NOT EVER AGAIN PHIL! HOW'S THE HOCKEY TEAM PHIL!? WIN ANY FUCKING TROPHIES FOR MOMMY AND DADDY?! DID YOU?! PITY I DIDN'T MAKE THE FUCKING TEAM!"
Jimmy brought the stick down again on Phil, smashing into his windpipe. Pulling back, Jimmy brought his foot down, kicking the dead corpse repeatedly in the side.
"HOW'S THAT FEEL YOU STUPID HOCKEY JOCK!? HOW'S THAT FEEL, THAT'S FUCKING KARMA! THAT'S FUCKING JUSTICE! HOW'S THAT FEEL!? YOU GOT KILLED BY THE HERO, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
Jimmy let out a whooping laugh, careening down the beach towards his scattered pack and supplies. Both the stick and his sweater were coated with Phil's blood, but he didn't care. Jimmy Brennan didn't have any cares. Hell, he didn't even hurt as bad. Laughing insanely, Jimmy stared down in the sand at his chosen weapon, the now broken and leaking can of Moxie Soda. Dropping the bloodied stick to the ground, Jimmy reached down and gingerly picked up the can, carefully cradling it. It had broken when he'd smashed it across Phil's face. The top had blown off, and most of the Soda had hit Phil head on. But some remained. Jimmy looked into the can.
Can't just drink it. Not like this. No, no no, not like this
Falling to his knees, Jimmy reached over towards the bloodied end of the branch, towards a particularly sharp piece. Placing his hands around it, Jimmy grinned.
Snap.
Holding the blood drenched piece of wood up, Jimmy stabbed it into the bottom of the can of soda, before quickly yanking it away. Carbonated goodness flowed out. Jimmy placed the can to his bloodied lips, pressing it against his broken nose. Tilting his head back, Jimmy shotgunned the remains of the soda.
After a second it was all gone. Jimmy stared down at the can, his breathes coming in ragged and pained intervals. He could feel the adrenaline fading, and knew the throbbing from before would only have increased. It didn't matter though. Jimmy had taken worse before. He had taken it, but he had not lived. Now though? Now he lived. Jimmy smashed the can against his head and threw the crumpled remains into the surf. With a smile and a laugh Jimmy reached out, gripping the bloodied branch.
Jimmy Brennan had lost his shit. But Jimmy Brennan was...
Hardcore.
I'm hardcore.
-
Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2754
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The announcements came on, and made no impact on Jennifer whatsoever. At least, their meaning did not click in her mind until Marco spoke up, shattered her stupor, and pointed out that, in fact, Alex had just been declared a murderer. She immediately cast her mind back, trying to pick out the name. Dominic. Dominic Stratford. She'd seen him around school. Fat kid, right? Nice guy. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Dead, now. Dead at the hands of Alex. Alex who she had just almost brought herself to trust. Alex who had been traveling with them. Alex who had been so very desperate to be kept safe. Looks like there were a few things Alex hadn't told them.
Phil had wandered off. Didn't matter. Right now, Jennifer didn't give a fuck about anything except the boy in front of her. The killer. Murderer. Of course, that wasn't what had her so fucking steamed. It was that he hadn't told her. He hadn't told any of them. Thought he was so fucking smart. Thought he'd kill them all in their sleep or something. It was just so arrogant. So evil, twisted, wrong.
Don't lose yourself. Keep cool. Remember, you aren't anyone's entertainment.
She forced herself to calm. Forced her fists to unclench, to move away from the pick. No need for this to get ugly. No need to really make this unpleasant. She was overreacting. Had to be. Words had failed her. Words were her enemy at the moment. If she opened her mouth now, it would be the tunnels all over again. The tunnels, and Nick, and all that regret, all that pain and suffering because of one stupid little mistake. It wouldn't do any good to blow up now. Wouldn't do any good to fuck up once again. Marco and Phil would have to take lead here. Yeah. Marco was already doing a pretty good job. Phil... Wait a sec. Where the fuck was Phil?
Jennifer turned, glanced around. He was off a ways, by the small area of beach. Someone else was over there, too. Maybe they hadn't noticed each other yet. Either way, it didn't seem like trouble.
Turning back, she wasn't even listening to Alex. She just made sure she had some good distance, enough to preclude a quick lunge on his part. No way was she going to die or get taken hostage here. No way. No, she had to be the calm one. Her job was to keep people from fighting. Keep the peace. Just like always. Smile and nod and talk to the sophomore girls, and really just listen and let them listen, mediate, show it wasn't really so bad, wasn't really worth getting upset over. Not like it was a matter of life and death.
Well, only now it was, but that didn't matter. Nothing would bring back Dominic. No reason to get bent out of shape.
There were shouts coming from behind her, on the beach. She couldn't make them out. Phil would handle it.
She looked over her shoulder, just in case. It was pretty clear something was wrong. Phil and the other guy were in the water. It looked like they were struggling. Fighting? That was bad. Still, looked like Phil was bigger. She couldn't make much out. They were a good distance away. It would be fine. Phil would calm the guy down.
She glanced back. How were the talks going? She was fucking up again, not paying attention. Not doing her job. Fuck. Too much to do. Too much to focus on. Too much stress. She should go deal with the fight. Break it up. Thing was, that'd be dangerous. She'd be in the middle of yet another fucking tussle, and she didn't need to go, didn't need to worry, because Phil had it all under—she glanced back.
Saw the first impact. Saw the blows, raining down, saw Phil hit the ground. Heard the cries of victory, of savagery. Knew without having to check that he was gone.
It was like a physical blow. She'd stood there. Stood there, spacing out, and done nothing. Locked between two killers, she'd let the guys take the lead, let them handle things, and she'd done fucking nothing. Her first instinct was to bolt. Run, flee, scramble into the night like she'd done before. Vanish, hide, cry her troubles away. It would be easy. Maybe the other killer and Alex would take each other out. Maybe it would be for the best.
But Jennifer couldn't run off and cry. She couldn't cry at all. She'd been crying so much these past few days, and now, she felt like she was out of tears.
What came next was familiar. It was the same connection as back in the caves. The same little click as everything fell into place. The same calm, as she dropped her veneer, dropped her happy little act, stopped pretending.
She turned back to Alex and Marco, and in that instant, she'd didn't give a fuck what they'd been saying, what they'd done, what they planned to do. The shouts were still coming from the distance.
"I have something to do," she said, with a smile. "Be right back."
And, like that, she was off and moving, walking at a brisk pace, closing on the figure in the distance. She couldn't tell who it was. Couldn't care.
Don't lose yourself. Keep cool. Remember, you aren't anyone's entertainment.
Oh, fuck that.
