Can Fall Down

[D/N]

(Andrea Raymer continued from The Lesson Today is How to Die)

As Andrea's feet tangled together and she tumbled gracelessly down a short incline, she composed a thesis: walking was harder than she'd thought it was. Then she landed at the bottom, cursing her stupid decision to keep on living and listing off all the things that had gone wrong since then.

She only had one fucking flip-flop, for one thing. And that made it uncomfortable and hard to walk. And flip-flops were stupid. Her skate shoes sure would be nice right now, but they were in her bag, Which was off in the company of Allen Birkman. And of course, she'd lost her other shoe because Alex White had elected to toss everything around like an animal whilst he pounded her face in.

She'd managed to find the other two grenades, plus a bunch of Allen's stuff that she'd crammed back into the bag. Her other shoe, though? Lost to the fucking winds. Andrea had stumbled around and bitched for five minutes before giving up. She was now regretting that decision.

She'd also found her glasses, although her left eye was still swelled shut and the pressure of the frames was enough to cause pain.

And that led into the second thing, which was that she'd bled for a really, really long time, and the whole left side of her face was still hurting and tender to the touch. She needed stitches or something; good luck with that one, Andrea. Allen's first aid kit had apparently been busted by Alex while he was tearing through things, and she'd only found a couple bits and pieces during her scavenger hunt. For much of her walk, she'd been reduced to holding one of Allen's T-Shirts against her face, watching it turn redder and redder until the wound magnanimously decided to stop bleeding.

The rest of the area was decorated in lovely shades of red, purple, and yellow, depending on the location and variety of injury. She'd attempted a couple times to force the eyelid open, and those did not last long or result in any successful vision.

That god I never got that eyebrow piercing, at least.

And she was tired. Hell, she was exhausted. Withdrawal can do that to a person.

It'd been about two days. She missed her Ritalin. She missed her Adderall. So she'd been stumbling along, shaking and jittery and bleeding, aimlessly wandering back in the direction of the logging road.

Oh, and she was completely out of food and water. That was yet another thing. Quite possibly the worst thing, what with the possibility of death and all.

And now she could add 'lying in a heap at the bottom of a hill' to the equation.

You're a hell of a dead cosmic joker, dad.

But whatever. She'd push push push push push, because like she'd already said, fucking Danya and Alex White and all of them. Maybe she'd be able to find Allen before Alex White hacked him into kibbles and bits for his own goddamn amusement. Hell, if nothing else maybe she'd inspire Chad Klitou to make an epic film about her back home. That'd be pretty cool.

She pushed her head up and looked to the nearest camera.

"Hey, Chad. You should make a film about me. Seriously. And uh, you did pretty good for yourself on prom night. I had fun."

Not much of a goodbye.

"Peace out, Chad."

She turned away from the camera and saw something that was at once unpleasant and miraculous.

The dead body was unpleasant. After several days out in the sun, Albert Lions' body was peacefully decomposing. The worst smelling stage was over by now and that was something to be grateful for, but it wasn't exactly flowers and perfume here.

But forget that, because the bag next to Albert's body was miraculous, or at least had the potential to be.

Andrea clawed at the grass, dragging herself to the daypack.

Grab strap. Pull it over. Fumble for that damn zipper.

Finally she ripped it open, and was greeted with am amorphous mass of yellow plastic. What in the absolute hell was that? Never mind, there had to be more, there had to be something to drink, please please please please please...

She looked under the yellow, and found the goddamn motherlode.

Candy. Beef freaking jerky. Even a bottle of Pepsi. Andrea didn't give a shit that she'd always been a Coke girl.

And water.

Thank you Albert Lions, you wonderful, candy-loving manchild.

Andrea seized a handful of M&M's and tossed them into her mouth. Oh god. SO FUCKING GOOD. She uncapped one of Albert's water bottles and drank half of it in a gulp, washing down the chocolate and awaiting the sugar rush that would result.

So good. So good. Soooooo--- ah fuck.

