Survival Of The Fittest

Something warm was running down Mallory's face. Reaching to touch it, still half asleep, she wiped it from her chin. Opening her eyes blearily, she inspected the substance on her hands.

Blood? It was blood?? Blinking, she looked closer... it was just water. She must be just imagining things. Or maybe she had a strange fixation with blood.

Mallory De Luca (Girl #50) rubbed her face with her dry hand in an attempt to wake herself up. She had very little memory of what had happened to cause her to fall asleep. She hoped looking around would jog her memory... casting a quick glance around, her sight fell upon not one, not two, but three dead bodies. She immediately jumped up in shock. They appeared to have been completely incinerated, to add to the grotesque effect.

Dead bodies?? Burnt ruins? Where the hell am I??

Moving closer to the body of the nearest victim, she leant over to examine him closer. She had never been this close to death before... all this time she had pretended to have an unnatural fascination with death to fit in with the kids at school, but in fact she had had no experience of it. It was kind of gross, but she had to know what all the fuss was about...

She thought she vaguely recognised this guy from school... but his face was so disfigured from burns that it was impossible to tell. Recoiling slightly, she stood up, tossing her hair behind her as she did. Wherever she was, she was in trouble. Well, best think logically, Mal. She grasped for her rucksack and unzipped it to examine the contents, catching a glimpse of her heavily scarred wrist as she did so.

It wasn't like she enjoyed it. She didn't want to do it, the first time. But everyone else had, she had to do it to fit in. Call it an initiation act, if you will. A mark that she belonged. Frowning slightly, she remembered back to the day when she had first done it. She'd thought she was going to die. She thought she'd done it too deep. Mallory remembered all the thoughts that had been going through her head when she was sat on her bedroom floor, a bloody knife in her lap, crying. All the things she'd never done, that she still had yet to experience, all the things she'd wanted to say to people... and then, the immense relief, she was OK.

When the bleeding had stopped and the cut began to close, however, it was if Mallory began to do the same. She kept herself to herself, and the people she'd strived so hard to impress and fit in with were litte more than convenient companions that she could hang out with at school. She still made an effort to stay that way, comfortably in the group, but deep down she knew she was just a sheep in wolf's clothing. She didn't belong with these sorts of people.

Sighing, she delved into her bag.

((Continued from: Starting Point for G#18))

"Cillian! Come here!"

Ice blue eyes met with dark brown as the then younger Cillian faced Petricia, a classmate of his from the fourth grade. They had been friends for awhile back, Petricia out of pity for the rather quiet one in the class. Cillian smiled at her as she pointed at the forest backdrop.

"I made it myself! Our class liked my picture the best, so it got to be the background. They all thought it was pretty."

The paint was still fresh, but the scenery was amazing. The tall maple (it was what Cillian thought they were) trees were victim to the season change, a yellow-orange color afflicting some of the leaves, while the red lie on the green grass. The sun in the picture was a dark red-orange, and the sky matched that of a fall sunset. A picture worthy of a great artist, let alone a fourth grader. Petricia beamed with pride as Cillian's mouth dropped open. A look of wonder washed over him, and he looked back at Petricia when she began to giggle.

"What's funny?" Cillian pouted.

"You," she said through giggles, "You were just standing there... your face is twitching."

Cillian put his hands over his face, his blue eyes shining from open fingers like a light.

Blue eyes were framed with red, a red not from the paint of a brush, or used for an easel. Bloody hands with long nails press down upon the brush, lush green being stained like those fall leaves in the mural. Heavy breathing, broken bones, nasty scars; all a part of a young boy gone so wrong. And it wasn't getting better.

The light connected to the blade, a glint being cast from the meat cleaver sticking out of the bag.

Reaching deep into her bag, her hands came across something round and smooth. Raising her eyebrows, she withdrew whatever it was she had her hand firmly attatched to... only to find a pair of handcuffs.

Why did she have handcuffs? Why did she even have a rucksack? Since her arrival on the island was after the latest announcement, she had no clue to what was going on. Although seeing two dead bodies had told her she was in danger enough. She rubbed the handcuffs with her fingers thoughtfully. Maybe she should try finding other people, they could help her, tell her what the hell was going on...