The icepick did that magic trick again, appearing in her hand without any thought, any realization of its change of state. She picked up the pace. Her smile widened. No laughter this time, though.
She was getting closer. Could see Phil lying on the ground. His head was red. Mostly gone. If the kid hadn't noticed her, he would soon. Didn't matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
She'd saved Phil's life.
How the fuck could anything matter on this island?
Close now, so close, and her smile was so wide.
And then, a little sentence. All that would come to mind.
"Looks like we need to have a talk."
Phil had wandered off. Didn't matter. Right now, Jennifer didn't give a fuck about anything except the boy in front of her. The killer. Murderer. Of course, that wasn't what had her so fucking steamed. It was that he hadn't told her. He hadn't told any of them. Thought he was so fucking smart. Thought he'd kill them all in their sleep or something. It was just so arrogant. So evil, twisted, wrong.
Don't lose yourself. Keep cool. Remember, you aren't anyone's entertainment.
She forced herself to calm. Forced her fists to unclench, to move away from the pick. No need for this to get ugly. No need to really make this unpleasant. She was overreacting. Had to be. Words had failed her. Words were her enemy at the moment. If she opened her mouth now, it would be the tunnels all over again. The tunnels, and Nick, and all that regret, all that pain and suffering because of one stupid little mistake. It wouldn't do any good to blow up now. Wouldn't do any good to fuck up once again. Marco and Phil would have to take lead here. Yeah. Marco was already doing a pretty good job. Phil... Wait a sec. Where the fuck was Phil?
Jennifer turned, glanced around. He was off a ways, by the small area of beach. Someone else was over there, too. Maybe they hadn't noticed each other yet. Either way, it didn't seem like trouble.
Turning back, she wasn't even listening to Alex. She just made sure she had some good distance, enough to preclude a quick lunge on his part. No way was she going to die or get taken hostage here. No way. No, she had to be the calm one. Her job was to keep people from fighting. Keep the peace. Just like always. Smile and nod and talk to the sophomore girls, and really just listen and let them listen, mediate, show it wasn't really so bad, wasn't really worth getting upset over. Not like it was a matter of life and death.
Well, only now it was, but that didn't matter. Nothing would bring back Dominic. No reason to get bent out of shape.
There were shouts coming from behind her, on the beach. She couldn't make them out. Phil would handle it.
She looked over her shoulder, just in case. It was pretty clear something was wrong. Phil and the other guy were in the water. It looked like they were struggling. Fighting? That was bad. Still, looked like Phil was bigger. She couldn't make much out. They were a good distance away. It would be fine. Phil would calm the guy down.
She glanced back. How were the talks going? She was fucking up again, not paying attention. Not doing her job. Fuck. Too much to do. Too much to focus on. Too much stress. She should go deal with the fight. Break it up. Thing was, that'd be dangerous. She'd be in the middle of yet another fucking tussle, and she didn't need to go, didn't need to worry, because Phil had it all under—she glanced back.
Saw the first impact. Saw the blows, raining down, saw Phil hit the ground. Heard the cries of victory, of savagery. Knew without having to check that he was gone.
It was like a physical blow. She'd stood there. Stood there, spacing out, and done nothing. Locked between two killers, she'd let the guys take the lead, let them handle things, and she'd done fucking nothing. Her first instinct was to bolt. Run, flee, scramble into the night like she'd done before. Vanish, hide, cry her troubles away. It would be easy. Maybe the other killer and Alex would take each other out. Maybe it would be for the best.
But Jennifer couldn't run off and cry. She couldn't cry at all. She'd been crying so much these past few days, and now, she felt like she was out of tears.
What came next was familiar. It was the same connection as back in the caves. The same little click as everything fell into place. The same calm, as she dropped her veneer, dropped her happy little act, stopped pretending.
She turned back to Alex and Marco, and in that instant, she'd didn't give a fuck what they'd been saying, what they'd done, what they planned to do. The shouts were still coming from the distance.
"I have something to do," she said, with a smile. "Be right back."
And, like that, she was off and moving, walking at a brisk pace, closing on the figure in the distance. She couldn't tell who it was. Couldn't care.
Don't lose yourself. Keep cool. Remember, you aren't anyone's entertainment.
Oh, fuck that.
The icepick did that magic trick again, appearing in her hand without any thought, any realization of its change of state. She picked up the pace. Her smile widened. No laughter this time, though.
She was getting closer. Could see Phil lying on the ground. His head was red. Mostly gone. If the kid hadn't noticed her, he would soon. Didn't matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
She'd saved Phil's life.
How the fuck could anything matter on this island?
Close now, so close, and her smile was so wide.
And then, a little sentence. All that would come to mind.
"Looks like we need to have a talk."
-
Lord_Shadow*
- Posts: 26
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 7:15 am
As a testament to just how quickly things could change in this place, Alex was dumbstruck as the announcements had come on. Danya had just announced to everyone else who was still alive that Alex was a killer. The bad news was that he really wasn't. Bad news for him. Worse news for his situation.
Fuck! This isn't going like the plan at all. Damn you Danya. Fucking bastard telling everyone I killed that loser. If he died it was because he was too much of a worm to keep living. I gave him a chance dammit!
His mind desperately raced for an explanation. He had to think of something to pacify the others. He couldn't just say anything. They'd want an explanation. Marco wanted one. He was the one asking questions.
Note to self, kill that bastard the first chance I get. That is, if I don't have to run to survive.
Alex looked around for a sign of Philip Ward. He was injured, but he was sure that if he tried to take Marco by surprise that Ward would stop him. Ward wasn't there. He was shouting something. Alex turned his head to see where the shouts were coming from. He spotted him chasing another figure. They came to blows, but for some reason he lost the other person.
Holy shit. When the hell did this happen?
Another short chase and another battle. Only this time, Phil didn't have the upper hand. The other person did. Phil went down. Alex blinked in surprise. That was perhaps the most fortuitous thing that had happened since his arrival here. He blinked again and thought of a way to turn that to his advantage.
Way to go killer. Thanks for being a common enemy. What an idiot.
Alex couldn't help but chuckle. He couldn't even have imagined a scenario like this. He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think that's important at the moment Marco. Phil's gone." He chuckled again, not believing the good fortune he had. Something out of the blue, something that no one could have predicted had happened. And Alex was damn sure he could twist it to his advantage.
He looked again. He hadn't forgotten that he was still outnumbered. The bitch would probably help Marco out as well, despite not seeming to have any initiative of her own. Alex's eyes widened in surprise. Jennifer had run after Phil. Alex's smile became a grin. Maybe he'd been too hasty in his judgment of her. She had some initiative after all.
"It doesn't matter anymore Marco. Whether I killed that worm or not is unimportant. You have no way of knowing that, though if it helps I give my word I didn't kill Dom. What matters now is we have an actual killer off in the distance. And the lady has run after him. You wouldn't let her run off to her death would you? She's going up against a killer."