Andrea turned and vomited everything she'd just swallowed onto the ground. Oh fuck. Ohhhhhhh fuck that had been stupid. She vomited again, then dry heaved, then got as far as her knees before she was struck by a wave of dizziness. Oh christ she was going to pass out here she had to fucking think keep her thoughts together she had to focus on something like maybe some songs again or that yellow whateverthefuck that was in Albert's daypack what was that a raincoat or something no wait no wait no wait-

It was a life raft.

Holy shit.

Holy shit what, like it matters, it's busted and even if you could fix it you'd need something to blow it up and where the hell are you gonna find that on the island and akjewhatiouahgewuyghdsa

Andrea groaned. She was trying to think. She was getting the weird feeling that she was right on the brink of actually figuring something out here but she was tired and light-headed and her thoughts were alljustsortofstartingtoruntogetherand.....

And what, even if you could blow that thing up you've still got the fucking cameras and the fucking collars and that fucking generator you've been failing to find that was probably in the tunnels anyway and you'll never get to, what you think there's some place that even needs power like that and some place where you'd blow up balloons and life rafts and a place that might have a generator and a place that might power the tunnels because---

Wait. Wait...

Why the hell would this island have a power source where no one could reach it?

Jesus Christ I've got it. I am a genius I am such a fucking genius I'm--"

She was too late.

The murky haze darkened, and despite her best efforts, Andrea passed out. She swayed on her knees, then fell sideways. Her head smacked against a tree root, and the gash above her eye, as if anticipating the opportunity, seized it and began to bleed freely again.

[D/N]

(Placeholder to prevent inactivity until various things are done or decided upon)

Andrea continued to sleep while various things happened at different points in time around the island.

[D/N]

Well, we made us a promise
That we'd always remember
No retreat, baby
No surrender

Damnit Bruce, I do like you but your lyrics can be really obvious and cheesy at times, can't they?

Something else...

Tell me why
I don't like--

Enough friggin' 80's stuff! Something current, like she'd been listening to on the bus, some Avenged Sevenfold or something...

Trashed and scattered again, I'm feelin' so low
You waste your breath while fuckin' with me, my blood is so cold
My destination always unknown, I'll find my way there
But you Goddamn Motherfuckers always wasting my time!

What the hell was that? Maybe her dad had been right all along, at least lyrics-wise andehhhghghtuhgtu

"--hghghghggh "

She woke up. She was looking at a tree stump. Andrea guessed that meant she wasn't dead yet. She turned her head, winced, and saw the body again. Yep, definitely wasn't dead yet. He was, of course. Albert Lions was still really dead.

Well.

How's it going to be, Andrea?

The water bottle, half-full, was next to her. She fumbled for it, brought it to her mouth, and took a sip. One tiny sip, to start. It tasted good. even if it felt weird sliding down her dry throat to an empty stomach. She took another sip.

OK.

Andrea turned onto her stomach and began the slow process of pushing herself up, joints creaking. Christ, what was she, some 70-year-old grandmother? On her knees now. She blinked and took in the scenery. Same old, same old. Except for that big black patch on the left. Ah, yes. That wasn't the scenery.

She brushed her fingers against the side of her face. It had stopped bleeding again, at least. Beyond that, who the fuck knew? It wasn't like she could see it.

She took another, longer sip from the water bottle. Still tasted good.

So she got to work.

Beef jerky, and candy, and some kind of granola cereal bar shit was eaten. Cola was drunk. Slowly, or at least enough to prevent a repeat of that whole vomiting-and-fainting episode. She stuffed everything else she needed in Allen's bag, except for the two grenades. Those she clipped to her belt, she guessed to retain one last vestige of badass Rambo-esque imagery.

Albert's first aid kit had also been hidden in the depths of his duffel bag. Andrea tried to bandage the area as best she could, knowing full well it was a crappy patchwork job, but until she found someone who could help her there, she'd have to endure.

So that was the next thing then.

Find people. Get fixed up.

Her new and improved genius plan.

Had to work this time around. She'd learned from past mistakes

Her fucking show.

(Andrea Raymer continued in Monsters)