Survival Of The Fittest

((Danielle Champney continued from There's A Moral In This Somewhere ))

As a great man once said, "He not busy being born is busy dying". Danielle Champney was a very busy girl.

Danni was not sure as to why she was still walking. She'd realized quite a long time ago that her sense of direction had failed her again, and every step was one farther from her friends. Her legs were screaming for her to give them rest. She had every intention to stop. But something in the center of her head, that screaming little caveman core, refused her. It did not want her to stop. To stop was to die. And despite all her introspective ramblings, she was not ready to die.

Her steps were coming down more heavily as she went. Her skinny thighs could take less and less of her pitiful weight. Blood seeped out her belly in a maddening trickle. Acids did their deadly work in her innards. She was at Death's door, but he was taking his sweet time answering it. From a distance, she could have easily been mistaken for a newborn deer, or maybe a polio victim. Her gait was bowlegged and awkward as she struggled against gravity (an ally that had turned on her) for balance. Without the intermittent help of trees for support (enemies turned allies, Danni's world was upside-down), she would have lost that fight miles ago. But she had only prolonged the inevitable.

A misstep and a particularly muddy patch of earth did her in. She went down hard on her left knee. Her left hand hit the ground and sent her floating joint upwards, setting off a shock of unimaginable pain. She hardly had the strength to scream, but she did anyway. Whatever chemicals had been keeping the worst of the pain at bay had long since expended themselves. She prayed to God or Vishnu or whatever the fuck was calling the shots to let her go. She wanted to be through. She wanted to rot. It was better than this. But as they had been her whole life, from birthday wishes for a pony and a doll house to the desperate plea to bring grandma back from Heaven, the prayers were ignored. She waited several hellish seconds for the blinding sting to subside to a dull buzz, then worked on righting herself. It was then she realized she could no longer get up. Her paling legs had taken on the stubborn refusal to be productive that their master once shared. Thighs stretched with effort but willpower alone was not fuel enough for them. Danni would have to live out her final hours a few feet shorter.

As she so often had over the two weeks prior, Danni sought out a tree for companionship. Her eyes caught a great old behemoth a few feet in front of her. It had probably taken centuries for it to reach its mammoth size. It had seen more than Danni could ever imagine seeing. It had witnessed nature change in its slow, natural way, and it had seen humans change it with a rabid impatience. It had seen war and death, two things it would never know and probably would not care to. It had outlived generations of Danni's kind. It would outlive her. Even as she would rot and feed it, it would be far from wilt or decay. She almost envied it. She shuffled over on trembling knees and slid her back on its ancient trunk, careful to have her ruined arm avoid its embrace. It was the perfect grave.

There was a spot of dull, artificial color at the corner of her vision. She turned to see a drab little building. It was unfamiliar to her, but her memory of the map gave her an idea of what it likely was. The hospital. She grimaced inwardly at the irony. God was hearing her prayers just fine, and in return he flipped her the bird. She was dying in front of a hospital. A fucking hospital. And even if she had made it there, it was no longer a place of healing. It was more death. Just Him and his Cloak and his Sickle, skipping along and lobbing heads off merrily as he went. Death was a prick, just like his buddy God. She stuck her tongue out in the direction of the building and rested her head against her grandfatherly companion.

Her eyes caught the shiny little orb attached to another nearby trunk.

The camera stared in her general direction with a stupid, almost malicious indifference. It was not aimed directly at her and her tree, but she was well within its glare. Indignation and disgust erupted in her and burned worse than her midsection. People were watching her die. People were watching her die. It was a bigger blow than the hospital, and her final justification for hating God. She contemplated moving. She'd been on camera enough on her life. She'd provided enough entertainment for the viewers at home even before this island vacation began. She decided she would crawl around the tree and escape Sony's little magic box. But then an idea blossomed in her head. It was satisfying. Something in her grinned vindictively. She faced the camera.

"My name is Danielle Champney." She projected her voice as best as she could towards the camera's attached microphone.

"I'm eighteen years old. Nineteen in September. Two weeks ago, I was a senior at Southridge High in Highland Beach, Cali. I was supposed to be graduating this week."

Her voice took on a harsher tone.

"If you're watching me die right now, I hope you rot in hell. I hope you experience a fraction of the pain and fear my classmates and I have. I hope you get cancer or AIDS and I hope it fucking hurts. I hope that when Death comes for you you'll be begging for it while it takes its sweet ass time finishing you off. I fucking hope your life has been miserable and I hope it only gets worse. You're scum. You're disgusting. The kids that died here deserved the life that was wasted on you. It should be you here. Not me."