Alex laughed. The smell of the ocean filled his nostrils. Dom's blood was on his hands again. It was warm, so warm. He loved that feeling. He was hallucinating again, but he didn't care. He popped the last pill in the box before saying, "Why don't you go after her? I promise I'll go first. If I were a killer I'd just kill you while you went to help her. Consider the fact that I won't do that proof that you can trust me."
His grin widened. Whether or not Marco trusted him meant nothing anymore. A killer near them meant only one thing. A weapon. And Alex so desperately wanted a weapon. He could only hope that both Marco and Jennifer would die trying to kill the bastard that killed Phil. It would make it so much easier on Alex. He wouldn't have to waste what little energy he had left killing them.
A weapon. A weapon for me. Time to get my prize.
Alex gleefully turned and ran after Jennifer. He was going to make sure that he got there in time to pick something up. Things couldn't be any better than they were. More blood appeared before him. A whole trail of it. Leading to Philip Ward. And to Alex's salvation.
He had finally lost it. Alex was going to get a weapon, personal danger be damned. If the others were to take that opportunity to turn on him though, he was going to make sure he took them down first. Blood. Everywhere. The smell of it filled his mind.
Alexander Seymour is going to be a player! I can't wait to see how I compare to the others!
Fuck! This isn't going like the plan at all. Damn you Danya. Fucking bastard telling everyone I killed that loser. If he died it was because he was too much of a worm to keep living. I gave him a chance dammit!
His mind desperately raced for an explanation. He had to think of something to pacify the others. He couldn't just say anything. They'd want an explanation. Marco wanted one. He was the one asking questions.
Note to self, kill that bastard the first chance I get. That is, if I don't have to run to survive.
Alex looked around for a sign of Philip Ward. He was injured, but he was sure that if he tried to take Marco by surprise that Ward would stop him. Ward wasn't there. He was shouting something. Alex turned his head to see where the shouts were coming from. He spotted him chasing another figure. They came to blows, but for some reason he lost the other person.
Holy shit. When the hell did this happen?
Another short chase and another battle. Only this time, Phil didn't have the upper hand. The other person did. Phil went down. Alex blinked in surprise. That was perhaps the most fortuitous thing that had happened since his arrival here. He blinked again and thought of a way to turn that to his advantage.
Way to go killer. Thanks for being a common enemy. What an idiot.
Alex couldn't help but chuckle. He couldn't even have imagined a scenario like this. He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think that's important at the moment Marco. Phil's gone." He chuckled again, not believing the good fortune he had. Something out of the blue, something that no one could have predicted had happened. And Alex was damn sure he could twist it to his advantage.
He looked again. He hadn't forgotten that he was still outnumbered. The bitch would probably help Marco out as well, despite not seeming to have any initiative of her own. Alex's eyes widened in surprise. Jennifer had run after Phil. Alex's smile became a grin. Maybe he'd been too hasty in his judgment of her. She had some initiative after all.
"It doesn't matter anymore Marco. Whether I killed that worm or not is unimportant. You have no way of knowing that, though if it helps I give my word I didn't kill Dom. What matters now is we have an actual killer off in the distance. And the lady has run after him. You wouldn't let her run off to her death would you? She's going up against a killer."
Alex laughed. The smell of the ocean filled his nostrils. Dom's blood was on his hands again. It was warm, so warm. He loved that feeling. He was hallucinating again, but he didn't care. He popped the last pill in the box before saying, "Why don't you go after her? I promise I'll go first. If I were a killer I'd just kill you while you went to help her. Consider the fact that I won't do that proof that you can trust me."
His grin widened. Whether or not Marco trusted him meant nothing anymore. A killer near them meant only one thing. A weapon. And Alex so desperately wanted a weapon. He could only hope that both Marco and Jennifer would die trying to kill the bastard that killed Phil. It would make it so much easier on Alex. He wouldn't have to waste what little energy he had left killing them.
A weapon. A weapon for me. Time to get my prize.
Alex gleefully turned and ran after Jennifer. He was going to make sure that he got there in time to pick something up. Things couldn't be any better than they were. More blood appeared before him. A whole trail of it. Leading to Philip Ward. And to Alex's salvation.
He had finally lost it. Alex was going to get a weapon, personal danger be damned. If the others were to take that opportunity to turn on him though, he was going to make sure he took them down first. Blood. Everywhere. The smell of it filled his mind.
Alexander Seymour is going to be a player! I can't wait to see how I compare to the others!
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JamesRenard*
- Posts: 239
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:55 am
Alex wasn't saying anything. "Well?" Marco asked, starting to grow tired with Alex's refusal to say anything. He wanted to hear what Alex had to say, what sort of explanation he was going to come up with for Dominic's death. He hadn't even noticed that Phil had wandered away from the three of them, his focus entirely on the boy standing in front of him. "I'm waiting."
His hand slowly made its way towards his bag as he talked. The candelabra was still inside, and although Marco hoped that he didn't have to use it, it was there just in case Alex turned on him. Better to have something on hand to defend himself than nothing at all. However, it seemed that Alex wasn't even paying him any attention, looking elsewhere. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" Marco yelled, suddenly hearing faint shouting and screaming from the direction Alex was looking at.
'Huh? What on Earth's going on over there?' Marco wondered once he'd turned to face the commotion. His eyes widened when he saw Phil involved in a scuffle with another boy sporting blazing red hair, a redhead whom Marco knew all too well. 'Is that... Jimmy Brennan...? Oh shit, not good...' That was an understatement. He knew the two of them had some bad blood between them, ever since he witnessed Phil punching the living crud out of Jimmy during the hockey tryouts. If it hadn't been for the Kronwall brothers intervening, there was every possibility that Phil could have carried on attacking and killed the other boy.
This time round, Nik and Staffan were nowhere to be seen and wouldn't be on hand to stop the altercation. 'Holy shit, he's going to kill him!' Marco thought, frozen to the spot. He wanted to go out and stop the fight himself, but he couldn't leave Alex all alone with Jennifer, in case he did something to her while he was preoccupied. Something had happened however to turn the tables in the fight. Phil was on the ground and Jimmy was standing over him, holding a plank of driftwood in his hands. 'Oh no...'
Marco's jaw dropped as Jimmy started beating Phil round the head with the piece of wood. One whack after another. One of the blows to Phil's head produced a dark red fluid which arched through the air and splashed down on the sand. Phil just continued to lie there while Jimmy continued to pummel him. Phil wasn't fighting back, wasn't trying to defend himself. He wasn't even moving, and as Jimmy brought the plank down again, caving his face in, Marco knew that his old team mate wouldn't be moving ever again. 'No... oh God no... what has he just done?!'
