The Things We Lost in the Fire
Posted: Wed Jan 16, 2019 9:41 pm
((Owen Kay continued from Don't Panic))
It didn't seem as though Owen would ever get a decent night's sleep on the island. Yesterday had been the hard wooden floor of some abandoned shack. Today's bed was the natural forest floor, dirt, twigs and leaves free of charge. It was cold and uncomfortable, and Owen wasn't exactly in the greatest of moods. He had wanted to go to the hospital, and try and pick up that scalpel he'd seen on the first day. Maybe for himself, maybe for Aileen, so she'd actually have a decent weapon. He hadn't been totally clear, but it had been a plan.
Of course, that hadn't gone right in the slightest. He had gone off the beaten path, wandered into the woodlands, and soon enough, gotten himself completely and utterly lost. North and south were one and the same; every tree looked like the rest, and every stop he had made to stick plasters on his blistered feet and to eat something had just added to the confusion. Eventually, despite having left the pond in the morning, night began to fall, and there was nothing Owen could do but sleep. He was low enough on energy as it was; walking through the night would most likely cause him to collapse.
As Owen lay there on the hard ground, twigs poking into his back, the chill night air finding its way into every fold of his makeshift hoody-blanket, his mind wandered, as it had done so much the past three days. He was in a perminant state of hunger, the bread and energy bars never being quite enough to fill his stomach. He had blisters on his feet, numerous cuts and scrapes everywhere. He hadn't changed for the past three days, hadn't even washed.
The mental stuff was much worse than the physical stuff. All the memories, all of the guilt, all of the sorrow, pain, despair, fear, everything he'd felt and seen and done on the island, constantly pushing at the door to his mind, threatening to break through. Every familiar name on the announcement. Every mistake made.
He knew, though, that all things considered, his situation could have been so very, very worse. Somehow, he was managing to keep his thoughts at bay, managing to keep going, managing to stay sane. He had allies and friends to find, the vaguest semblance of a plan but a plan nonetheless. Things were, it seemed, going as well as they could be.
Owen really should have learnt to stop being so naive.
Owen woke up early, blinking at the sudden brightness assaulting his eyes. Nothing new on that front. Slowly, he stood up, brushing dirt and foliage from his body, limbs aching as he did so. Again, nothing new there. What was different, however, was that it wasn't the announcement that woke Owen, but the sheer pain of having to sleep on the forest floor.
Owen tied his hoody round his waist, picked up his bags and table leg, picked a random direction and started walking forwards. He didn't want to stay in the forest any longer than he needed to. Aside from the discomfort it provided, it was also completely open to anybody, including Theo and other such people. Plus, the forest was such a wide, vast area, he doubted he'd be able to find Aileen or anybody else unless he suddenly got seriously, seriously lucky.
The morning was chilly and clear, and Owen set off at a brisk pace, despite the aches and pains and despite the stitch that was threatening to emerge in his side. The sooner he was out of the forest, the sooner he could find people, find Aileen. There was a sort of positive force inside of Owen, a sense of optimism that all would be okay.
As soon as the announcement started, however, that optimism evaporated. The voice was different to how it had been before. Apparently his name was James, apparently he was the collar guy. Apparently, all of their collars were about to explode.
Owen froze as his collar beeped, the high pitched sound piercing through the almost silent forest. He needed to do something, run, pull his collar off, even though he knew it would just delay the inevitable, even though he was still going to be killed-
The collar didn't beep again, and the announcement continued playing. It had been a joke. A joke, a stupid fucking joke. Another bitter laugh emerged from Owen's lips, and after another few seconds, he started walking again. This was all so goddamn fucked up. And he had frozen again. If he did that again... well, the outcome might not be the same at all. Just keep pushing forwards, that was what he needed to do, even as the names started to be read out.
Lauren was on the announcement. Somebody had killed her. Owen almost paused at that. His one impression of her hadn't been positive, but it was still hard to take. As Danya read the next victim out, though, Owen did stop walking. Amy. He'd said Amy's name. Amy was... Amy had been killed.
Owen's arms fell limply to his sides, tears beginning to form again, as he looked around as if to search for some other explanation. Maybe he had said Amy, but maybe it was the other Ami, Amy Flynn who'd been killed, or maybe it had been a mistake entirely, and she was fine, she had to be fine, right?
Somehow, even as Owen continued to try and delude himself, he carried on walking. The name's kept on coming, the little barricade Owen had formed in his mind weakening with each one. Mallory had been killed, as had Brian, and Nina and Alex. His friends, people he'd gone to parties with, had lessons with, talked to... everything about them was gone.
Owen had reached the edge of the forest by now. There was a large, fancy looking building in the distance. The grass around Owen was long and untidy, threatening to engulf the overturned golf carts lying about. He'd never liked golf. It had always been tennis for him, or football, with Brian and Mallory. Amy'd never liked sports; well, playing them at least. Sometimes their stupid conversations would lead them onto the topic, mostly with Amy saying how attractive certain football players were. And now...
Owen dropped the table leg, grabbed a rusting golf club leaning against one of the carts, raising it up before smashing it against the vehicle, over and over again, hearing the metallic smack, seeing the club dent and bend, before he finally chucked it aimlessly away. It felt like a horrible reprise of the first day. Owen slumped against a golf cart, head in his hands, completely drained. He couldn't even cry any more.