She took a deep breath. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and her dying body was shaking in anger and pain. But she had more important things to say. She couldn't stop now.

"Mom, dad..."

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Weeks, months, or even seconds later, Danni's words would be carried over signals and cables to glowing little boxes around the world. They would reach more ears than she ever dreamed her words would. But there were two sets in particular that she wanted to listen.

For the thousandth time in those two weeks, Arthur found himself drowning in a sea of pink. Pink walls, pink bedsheets, pink Dell laptop. Walls he'd painted, bedsheets he and his family had picked out on an Ikea excursion, laptop he had picked up on a business trip for a birthday surprise. What wasn't pink was the chair he now sat in. It was gold. The color was his daughter's choosing. She'd always had a taste from the flamboyant, something she doubtlessly inherited from her mother. He had helped her spray paint it after finding the old thing at a yard sale for five bucks. They'd both looked ridiculous in the doctor-like breathing barriers and baggy junk clothing. They made a mess of the garage, too. But they were both deliriously happy as they worked, spraying the legs of the chair and their own just as often. Even as the paint chipped away and the chair lost its stuffing she refused to let it go. She never would have guessed it would last longer than herself.

Arthur had looked at every picture of her daughter on that laptop. He'd touched every stuffed animal. He'd smelled every perfume. It only widened the wounds, but he did not care. His pain was not one he could ignore, and so he immersed himself in it, he made himself hurt for his daughter. The only stone left unturned was the desk drawers. He descended upon them.

There was more pink, among other neon colors. Cheap plastic jewelry from Claire's and Hot Topic and so on and so forth assaulted his eyes. He sifted through them. Among the wreckage was tape, highlighters, loose change, packs of sticky notes and an unopened blank CD-

Something scraped across the top of his hand.

He flipped his palm upward and his fingers found something rectangular taped to the drawer's roof. He ripped it off and drew his hand out. The pink little SanDisk thumb-drive was unfamiliar. She always e-mailed her work to and from school. She never asked for a USB, and he and Arabella had never purchased one for her. His curiosity was intense. He wasted no time in plugging the thing into the laptop's side. The dialogue box greeted him and asked how he would like to view the files.

"Art! ART!"

He toppled the chair over as he burst to his feet and stumbled into the spacious living room. His wife had just awoken. She looked like hell. They both did. They were ugly in their grief. It had been two weeks of nerve-wracking couch surfing and internet scouring. They had used up all of their vacation time and were generously given more. Arabella had been replaced by a blonde busty bimbo who was doing just fine for ratings. Insurance went on without Arthur. The only place they were needed was with their daughter, and that was the only place they couldn't be.

Arabella was staring raptly at the plasma TV. It was tuned into what was once a pay-per-view showcase of the risque and kinky, one that he may have ordered from on a lonely night or two in recent months. "Tittytube", his wife had so affectionately dubbed the genre in the earlier years of their courting. What was now on the screen was not erotic or pleasing in any way. It was his daughter. She was dying, he could tell that from just a glance. He deflated onto the couch.

"I hope you're not watching this. I hope to God you're not watching this."

There were several moments of silence as the girl collected herself.

"I'm sorry."

Despite her best efforts she broke into sobs. They caused her very visible pain but she couldn't seem to stop them. Arabella let out a pained cry in his ear.

"I-I'm so s-s-sorry. I wish I'd been a b-better daughter to you. You deserved better."

She gasped for air and continued.

"You were so good to me. You were amazing parents. I never told you that enough. I never took advantage of that but you were. If anyone else had been your child they would have been wonderful."

She made another visible effort to collect herself.

"I want you to do me a favor. I want you to try again. Adopt or something. Pretend I was a miscarriage or I died in a car accident or whatever. Just move on. I mean, second time's a charm, right? Or third, whatever. Just don't go for a third one, please. I swear to god you're both ADD, you couldn't handle two at once."

They both laughed in spite of themselves. Their little Elle had always had a boundless humor about her. It had been dulled by the awkward phase she entered in high school, but in the end it was shining through. The girl in the TV laughed and cried with them. In that moment, whether she was still alive or not, they transcended miles and minutes and were together in their sadness.

"I love you."

Arthur longed for his daughter to continue, to keep hearing the sound of her voice, but she turned her head away from the camera. She had said all she needed. And so the couple did the only thing left to do, something no parent ever imagines they'll experience: they watched their daughter die.

---------------------------------

Danni sat in silence for a long while. The strength sapped from her with a slow regularity. Her lap was thoroughly saturated in a brownish-red coat and her skin was taking on a yellowish hue. Her abdomen was unsettlingly hard. The pain was dulling, as was her consciousness. She didn't have to wait much longer.