Marco couldn't believe what he was seeing. In just a few minutes, his team mate and companion had gone from being by his side to being beaten to death, reduced to a corpse on the sand. 'He killed him... Jimmy killed him... he... he killed...' Marco felt weak all of a sudden, like his legs were about to give way. Alex didn't even spring to mind, all Marco could think about was Phil and how Jimmy had just beat him to death and how Jennifer had just stated that she had something to do. 'Huh? What's she doing now?'
"Jennifer, what are-?" He didn't finish his question, for she'd just started to dart away towards Jimmy and was soon too far away to be able to hear him. Alex spoke to him, goading him to run after Jennifer, to protect her. Marco shot him a dirty look, but he knew Alex was right; Jennifer was his priority right now, and she was basically running to her death. However, before Marco could head off after her, Alex suddenly dashed past him towards Jennifer, Jimmy and what was left of Phil.
"Hey! Get back here!" Marco angrily shouted, chasing after Alex along the sand.
His hand slowly made its way towards his bag as he talked. The candelabra was still inside, and although Marco hoped that he didn't have to use it, it was there just in case Alex turned on him. Better to have something on hand to defend himself than nothing at all. However, it seemed that Alex wasn't even paying him any attention, looking elsewhere. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" Marco yelled, suddenly hearing faint shouting and screaming from the direction Alex was looking at.
'Huh? What on Earth's going on over there?' Marco wondered once he'd turned to face the commotion. His eyes widened when he saw Phil involved in a scuffle with another boy sporting blazing red hair, a redhead whom Marco knew all too well. 'Is that... Jimmy Brennan...? Oh shit, not good...' That was an understatement. He knew the two of them had some bad blood between them, ever since he witnessed Phil punching the living crud out of Jimmy during the hockey tryouts. If it hadn't been for the Kronwall brothers intervening, there was every possibility that Phil could have carried on attacking and killed the other boy.
This time round, Nik and Staffan were nowhere to be seen and wouldn't be on hand to stop the altercation. 'Holy shit, he's going to kill him!' Marco thought, frozen to the spot. He wanted to go out and stop the fight himself, but he couldn't leave Alex all alone with Jennifer, in case he did something to her while he was preoccupied. Something had happened however to turn the tables in the fight. Phil was on the ground and Jimmy was standing over him, holding a plank of driftwood in his hands. 'Oh no...'
Marco's jaw dropped as Jimmy started beating Phil round the head with the piece of wood. One whack after another. One of the blows to Phil's head produced a dark red fluid which arched through the air and splashed down on the sand. Phil just continued to lie there while Jimmy continued to pummel him. Phil wasn't fighting back, wasn't trying to defend himself. He wasn't even moving, and as Jimmy brought the plank down again, caving his face in, Marco knew that his old team mate wouldn't be moving ever again. 'No... oh God no... what has he just done?!'
Marco couldn't believe what he was seeing. In just a few minutes, his team mate and companion had gone from being by his side to being beaten to death, reduced to a corpse on the sand. 'He killed him... Jimmy killed him... he... he killed...' Marco felt weak all of a sudden, like his legs were about to give way. Alex didn't even spring to mind, all Marco could think about was Phil and how Jimmy had just beat him to death and how Jennifer had just stated that she had something to do. 'Huh? What's she doing now?'
"Jennifer, what are-?" He didn't finish his question, for she'd just started to dart away towards Jimmy and was soon too far away to be able to hear him. Alex spoke to him, goading him to run after Jennifer, to protect her. Marco shot him a dirty look, but he knew Alex was right; Jennifer was his priority right now, and she was basically running to her death. However, before Marco could head off after her, Alex suddenly dashed past him towards Jennifer, Jimmy and what was left of Phil.
"Hey! Get back here!" Marco angrily shouted, chasing after Alex along the sand.
-
Super Llama*
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
{{continued from The Moon Is Laughing at You}}
"So then the cop turns out to be a robot, and then a WEREWOLF robot." Maria said, laughing a bit as she walked down the beach beside Duncan, a Pixie Stix sleeve in one hand (turns out she had brought a huge pack of them along for the trip.)
"Uh...yeah. That IS a pretty terrible premise." Duncan replied, finding himself smiling a little as well. Duncan had tried to distract her from her moping with conversation as they walked. It took a while, but fortunately it looked like he'd managed to distract her for a while, and even getting her laughing. Which was good; seeing Maria all quiet and downtrodden was really depressing him. If only he could keep her this way. The three of them could just stay here at the beach, talking and cracking wise, ignoring all the horrible things going on around them, until the rescue choppers came. Yeah, that'd be nice...if it were really possible.
Duncan heaved a sigh, his gaze starting to fall downwards. As Maria looked over and asked "Hmm? What's wrong?" Duncan looked over, and then quickly turned his head away, blushing as he had inadvertently looked a little ways BELOW Maria's face.
"U-uh, it's nothing." Duncan blurted out. Somewhere along the way, Maria had apparently found the jacket to just be too hot and stuffy in this weather, and eventually just decided to hell with it and unzipped it, revealing the shirtlessness underneath. Maria took notice of Duncan's expression and couldn't help but blush a bit herself, reaching up and pulling her jacket shut as best she could with one arm.
"Well..." Maria started. "...uh...look on the bright side. At least I got to keep my bra?"
Ohman, that did not help at all. Duncan tried to position himself facing away from Maria as well as he could as his pants suddenly became tighter come on distraction gimme a distraction SOMETHING!
Duncan was answered by the obnoxious screech of the speakers, and needless to say he had never been more relieved to have his boner killed by hearing about dead people in all his life. Though that feeling was quickly replaced by the realization that he'd have to hear about the big guy's death again. He seemed like a nice guy, and he didn't deserve to have some asshole piss all over his sacrifice. The two of them listened to the names being rattled off in solemn silence as they continued to walk down the beach.
"Our twentieth kill was a little bit of justice, or at least, that's what the murderer, Julian Avery would claim. Omar Burton probably wouldn't agree though."
Maria stopped in her tracks, and Duncan soon after, wondering why she'd stopped at that particular name. And then he realized.
Oh shit...
Maria heard the name echoing in her head. Omar Burton...
Maria dug deeper and deeper into the flowerbed, her hands raw and burning. She felt so empty as she kept digging. He had hoped to gather everyone together, and it wasn't even the end of the first day and she'd already failed. Warren was dead, and there wasn't a goddamn thing she could've done to prevent it. She felt so helpless. So...useless. Worthless. And with Warren gone, she also felt a little more alone.
Maria shook a bit as she remembered burying Warren. Remembered wondering who his killer was, wanting to pay him back for what he did. Wanting to see him suffering the same fate as his victim.
