A Temporary Bastion (NON-CANON)
Posted: Tue Sep 25, 2018 10:13 am
Whoosh. The desk drawer flew open, exposing the contents within. But, without even a second of exposure, the papers and everyday objects were out of sight as the drawer was pushed back in. The one below suffered the same cycle, and the next one, and the next one.
Megan leaned her back against the plain wooden desk and clenched her teeth, failing to hold back the tears that have flowed down her face for the past several minutes, but at the same time embracing the silence of being alone in this house, at least for now.
((Megan Emerson: Start))
This was beyond what she could have imagined happening to her. What are the chances? She went to one school in one city in one state. Why? Why did it have to be their school, and not some podunk one in the middle of nowhere?
She shook her head in disbelief of herself. No, it's not right to think that. It's not right to wish another person had to go through this.
But there has. Many unfortunate souls have been caught up in these mind games, and now Megan was one of them.
And all she could do was bawl her eyes out.
Megan raised her right hand and placed her palm on the collar snugly fit around her neck. She wrapped her lightly smudged fingers around the band and gave a nice tug, but nope. This thing was not coming off, and she would be a slave to these terrorists for the duration of these next few days.
...If she even made it past the next few days with a duffel bag, her clothes, and this god damn bottle of fake blood "weapon" probably picked up from Hobby Lobby.
And that happened to be her priority now: find something god damn useful. She already investigated the slowly regressing upper floor she woke up on, and besides some clothes from an armoire and various wooden antiques, there was nothing. Nada. And now here she was, still bawling her eyes out like a god damn crybaby as she blew through this house like a tornado.
After taking a moment of failing to pull herself together, she walked over to the chair in the living room, grabbed the duffel bag with the "G14" imprint and her backpack from the school trip that were set there, and moved into the kitchen, her last hope of finding something - anything, in this house.
That is, to say, if she even had the balls to kill a classmate.
Megan leaned her back against the plain wooden desk and clenched her teeth, failing to hold back the tears that have flowed down her face for the past several minutes, but at the same time embracing the silence of being alone in this house, at least for now.
((Megan Emerson: Start))
This was beyond what she could have imagined happening to her. What are the chances? She went to one school in one city in one state. Why? Why did it have to be their school, and not some podunk one in the middle of nowhere?
She shook her head in disbelief of herself. No, it's not right to think that. It's not right to wish another person had to go through this.
But there has. Many unfortunate souls have been caught up in these mind games, and now Megan was one of them.
And all she could do was bawl her eyes out.
Megan raised her right hand and placed her palm on the collar snugly fit around her neck. She wrapped her lightly smudged fingers around the band and gave a nice tug, but nope. This thing was not coming off, and she would be a slave to these terrorists for the duration of these next few days.
...If she even made it past the next few days with a duffel bag, her clothes, and this god damn bottle of fake blood "weapon" probably picked up from Hobby Lobby.
And that happened to be her priority now: find something god damn useful. She already investigated the slowly regressing upper floor she woke up on, and besides some clothes from an armoire and various wooden antiques, there was nothing. Nada. And now here she was, still bawling her eyes out like a god damn crybaby as she blew through this house like a tornado.
After taking a moment of failing to pull herself together, she walked over to the chair in the living room, grabbed the duffel bag with the "G14" imprint and her backpack from the school trip that were set there, and moved into the kitchen, her last hope of finding something - anything, in this house.
That is, to say, if she even had the balls to kill a classmate.