...or they could kill you, Mal. Gotta be careful.

"Gotta be careful..." she murmured to herself. She delved further into her bag and retrieved a map. Unfolding it slowly, she quickly scanned it. Her eyes came across the words 'Bamboo Coppice". Looking around, she decided that this must be where she is.

"So I'm on an island, huh?..." she continued to murmur quietly to herself. "I guess that means escape is pretty much futile..."

She sniffed loudly. Damn, the pollen count must be pretty high...that would explain the water that had been running down her face earlier. Did she have any of her hayfever tablets on her? Casting a quick glance into her bag, she reckoned otherwise. After all, it wasn't like whoever had put her here was bending over to make things comfortable for her. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes, hoping her hayfever wouldn't cause too much of a problem for her.

She was about to look at the map in more detail when a rustling noise caught her attention. Her head snapped up, looking around, she could see no one. But there was definitely someone here...

"Hello?" she called out cautiously.

((Coming from: Starting Place for B#100))

Cody breathed heavily, muttering curses as he walked. That kid blew off my fucking finger! My mutherfuckinggodamnfinger!! Cody took a step over a root, cautiously making his way down a worn trail. He stopped for a second and looked ahead, casting his sight upward to the billowing smoke coming from what he knew to be a bamboo coppace. He checked the map again to reaffirm his path, and then continued forward.

Maybe one of the people that died here will have dropped a gun.

He continued on until the edge of the bamboo was in sight, skirting around the outside of it, trying to avoid any prowlers in the area. He kneeled down on his good knee and checked his bandaged finger, which was still bleeding profusely. It was then that he heard steps approaching the burned out clearing in front of him. A voice called out from in the clearing as well. Sensing impending danger, Cody quickly dropped to his stomach and hid, listening.

"Are you okay?," Petricia reached out a hand tentatively to touch his shoulder. Cillian froze slightly, but he eventually welcomed the comfort and placed his hand on top of hers. They shared a moment of silence before one of the volunteers called Petricia over. She smiled softly before hopping over to the mirror, admiring her "fall" dress. The volunteer, Cillian saw, had the makeup all out and ready and was brushing a light pink blush over Petricia's cheeks.

If Cillian was interested in girls he would have noticed that she kept giving him little looks,a small smile and doe eyes, but boys took to things slowly. He did notice that she was very pretty that night, however. Her dress, which she had proudly said her mother had sewn, was a dark autumn red with a gold trim running along the skirt line, the sleeves fashioned with the "princess" look: poofy, and covering only a small part of her pale upper arm. Not that many children had a dark complexion in the small town, but hers resembled that of a porcelain doll.

The sound of the voice made Cillian flinch, his hand reaching for the cleaver. Keeping the silence for a bit longer, his blue eyes stalking, watching her movements as if she were prey. He ignored the sound of crunching leaves as he slowly stepped from his cover, the cleaver behind his back.

"Hello," he called back, and for once he sounded as if he wasn't five anymore. His lips staid in a tight-lipped frown, dark circles under his eyes made him look as if he was dead. But he had been dead long ago.

((Gah! I just spent ages writing a really good reply to this, and my Internet ate it. *cries*))

Mallory jumped. So there was someone there... a cleaver weilding someone.

Great. There are kids running around with cleavers, and here I am with a pair of fucking handcuffs. Hey, combine the two and we got ourselves a party...

Glancing at the boy nervously, she found herself unable to think of anything to say to him. She knew what she wanted to say; zounds of questions popped into her head- how, where, why... but she got the impression that a strange boy holding a meat cleaver on Death Island wasn't really up for a round of Q&A...

She made a small step away from the boy. She wasn't sure what he'd do with the cleaver, and she wasn't really eager to find out, either. If she had to escape, she bloody well would. Her legs weren't just for decoration...

Realising how foolish she must look holding a pair of handcuffs, she grasped for her bag with her free hand, and, with the zip still open, she dropped the handcuffs in to it, never taking her eyes off the boy.

"I'm gonna go now..." she mumbled, for lack of better words. She moved her left leg as if to walk away, still watching the boy's every move cautiously. Who knew what he'd do?