And here she was, hearing over the announcements that Omar Burton was dead, and she didn't know how to react. Part of her wanted to feel relieved, perhaps even happy, that Warren's killer had gotten what was coming to him. Another part was horrified that she would even think that, that she didn't even DESERVE to think like that after what she'd done. After all, she couldn't condemn Omar for being a killer when she was a killer herself. Yet another part wanted to just go the usual route; to shove this into the back of her mind and just sort it out at an undefined later date, to basically add it to the pile of other things she'd set aside to fuel another nervous breakdown.
She looked up at Duncan, that feeling of helplessness return.
"Duncan, I...I don't know how I should feel about this. I..." She gazed out at him, almost expecting him to answer for her. But as she saw him struggling to find the words to say, she knew he wouldn't be able to. Walking up to Duncan, she reached out, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks, Duncan..." Maria said, sounding rather tired. "If it wasn't for you and Cass, I would've lost my mind by now." Duncan looked a bit embarrassed now that he was on the receiving end of a hug, but eventually reached up to return it. She leaned into the hug a bit, inexplicably feeling a bit safer than before. She knew she could trust him, no matter how badly things turned out. Maria may have been the one to rescue him from the local bullies when they first met, and the one to bail him out on several occasions, but when it came time for her to be bailed out, Duncan always did whatever he could to help. He was timid, and awkward, and a real geek, but he was such a great guy. If only he'd been around when she started high school, she wouldn't have ended up getting her heart broken by Zach.
Because...
Maria found herself blushing again, not wanting to pull away from the warm body in front of her, instead burying her face against his shoulder. Could she really say it? She'd already gotten her heart broken before, and it was absolutely terrible. And with everything that was happening to her in such a short period of time, she wasn't sure if she could stand being rejected on top of it all. But when would she get another chance? They could all die tomorrow. Hell, they could all die in the next five minutes, and then she'd NEVER be able to get it out. Her hands gripped the fabric of Duncan's jacket. To hell with it. Time to bite the bullet and just admit it.
"Duncan..." She said. "I...I lo-"
Suddenly, a loud "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWRGH!" interrupted the tender moment, and the two of them jumped back, looking around frantically.
"W-what the hell was that?" Duncan blurted out, the two of them looking towards the shop, pinpointing the source of the noise. Strange, it sounded an awful lot like...
Oh no.
"H-hey! Where the hell are you going!?" Duncan yelled out, but it was too late as Maria sprinted towards the building. Come to think of it, why the hell was she heading there, anyway? That RAAAAAWR sounded strangely familiar, like it belonged to...
Oh God, it was.
Watching from the corner of the shop, Maria watched as Phil "Supreme Jerkface, Lord of the Jerkfaces 2: The Jerkfacening Part III: the Search for Jerkface's Gold" Ward pummeled some other kid. Terror began to seize her as she remembered her near-death encounter, the rain of blows coming down on her as she fought just to stay conscious. Should...should she help? Should she do something? As Duncan caught up, starting to say something, but catching himself as he realized what was going on, the other kid suddenly gained the advantage, shoving a can of something into his face before grabbing a stick and starting to beat him with it.
It was just then that Maria realized who it was. Oh God Jimmy Brennan. She'd never had the displeasure of talking to him, but she knew all about him going around all like "Hey there guy. I'm Jimmy Brennan. Care to ride with me in my Rocket Ship of Destiny? Oh wait, I forgot it's a one-seater, so there's only room for me. My bad." And then someone would probably punch him in the face or something. God, that was so annoying.
And here he was, beating the hell out of Phil, and it was just too gruesome. Just like with Omar, she just didn't know how to feel about this. As Phil hit the floor, Maria felt like she was going to throw up. It was pretty obvious by now that Phil was dead, but Jimmy just wouldn't quit, still hitting him over and over, taunting his dead body, and it was making Maria sick. Even Duncan couldn't look anymore. But not looking still didn't take care of the sounds of the stick hitting his dead body, and the yelling and the cursing.
"HOW'S THE HOCKEY TEAM PHIL!? WIN ANY FUCKING TROPHIES FOR MOMMY AND DADDY?!"
Stop it...
"HOW'S THAT FEEL YOU STUPID HOCKEY JOCK!? HOW'S THAT FEEL, THAT'S FUCKING KARMA! THAT'S FUCKING JUSTICE!
STOP IT...
"HOW'S THAT FEEL!? YOU GOT KILLED BY THE HERO, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
"JIMMY BRENNAN SHUT THE HELL UP OR I'M GOING TO DROPKICK YOU IN THE ASS!!"
Even Maria was surprised by her sudden outburst. When was the last time she'd gotten visibly angry at anything. Hell, she couldn't even remember. Glancing back at Duncan, she noticed that he had a look on his face as if she'd just stood up in the middle of Sunday's sermon with a boombox and started blasting Number of the Beast. Then she noticed that he was looking at something other than Jimmy and Phil's dead body, and looked over to spot three other people advancing on them, one of them with a murderous look on her face.
"Uh...o-oh crap."
"So then the cop turns out to be a robot, and then a WEREWOLF robot." Maria said, laughing a bit as she walked down the beach beside Duncan, a Pixie Stix sleeve in one hand (turns out she had brought a huge pack of them along for the trip.)
"Uh...yeah. That IS a pretty terrible premise." Duncan replied, finding himself smiling a little as well. Duncan had tried to distract her from her moping with conversation as they walked. It took a while, but fortunately it looked like he'd managed to distract her for a while, and even getting her laughing. Which was good; seeing Maria all quiet and downtrodden was really depressing him. If only he could keep her this way. The three of them could just stay here at the beach, talking and cracking wise, ignoring all the horrible things going on around them, until the rescue choppers came. Yeah, that'd be nice...if it were really possible.
Duncan heaved a sigh, his gaze starting to fall downwards. As Maria looked over and asked "Hmm? What's wrong?" Duncan looked over, and then quickly turned his head away, blushing as he had inadvertently looked a little ways BELOW Maria's face.
"U-uh, it's nothing." Duncan blurted out. Somewhere along the way, Maria had apparently found the jacket to just be too hot and stuffy in this weather, and eventually just decided to hell with it and unzipped it, revealing the shirtlessness underneath. Maria took notice of Duncan's expression and couldn't help but blush a bit herself, reaching up and pulling her jacket shut as best she could with one arm.
"Well..." Maria started. "...uh...look on the bright side. At least I got to keep my bra?"
Ohman, that did not help at all. Duncan tried to position himself facing away from Maria as well as he could as his pants suddenly became tighter come on distraction gimme a distraction SOMETHING!