As she sat her dying brain sorted through her files. Memories and stories were revisited. One in particular kept floating to the surface. She'd read it in her sophomore Spanish class. After her credit quota had been filled the language was largely forgotten. But for some reason, the story screamed to be remembered. She gave into its demands.

On the fifth day of creation, there was a rose. She was damn fine and she knew it. As she's standing there doing whatever a flower does, a snake comes up to her. The snake confirms that she is damn fine and she agrees.

But, the snake continues, do you have any use?

The rose thinks on it a while. There are no bees yet, so all she really is is a fine piece of flower ass. She conceded to the snake that she was useless.

Well, who wants that around? Skanky bitch. And with that, the snake slithered away. Ms. Rose went emo for a bit then finally prayed to God to make her useful, to which he replied You sure 'bout that kiddo? She insisted, and so with a hearty laugh he delivered. Thus was born the cabbage. It was ugly, but it would provide man and beast alike with nourishment. It was useful.

Danni had never considered herself cabbage nor rose. She was a weed, neither useful nor beautiful. But even weeds had some small sort of purpose, right? Why else would they be here? Danni thought for a moment and realized she had one last thing to do with her life. Her pack was still laid out beside her. With a great effort she dragged it upright and dug through the pockets, finally retrieving the map and black crayon. She unfolded the paper to its blank side and laid it out on a dry portion of her leg. She thought for a moment, then smiled wanly when inspiration struck. She scribbled the word across the page. Dissatisfied by its lightness and weak form, she went over it again, and again, darkening it with intent and purpose. She gave her last word a force she could no longer speak with. She surveyed her work for a moment, hesitated, and added a sloppy smiley face in the bottom right corner. It seemed fitting. By now she had realized that life was nothing more than an elaborate practical joke. There was no longer a need to take the subject written boldly on the page so seriously, but it was no less vital. She folded it and jotted "To Trish & James" on the flap. She knew they would find it. If she knew her God at all by now, she knew he would lead them to her, because he dealt in cruelty and irony and pain.

Satisfied, she let her head loll back into the tree's trunk and dozed.


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((Trish McCarroll & James Brown continued from There's A Moral In This Somewhere. GMing preapproved.))

"Danni!"

It was a cruel trick for her mind to play on her. They couldn't be here. She didn't want them to be here. Not while she was still around. They had more important things to be doing than watching a pathetic little girl die, like surviving themselves. People like Jake and Anna and Reg had died so that she could survive. It was her turn to take on that burden for her friends. It was not fair that they find her now, it just wasn't fair.

"Danni! James, she's over here!"

Danni tried to make herself smaller, invisible, overlooked. They had better things to do. She couldn't let them get distracted. The had to live in her stead. God was ruining her plans yet again.

All of a sudden there was a shaking at her shoulder and Trish McCarroll's voice at her ear.

"Come on sweetie, wake up. We're here. It's okay."

Danni groaned as there were heavy slaps beside her, then the sound of unzipping and rummaging.

"Trish-"

"It's not that bad. You'll be fine. Just try to sit up a little and-"

"Trish."

The rummaging stopped. Danni turned to face her friend and ruffled the paper in her lap. A puzzled Trish gave her a hesitant glance, picked it up and began to unfold it.

"Hey. Stop."

The confused gaze was lifted back to her.

"Those are, like, my last words. You could at least wait until-"

"Danni, you're not-"

"Trish." Danni gave the sternest glare she could muster. She imagined it would be difficult to compete with Trish's own intense orbs, but judging by their sudden widening she had done quite nicely. "Let it go."

The other girl gaped at her. Danni saw her searching for words but knew she would never find them. It was a waste of time. She needed to go. The flash of movement in her peripheral only heightened her annoyance. She turned to face James Brown and gave him a weak smile.

"Hey there buddy boy."

"Jesus, Danni-" His eyes found the wreckage at her lap. He dropped his own supplies to the ground and was about to make his was to Trish's side before Danni interrupted.

"You know, I still owe you-"

She gave a harsh cough.

"...a kiss."

Another painful hack shook her. She felt her insides splash across her lips like some sort of obscene lipstick. Her eyes lolled back to the freezing gaze of the camera lens. Sony, God of Death and Reality Television.

"Maybe some other time."

Without even looking she could tell that James's face had taken on the same shocked expression. She smiled inwardly at it. The teens stood awkwardly silent for several more agonizing moments and her frustration mounted. It was then that an idea pierced her failing machinery. She saw the silence as her cue and pounced on it.

