The Birth and Death of the Day
Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 5:31 am
[[Jasper-Declan MacDermott continued from Inevitability]]
His feet followed the ferris wheel like a boat follows a lighthouse beacon. His mind was busy with other things.
Was it?
He wasn't sure, honestly.
Time had passed. Slowly. Every second dragged on him. Every step an effort. Every moment, in its way, a miracle. Clinging tight to his gun for reasons he couldn't name, he walked, and walked, and walked, out of the deadwood, towards the giant wheel that punched an unforgettable silhouette into the horizon line. It was a destination, at least, and the best thing for him right now was to have some goal in mind. No matter how small, how insignificant, how pointless that goal was, it was something to achieve, and he could waste a lot of space in his brain planning out his journey. Without the map, because maps made things easier. This way he had to think about things like how to cross rivers, how to best bypass danger zones. Where he could get some rest, because he was resting a lot. Way more than he needed to, in fact. He had strong legs, he could walk for hours without stopping, he had before, but somehow he found himself stopping. Constantly. Just sitting. Letting his mind sit blank.
He couldn't consider the alternative.
What was there to think about, really? What was there to believe in, or hope for? He had one friend. One friend in the world, one person to trust and follow who knew him and didn't think he was some freak, and that person was dead, and he wasn't going to think about it. He couldn't. He could only think of one real solution, and he even had the tool at hand to take care of it, but he just couldn't. Couldn't get himself to pull the trigger, because Jasper-Declan MacDermott was more human than he ever let on. And he was afraid.
If Alexander Campbell could die, he could, too. Because what was he, compared to Alex? Unimportant. Unnecessary. Irrelevant.
He slept, at some point, in nowhere. Nowhere in particular. Nothing there but grass and the smell of blood, but everywhere smelled of blood, now. He'd come across so many bodies in the last few hours that he'd become desensitized, gotten used to the smell of copper and death and had learned to simply steer clear of the swarms of flies that marked what once were people. Potential friends allies lost to the earth. He slept far from them, for a few sparse hours, and woke before the sun even rose. Close to his destination, he walked still.
The announcements would come soon. He did not want to hear them. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to feel this properly, the way the other kids would. He didn't want to think about it again. He'd pretend he never met the boy with the guitar, and that would be all. He'd die entirely alone, and that way everything would work out. In a manner of speaking.
He was almost surprised when he found himself standing in what was starting to become the shade of the ferris wheel as the sun peeked over the horizon. His destination- reached. Goal, met.
Now what?
His feet followed the ferris wheel like a boat follows a lighthouse beacon. His mind was busy with other things.
Was it?
He wasn't sure, honestly.
Time had passed. Slowly. Every second dragged on him. Every step an effort. Every moment, in its way, a miracle. Clinging tight to his gun for reasons he couldn't name, he walked, and walked, and walked, out of the deadwood, towards the giant wheel that punched an unforgettable silhouette into the horizon line. It was a destination, at least, and the best thing for him right now was to have some goal in mind. No matter how small, how insignificant, how pointless that goal was, it was something to achieve, and he could waste a lot of space in his brain planning out his journey. Without the map, because maps made things easier. This way he had to think about things like how to cross rivers, how to best bypass danger zones. Where he could get some rest, because he was resting a lot. Way more than he needed to, in fact. He had strong legs, he could walk for hours without stopping, he had before, but somehow he found himself stopping. Constantly. Just sitting. Letting his mind sit blank.
He couldn't consider the alternative.
What was there to think about, really? What was there to believe in, or hope for? He had one friend. One friend in the world, one person to trust and follow who knew him and didn't think he was some freak, and that person was dead, and he wasn't going to think about it. He couldn't. He could only think of one real solution, and he even had the tool at hand to take care of it, but he just couldn't. Couldn't get himself to pull the trigger, because Jasper-Declan MacDermott was more human than he ever let on. And he was afraid.
If Alexander Campbell could die, he could, too. Because what was he, compared to Alex? Unimportant. Unnecessary. Irrelevant.
He slept, at some point, in nowhere. Nowhere in particular. Nothing there but grass and the smell of blood, but everywhere smelled of blood, now. He'd come across so many bodies in the last few hours that he'd become desensitized, gotten used to the smell of copper and death and had learned to simply steer clear of the swarms of flies that marked what once were people. Potential friends allies lost to the earth. He slept far from them, for a few sparse hours, and woke before the sun even rose. Close to his destination, he walked still.
The announcements would come soon. He did not want to hear them. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to feel this properly, the way the other kids would. He didn't want to think about it again. He'd pretend he never met the boy with the guitar, and that would be all. He'd die entirely alone, and that way everything would work out. In a manner of speaking.
He was almost surprised when he found himself standing in what was starting to become the shade of the ferris wheel as the sun peeked over the horizon. His destination- reached. Goal, met.
Now what?