Duncan was answered by the obnoxious screech of the speakers, and needless to say he had never been more relieved to have his boner killed by hearing about dead people in all his life. Though that feeling was quickly replaced by the realization that he'd have to hear about the big guy's death again. He seemed like a nice guy, and he didn't deserve to have some asshole piss all over his sacrifice. The two of them listened to the names being rattled off in solemn silence as they continued to walk down the beach.
"Our twentieth kill was a little bit of justice, or at least, that's what the murderer, Julian Avery would claim. Omar Burton probably wouldn't agree though."
Maria stopped in her tracks, and Duncan soon after, wondering why she'd stopped at that particular name. And then he realized.
Oh shit...
Maria heard the name echoing in her head. Omar Burton...
Maria dug deeper and deeper into the flowerbed, her hands raw and burning. She felt so empty as she kept digging. He had hoped to gather everyone together, and it wasn't even the end of the first day and she'd already failed. Warren was dead, and there wasn't a goddamn thing she could've done to prevent it. She felt so helpless. So...useless. Worthless. And with Warren gone, she also felt a little more alone.
Maria shook a bit as she remembered burying Warren. Remembered wondering who his killer was, wanting to pay him back for what he did. Wanting to see him suffering the same fate as his victim.
And here she was, hearing over the announcements that Omar Burton was dead, and she didn't know how to react. Part of her wanted to feel relieved, perhaps even happy, that Warren's killer had gotten what was coming to him. Another part was horrified that she would even think that, that she didn't even DESERVE to think like that after what she'd done. After all, she couldn't condemn Omar for being a killer when she was a killer herself. Yet another part wanted to just go the usual route; to shove this into the back of her mind and just sort it out at an undefined later date, to basically add it to the pile of other things she'd set aside to fuel another nervous breakdown.
She looked up at Duncan, that feeling of helplessness return.
"Duncan, I...I don't know how I should feel about this. I..." She gazed out at him, almost expecting him to answer for her. But as she saw him struggling to find the words to say, she knew he wouldn't be able to. Walking up to Duncan, she reached out, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks, Duncan..." Maria said, sounding rather tired. "If it wasn't for you and Cass, I would've lost my mind by now." Duncan looked a bit embarrassed now that he was on the receiving end of a hug, but eventually reached up to return it. She leaned into the hug a bit, inexplicably feeling a bit safer than before. She knew she could trust him, no matter how badly things turned out. Maria may have been the one to rescue him from the local bullies when they first met, and the one to bail him out on several occasions, but when it came time for her to be bailed out, Duncan always did whatever he could to help. He was timid, and awkward, and a real geek, but he was such a great guy. If only he'd been around when she started high school, she wouldn't have ended up getting her heart broken by Zach.
Because...
Maria found herself blushing again, not wanting to pull away from the warm body in front of her, instead burying her face against his shoulder. Could she really say it? She'd already gotten her heart broken before, and it was absolutely terrible. And with everything that was happening to her in such a short period of time, she wasn't sure if she could stand being rejected on top of it all. But when would she get another chance? They could all die tomorrow. Hell, they could all die in the next five minutes, and then she'd NEVER be able to get it out. Her hands gripped the fabric of Duncan's jacket. To hell with it. Time to bite the bullet and just admit it.
"Duncan..." She said. "I...I lo-"
Suddenly, a loud "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWRGH!" interrupted the tender moment, and the two of them jumped back, looking around frantically.
"W-what the hell was that?" Duncan blurted out, the two of them looking towards the shop, pinpointing the source of the noise. Strange, it sounded an awful lot like...
Oh no.
"H-hey! Where the hell are you going!?" Duncan yelled out, but it was too late as Maria sprinted towards the building. Come to think of it, why the hell was she heading there, anyway? That RAAAAAWR sounded strangely familiar, like it belonged to...
Oh God, it was.
Watching from the corner of the shop, Maria watched as Phil "Supreme Jerkface, Lord of the Jerkfaces 2: The Jerkfacening Part III: the Search for Jerkface's Gold" Ward pummeled some other kid. Terror began to seize her as she remembered her near-death encounter, the rain of blows coming down on her as she fought just to stay conscious. Should...should she help? Should she do something? As Duncan caught up, starting to say something, but catching himself as he realized what was going on, the other kid suddenly gained the advantage, shoving a can of something into his face before grabbing a stick and starting to beat him with it.
It was just then that Maria realized who it was. Oh God Jimmy Brennan. She'd never had the displeasure of talking to him, but she knew all about him going around all like "Hey there guy. I'm Jimmy Brennan. Care to ride with me in my Rocket Ship of Destiny? Oh wait, I forgot it's a one-seater, so there's only room for me. My bad." And then someone would probably punch him in the face or something. God, that was so annoying.
And here he was, beating the hell out of Phil, and it was just too gruesome. Just like with Omar, she just didn't know how to feel about this. As Phil hit the floor, Maria felt like she was going to throw up. It was pretty obvious by now that Phil was dead, but Jimmy just wouldn't quit, still hitting him over and over, taunting his dead body, and it was making Maria sick. Even Duncan couldn't look anymore. But not looking still didn't take care of the sounds of the stick hitting his dead body, and the yelling and the cursing.
"HOW'S THE HOCKEY TEAM PHIL!? WIN ANY FUCKING TROPHIES FOR MOMMY AND DADDY?!"
Stop it...
"HOW'S THAT FEEL YOU STUPID HOCKEY JOCK!? HOW'S THAT FEEL, THAT'S FUCKING KARMA! THAT'S FUCKING JUSTICE!
STOP IT...
"HOW'S THAT FEEL!? YOU GOT KILLED BY THE HERO, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
"JIMMY BRENNAN SHUT THE HELL UP OR I'M GOING TO DROPKICK YOU IN THE ASS!!"
Even Maria was surprised by her sudden outburst. When was the last time she'd gotten visibly angry at anything. Hell, she couldn't even remember. Glancing back at Duncan, she noticed that he had a look on his face as if she'd just stood up in the middle of Sunday's sermon with a boombox and started blasting Number of the Beast. Then she noticed that he was looking at something other than Jimmy and Phil's dead body, and looked over to spot three other people advancing on them, one of them with a murderous look on her face.
"Uh...o-oh crap."
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Little Boy*
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy Brennan stood over the bloodied and battered Phillip Ward, twirling the tree branch absentmindedly in his right hand. He felt like shit. The aches and pains from before had come back with a vengeance, and he felt just about ready to collapse. But he couldn't turn away. Jimmy frowned down at the broken and disfigured form that had once been Phil. He wiped blood from his face with the sleeve of his sweater, staring into the broken eye sockets of his foe. His heart pounded in tune with his aches, but he couldn't sit down. Relaxing now would mean death, and Jimmy wasn't ready for something like that.