"I want to thank you guys. For everything." There was so much more she wanted to say but their time was up. The note was all they needed. She made as if to continue but instead began to shake her body weakly. She rolled back here eyes and let her mouth hang open. She prayed her act would be convincing. She felt Trish grasp her around the shoulders.

"Danni! Danni! Oh fuck!"

She let in a great gulp of air and held it. It burned angrily in her lungs but she held it down with whatever might she had left. She let her head fall to one side and hung as limply as she could. There were several more moments of silence. Her chest ached and threatened to burst but she refused to be bested by her failing body. She felt a pair of fingers slide across her neck. She knew her pulse was very weak by now. She hoped the girl would not find it. Sure enough, several seconds later the fingers drew away, shaking slightly.

"...She's gone."

The silence returned for its encore. Danni screamed at them with her mind to leave. Her lungs burned as if held over flames. She managed to hold for a few more miserable seconds before she heard Trish collect her things and rise from her not-quite-corpse. She began to release the pressure as slowly and quietly as she could manage. Through her closed eyes, she sensed movement in front of her. There was the ruffle of fabric. Her mind's eye showed James resting a comforting hand on Trish's shoulder. Sure enough, it was his voice that spoke.

"Come on. Let's go."

((Trish and James continued in Match Point))

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She had never really noticed how beautiful the island was.

The glare of sunset filtered through the heavy canopy and into her fading eyesight. It pained her a bit, but she didn't have the strength to turn her head or avert her eyes. For all intents and purposes, she was paralyzed. It was more pleasant than she would have thought. There was no longer a need to run, to panic, to hide. She could just watch. She saw the vibrant greens of the jungle swaying about gracefully and enticingly. She saw gorgeous birds circling above, eager to make her a meal. She saw the sun making its exit as she herself did. It was perfect timing, she thought. If she had to pick any time to die, she was glad it ended up being this.

Maybe it was the beauty surrounding her that distracted her from what was happening, or maybe she had just accepted it. Danni slid cleanly out of consciousness as she watched the beam of light shift and glitter. First went the pain. She was relieved to feel it leaving her. Following it closely was the rest of her. It was a seamless shift from blinding light to dark. Her heart was still pumping what little blood she had left to her failing organs, but it was maintaining a shell. The girl that had inhabited it was gone. If there really was a God, he'd finally decided to show some mercy for poor little Danielle Champney.

Danni's last breath was not a great desperate gulp. There was no greed for life here. Instead there was the soft hiss of dying lungs pushing air between slightly open teeth and bloodied lips, a slight breeze or maybe a soul that had no intention of returning. Danielle Champney, age eighteen, former senior at Southridge High in Highland Beach, California, known by family as Danielle or Elle, known by friends as Danni, known by herself as a failure up until those last moments of her life, was dead. It was more than she'd ever imagined she'd have.

G58 DANIELLE CHAMPNEY: DECEASED. 17 STUDENTS REMAINING.

The stupidly indifferent red letters flashing across the bottom of the screen did little to provide closure for Arthur Champney.

He continued to stare at the corpse of his daughter long after they faded. He and his wife as sobbed for a while, but finally she had fallen asleep on the sofa's arm. He was glad. She needed the rest badly.

He, however, would still go sleepless. There was a nagging at the back of his head. There was something he needed to do. There was something she needed him to do.

Suddenly, he remembered the USB.

Arthur gently lifted his arm from around his sleeping wife and made his way quietly to Danni's room. The smell of the perfume his him instantly. Tears were flowing freely again. Somewhere in the house a phone rang, but he ignored it. He instead righted the gilded chair that had tumbled during his desperate stumble and seated himself back at the computer. He waved the mouse to dispel the idle black screen. The dialogue box was still there. He selected showing by folder.

The screen filled with a parent's nightmare. Risque poses, frilly lingerie, no lingerie. The fruitful labors of the damn little webcam that now stared up at him. He always knew they were there, but he had ignored it. It had been a "phase". Only now did he realize the path his daughter had been taking, and it was far too late. This beautiful little girl, despite her flaws, was dead. He would never again have the chance to help her. He wondered sickly if he would have had the strength to even if she were alive. He would never know. He dragged the mouse across the numerous pictures of the side of his daughter he'd never wanted to know. This wasn't what he wanted to remember his darling daughter by. In fact, he refused. He would not remember or honor Danni. Instead, he would cherish Elle. He would cherish the girl that had shone through in those last hours, that was everything he loved about his daughter. And most of all, he would cherish the gift Elle had left them in her final moments:

They would move on.


He pressed [font=courier]Delete[/font].