It didn't seem as though Owen would ever get a decent night's sleep on the island. Yesterday had been the hard wooden floor of some abandoned shack. Today's bed was the natural forest floor, dirt, twigs and leaves free of charge. It was cold and uncomfortable, and Owen wasn't exactly in the greatest of moods. He had wanted to go to the hospital, and try and pick up that scalpel he'd seen on the first day. Maybe for himself, maybe for Aileen, so she'd actually have a decent weapon. He hadn't been totally clear, but it had been a plan.
Of course, that hadn't gone right in the slightest. He had gone off the beaten path, wandered into the woodlands, and soon enough, gotten himself completely and utterly lost. North and south were one and the same; every tree looked like the rest, and every stop he had made to stick plasters on his blistered feet and to eat something had just added to the confusion. Eventually, despite having left the pond in the morning, night began to fall, and there was nothing Owen could do but sleep. He was low enough on energy as it was; walking through the night would most likely cause him to collapse.
As Owen lay there on the hard ground, twigs poking into his back, the chill night air finding its way into every fold of his makeshift hoody-blanket, his mind wandered, as it had done so much the past three days. He was in a perminant state of hunger, the bread and energy bars never being quite enough to fill his stomach. He had blisters on his feet, numerous cuts and scrapes everywhere. He hadn't changed for the past three days, hadn't even washed.
The mental stuff was much worse than the physical stuff. All the memories, all of the guilt, all of the sorrow, pain, despair, fear, everything he'd felt and seen and done on the island, constantly pushing at the door to his mind, threatening to break through. Every familiar name on the announcement. Every mistake made.
He knew, though, that all things considered, his situation could have been so very, very worse. Somehow, he was managing to keep his thoughts at bay, managing to keep going, managing to stay sane. He had allies and friends to find, the vaguest semblance of a plan but a plan nonetheless. Things were, it seemed, going as well as they could be.
Owen really should have learnt to stop being so naive.
Owen woke up early, blinking at the sudden brightness assaulting his eyes. Nothing new on that front. Slowly, he stood up, brushing dirt and foliage from his body, limbs aching as he did so. Again, nothing new there. What was different, however, was that it wasn't the announcement that woke Owen, but the sheer pain of having to sleep on the forest floor.
Owen tied his hoody round his waist, picked up his bags and table leg, picked a random direction and started walking forwards. He didn't want to stay in the forest any longer than he needed to. Aside from the discomfort it provided, it was also completely open to anybody, including Theo and other such people. Plus, the forest was such a wide, vast area, he doubted he'd be able to find Aileen or anybody else unless he suddenly got seriously, seriously lucky.
The morning was chilly and clear, and Owen set off at a brisk pace, despite the aches and pains and despite the stitch that was threatening to emerge in his side. The sooner he was out of the forest, the sooner he could find people, find Aileen. There was a sort of positive force inside of Owen, a sense of optimism that all would be okay.
As soon as the announcement started, however, that optimism evaporated. The voice was different to how it had been before. Apparently his name was James, apparently he was the collar guy. Apparently, all of their collars were about to explode.
Owen froze as his collar beeped, the high pitched sound piercing through the almost silent forest. He needed to do something, run, pull his collar off, even though he knew it would just delay the inevitable, even though he was still going to be killed-
The collar didn't beep again, and the announcement continued playing. It had been a joke. A joke, a stupid fucking joke. Another bitter laugh emerged from Owen's lips, and after another few seconds, he started walking again. This was all so goddamn fucked up. And he had frozen again. If he did that again... well, the outcome might not be the same at all. Just keep pushing forwards, that was what he needed to do, even as the names started to be read out.
Lauren was on the announcement. Somebody had killed her. Owen almost paused at that. His one impression of her hadn't been positive, but it was still hard to take. As Danya read the next victim out, though, Owen did stop walking. Amy. He'd said Amy's name. Amy was... Amy had been killed.
Owen's arms fell limply to his sides, tears beginning to form again, as he looked around as if to search for some other explanation. Maybe he had said Amy, but maybe it was the other Ami, Amy Flynn who'd been killed, or maybe it had been a mistake entirely, and she was fine, she had to be fine, right?
Somehow, even as Owen continued to try and delude himself, he carried on walking. The name's kept on coming, the little barricade Owen had formed in his mind weakening with each one. Mallory had been killed, as had Brian, and Nina and Alex. His friends, people he'd gone to parties with, had lessons with, talked to... everything about them was gone.
Owen had reached the edge of the forest by now. There was a large, fancy looking building in the distance. The grass around Owen was long and untidy, threatening to engulf the overturned golf carts lying about. He'd never liked golf. It had always been tennis for him, or football, with Brian and Mallory. Amy'd never liked sports; well, playing them at least. Sometimes their stupid conversations would lead them onto the topic, mostly with Amy saying how attractive certain football players were. And now...
Owen dropped the table leg, grabbed a rusting golf club leaning against one of the carts, raising it up before smashing it against the vehicle, over and over again, hearing the metallic smack, seeing the club dent and bend, before he finally chucked it aimlessly away. It felt like a horrible reprise of the first day. Owen slumped against a golf cart, head in his hands, completely drained. He couldn't even cry any more.