I did it. I actually fucking did it.
Jimmy glanced down at the bloodied tree branch. With every spin flecks of blood flew off, pattering down on his tattered and grimy pants or the course sand. The wind blew in his hair as he paced around Phil, panting from the effort. He felt just about ready to collapse, but he fought it off. He couldn't rest now, maybe not ever again.
Footsteps behind him caused Jimmy to turn about, nearly stumbling over from exhaustion. A girl was standing before him, gripping a rather sharp looking ax of some kind. Or pick. Something of the sort. Jimmy nearly toppled back in the sand over Phil's corpse, panting as he made his way around closer to the girl. She seemed familiar, but for the life of him, Jimmy couldn't place her name. He looked at the girl, his face filled with confusion.
Why the hell is she here? How'd I let her get so close? Gonna get yourself killed Jimmy. Can't do that. Can't be stupid.
With a flick of his wrist, Jimmy smacked the tree branch against his leg, the jolt of pain shooting up his body. His eyes widened temporarily as he felt what he assumed to be adrenaline course through his veins. He smacked the stick against him again, harder.
Jimmy grinned at the girl, a soft laugh escaping from his lips. Behind the girl two boys were running up the beach, approaching with urgency. The names suddenly flickered through his mind.
Jen. Her name, that's it. Jennifer. Jennifer something, bitch was in my Math class. Didn't talk. Not to me. Nobody did, did they? That's fine. That's just fine. Marco, that one. I remember him. That fucking bastard. Hockey Boy. Just like Phil. Just like he WAS.
Jimmy felt his eyes narrow as Marco sauntered to a halt, next to Jennifer. He smacked the branch against his leg again, gritting his teeth in pain. It hurt, but Jimmy smacked his leg again, feeling another jolt of pain shoot through him. It only served to encourage him. Bumbling backwards, Jimmy continued to smack himself with the stick momentarily, watching as the last boy made his way up next to Jennifer and Marco.
What was pain? He could take it. A little more wouldn't break him.
I can't break, heroes don't fucking break. Marco What a fucking joke. What a FUCKING joke. Alex. You arrogant fuck. I KNOW you Alex. You think you're fucking Goliath, you think you're tough shit. Well I've got news for you buddy
"Looks like we need to have a talk."
Jimmy smiled at the group before him, tossing the stick from hand to hand. Hobbling backwards, Jimmy put Phil's bloodied corpse in between the group and himself. He couldn't afford to be too careful. He all but expected violence to break out and butterflies were breaking out in his stomach. He had expected fear, the shakes, anything. But it was all gone. Death could come for him all it wanted, but death would never get Jimmy Fucking Brennan. He felt dead on his feet, his joints ached and his ribcage still felt aflame.
He wouldn't quit and he wouldn't cry. For the first time in his life, Jimmy Brennan felt pride burning through him. Gripping the stick like a baseball bat, Jimmy began to bounce back and forth from foot to foot, staring at the group.
"The fuck is there to talk about? Try and get me bitch. You know I'm not afraid of that icepick. I hope it gets stuck in my fucking guts." He growled.
As if out of nowhere, a shout rang out from the jungle. Turning about, Jimmy saw two figures standing at a distance, near the trees. How long they had been there he couldn't say. A girl was in front, shouting something. Squinting, Jimmy managed to make out Maria Graham and Duncan McMahon, much to his alarm. Had they come for him too? It certainly looked like it. Jimmy glanced back towards the others in front of him. Alex and Marco were bigger. Jennifer had a weapon. There were two kids at his back, yelling death threats.
Could he do it?
Jimmy Brennan swung the branch up, smacking himself in the face. Stumbling backwards, Jimmy saw stars, just before his entire head became locked, seething with a pounding pain. He staggered, seeing black before him, and for a split second Jimmy feared he'd stabbed one of his eyes out. But out of the haze loomed the group. Gritting his teeth, Jimmy spat blood. His lip was busted, fresh blood flowed down his lip to mix with the rest.
This is it Jimmy. This is the day, this is your day. Win it. Beat the bad guys Jimmy. Show'em all what you can do.
"COME AT ME THEN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! LET'S FUCKING GO!"
Jimmy began to scream with rage, his entire face going red from the effort. Winding his tree branch back, Jimmy rushed at the group, murder in his eyes dark eyes.
I did it. I actually fucking did it.
Jimmy glanced down at the bloodied tree branch. With every spin flecks of blood flew off, pattering down on his tattered and grimy pants or the course sand. The wind blew in his hair as he paced around Phil, panting from the effort. He felt just about ready to collapse, but he fought it off. He couldn't rest now, maybe not ever again.
Footsteps behind him caused Jimmy to turn about, nearly stumbling over from exhaustion. A girl was standing before him, gripping a rather sharp looking ax of some kind. Or pick. Something of the sort. Jimmy nearly toppled back in the sand over Phil's corpse, panting as he made his way around closer to the girl. She seemed familiar, but for the life of him, Jimmy couldn't place her name. He looked at the girl, his face filled with confusion.
Why the hell is she here? How'd I let her get so close? Gonna get yourself killed Jimmy. Can't do that. Can't be stupid.
With a flick of his wrist, Jimmy smacked the tree branch against his leg, the jolt of pain shooting up his body. His eyes widened temporarily as he felt what he assumed to be adrenaline course through his veins. He smacked the stick against him again, harder.
Jimmy grinned at the girl, a soft laugh escaping from his lips. Behind the girl two boys were running up the beach, approaching with urgency. The names suddenly flickered through his mind.
Jen. Her name, that's it. Jennifer. Jennifer something, bitch was in my Math class. Didn't talk. Not to me. Nobody did, did they? That's fine. That's just fine. Marco, that one. I remember him. That fucking bastard. Hockey Boy. Just like Phil. Just like he WAS.
Jimmy felt his eyes narrow as Marco sauntered to a halt, next to Jennifer. He smacked the branch against his leg again, gritting his teeth in pain. It hurt, but Jimmy smacked his leg again, feeling another jolt of pain shoot through him. It only served to encourage him. Bumbling backwards, Jimmy continued to smack himself with the stick momentarily, watching as the last boy made his way up next to Jennifer and Marco.
What was pain? He could take it. A little more wouldn't break him.
I can't break, heroes don't fucking break. Marco What a fucking joke. What a FUCKING joke. Alex. You arrogant fuck. I KNOW you Alex. You think you're fucking Goliath, you think you're tough shit. Well I've got news for you buddy
"Looks like we need to have a talk."
Jimmy smiled at the group before him, tossing the stick from hand to hand. Hobbling backwards, Jimmy put Phil's bloodied corpse in between the group and himself. He couldn't afford to be too careful. He all but expected violence to break out and butterflies were breaking out in his stomach. He had expected fear, the shakes, anything. But it was all gone. Death could come for him all it wanted, but death would never get Jimmy Fucking Brennan. He felt dead on his feet, his joints ached and his ribcage still felt aflame.
He wouldn't quit and he wouldn't cry. For the first time in his life, Jimmy Brennan felt pride burning through him. Gripping the stick like a baseball bat, Jimmy began to bounce back and forth from foot to foot, staring at the group.
"The fuck is there to talk about? Try and get me bitch. You know I'm not afraid of that icepick. I hope it gets stuck in my fucking guts." He growled.
As if out of nowhere, a shout rang out from the jungle. Turning about, Jimmy saw two figures standing at a distance, near the trees. How long they had been there he couldn't say. A girl was in front, shouting something. Squinting, Jimmy managed to make out Maria Graham and Duncan McMahon, much to his alarm. Had they come for him too? It certainly looked like it. Jimmy glanced back towards the others in front of him. Alex and Marco were bigger. Jennifer had a weapon. There were two kids at his back, yelling death threats.
Could he do it?
Jimmy Brennan swung the branch up, smacking himself in the face. Stumbling backwards, Jimmy saw stars, just before his entire head became locked, seething with a pounding pain. He staggered, seeing black before him, and for a split second Jimmy feared he'd stabbed one of his eyes out. But out of the haze loomed the group. Gritting his teeth, Jimmy spat blood. His lip was busted, fresh blood flowed down his lip to mix with the rest.
This is it Jimmy. This is the day, this is your day. Win it. Beat the bad guys Jimmy. Show'em all what you can do.
"COME AT ME THEN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! LET'S FUCKING GO!"
Jimmy began to scream with rage, his entire face going red from the effort. Winding his tree branch back, Jimmy rushed at the group, murder in his eyes dark eyes.
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Grand Moff Hissa
- Posts: 2754
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Jennifer was becoming intimately acquainted with the concept of tunnel vision. She had eyes only for the boy in front of her. She watched him, watched him hitting himself with that stick for some reason, spattering bits of blood everywhere. Huh. Blood. Strange, that. A few hours ago, all that blood had been coursing through Phil's veins. Now it had no purpose. Now it was nothing more than a sticky substance decorating a chunk of wood and a boy. In the end, it all went that way. They were nothing but component pieces, thrown together by whims of chance, gifted with cognition by luck.
The boy was Jimmy Brennan. School chew toy. Nothing but a bunch of meat and blood himself. Not even in very good condition. He was looking at something. Not at Jennifer, at least, not with undivided attention. That pissed her off. Sent a furious rage boiling through her veins. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, oh no, it was routine, a part of daily life. She'd simply always choked it down. Always smiled and laughed it away, burned off her anger in all those healthy and constructive ways that society spent so much time ingraining into its members. But there wasn't any more society, not now. Now there was nothing but the moment, nothing but the present, nothing but Jennifer and Jimmy watching each other, and yet he wasn't paying good attention. She shot a glance over her shoulder.
Marco. Alex. It was simply too much. They'd followed her? They'd come after her, even after she'd made it clear she didn't want them? Yeah, big fucking help they'd be. A killer and a failed friend. Fuck them.
"You two," she said. Monotone. Loud, but not yelling. Never yelling, oh no. Always calm and composed in the face of conflict. Always there with a kind word and a smile to defuse things. And oh, how she was smiling now.
"Fuck off." Still calm. "I've got this. And I don't think we should travel together anymore."
More people, other side, screaming or shouting threats. Something. What the fuck? Couldn't they see they were making things worse? Couldn't they see that they weren't wanted?
To them: "You too. Beat it."
Still smiling.
And Jimmy, doing his self-flagellation thing.
Talking to her. Telling her to get him.
She could.
So easy.
So simple.
Just a few little movements. A matter of minimal exertion.
Stick against metal?
He was fucked.
So why wasn't she moving?
Jimmy yelling. Working himself up.
Of course.
The smile broadening.
Come on, Jimmy.
You wanna do this?
You don't wanna talk?
Fine.
I'll fucking play.
Jimmy rushing at them.
Impossible to tell where the others were.
Impossible to care.
Jimmy, stick held high.
Still the smile on her face.
She stepped into his way.
Raised the pick.
Defensive posture?
Fuck if she could tell.
Never once been in a fight before.
Never once thought it would come to this.
And yet, it all made sense.
Standing, facing the oncoming boy.
One of them would have to give.
A little giggle escaped.
I'm not gonna back down.
It's all on you.
Flinch, fucker.
Or don't.
The boy was Jimmy Brennan. School chew toy. Nothing but a bunch of meat and blood himself. Not even in very good condition. He was looking at something. Not at Jennifer, at least, not with undivided attention. That pissed her off. Sent a furious rage boiling through her veins. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, oh no, it was routine, a part of daily life. She'd simply always choked it down. Always smiled and laughed it away, burned off her anger in all those healthy and constructive ways that society spent so much time ingraining into its members. But there wasn't any more society, not now. Now there was nothing but the moment, nothing but the present, nothing but Jennifer and Jimmy watching each other, and yet he wasn't paying good attention. She shot a glance over her shoulder.
Marco. Alex. It was simply too much. They'd followed her? They'd come after her, even after she'd made it clear she didn't want them? Yeah, big fucking help they'd be. A killer and a failed friend. Fuck them.
"You two," she said. Monotone. Loud, but not yelling. Never yelling, oh no. Always calm and composed in the face of conflict. Always there with a kind word and a smile to defuse things. And oh, how she was smiling now.
"Fuck off." Still calm. "I've got this. And I don't think we should travel together anymore."
More people, other side, screaming or shouting threats. Something. What the fuck? Couldn't they see they were making things worse? Couldn't they see that they weren't wanted?
To them: "You too. Beat it."
Still smiling.
And Jimmy, doing his self-flagellation thing.
Talking to her. Telling her to get him.
She could.
So easy.
So simple.
Just a few little movements. A matter of minimal exertion.
Stick against metal?
He was fucked.
So why wasn't she moving?
Jimmy yelling. Working himself up.
Of course.
The smile broadening.
Come on, Jimmy.
You wanna do this?
You don't wanna talk?
Fine.
I'll fucking play.
Jimmy rushing at them.
Impossible to tell where the others were.
Impossible to care.
Jimmy, stick held high.
Still the smile on her face.
She stepped into his way.
Raised the pick.
Defensive posture?
Fuck if she could tell.
Never once been in a fight before.
Never once thought it would come to this.
And yet, it all made sense.
Standing, facing the oncoming boy.
One of them would have to give.
A little giggle escaped.
I'm not gonna back down.
It's all on you.
Flinch, fucker.
Or don't.