"Cillian!" came the hissing voice of his father. He had caught him staring at Petricia, and Cillian blushed apple red at his father's scolding tone. A gruff hand grasped little Cillian's forearm and dragged him away to the boiler room behind the stage. He didn't catch the sad frown Petricia emitted as he left.

"Ow," Cillian whimpered as the grip remained, the hand twisting Cillian's body to face his father. A chunky finger pointed at his face rudely, as if this young boy was only an animal.

"I don't want you messing this here play up, you understand me?" Mr. Crowe growled at his son as he pointed back towards the stage. Cillian's parents always thought... somehow he would ruin their lives. Cillian never understood why, at such a young age. How could they not be proud?

Unsatisfied with the answer, or rather, lack of one, Crowe pulled the boy closer. His words caused spit to fly from his mouth onto Cilian's nose. "That girl up there, your friend, worked hard and you better not MESS it up. I want an answer from you now, boy!"

Cillian turned his head away from his father, and caught his mother, standing there, watching his father hold on to him tight. Her face showed that of fear, eyes wide and tear-brimmed, her cheeks flushed. Was she afraid of him? She caught him look her way, narrowed her eyes, and turned her gaze away.

"...Yes, sir," Cillian uttered, but his father did not let go. The other hand traveled to the back of his neck, gripping it tight as he let go of Cillian's arm. He then guided the young tear-stricken boy back up to the stage, where a volunteer was waiting to apply makeup.

"What's wrong, Cillian?" Mrs. Bresden called tentatively as tears kept falling.

"Boy's just nervous, is all. He was real worried about his lines," the father said in a friendly, caring tone.

Bresden smiled at Cillian, who began to wipe away his tears with his sleeve. "You'll do fine..."

Cillian took a few more steps forward, slowly. Heel to toe, like a solemn deathmarch to this girl's impending funeral. The cleaver moved to his side, at the ready in his right hand.

"One last kiss for you," Cillian muttered as he got closer.

Mallory began to shake slightly. This was psycho serial killer material if she ever did see it... seeing something like this on a movie screen would amuse her for a while, but this was real life. This was happening.

This was happening to her.

She took an overly large step backwards, away from this boy. Shit! You don't fall over when some psycho with a huge knife is coming to KILL you!!

Water ran down her face, and she was fairly certain it had nothing to do with her allergies. So this is how she was going to die... in an unfamilar place, by some guy she didn't even know. She couldn't even do anything about it.

Death wasn't a joke anymore. It wasn't a trendy thing to like. It was real, and it was coming.

Still on the floor, she cried out.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!!"

((Callum will be here in the next post, methinks.))

((No problem, talk to me on AIM to review what's happening to him))

The adults began to take their place in the seats facing the stage, twenty minutes until show time. Petricia was prancing around in her dress, the other students 'oo-ing' and 'aww-ing' as she danced in circles and spun to show off the workmanship of the dress. And Cillian watched from afar, blankly, the blush from the makeup adding to the red in his cheeks from the tears that he cried.

All the while the sounds in his head grew louder, then anger more fierce, and the shape took form. On the table, a halloween makeup kit lie open. A bright red bottle stood atop of the other materials. Cillian could see, through the tears he blinked back, that it was the fake blood. And ideas began to form that were not his own, but his anger, his violent filled imagery, his Haddy, took over.

Fingers were covered in the fake blood while no one watched. Letters were produced while the parents chatted away. And Two minutes were left till show time when Cillian washed his hands of the red in the bathroom, watching the color fade as the water washed it all away. Ice blue eyes seemed soulless as the shock wave threw the parents for a loop. Apathetic to the utmost as tears poured down little Petricia's face, begging the answer 'Why?'

But two parents knew, oh they knew. The omen was for them, and it would be carried out soon.
He lunged forward at the helpless girl, his cleaver raised. And then the lips pulled back into the smile, now with a tint of vengeance lined in his face. He reached for her hand, a scar already planted there by the girl herself. He clutched the cleaver tighter, letting vengeance take it's toll.

Mallory's eyes widened as the boy grabbed her hand. She screamed even louder, but who would come? She had no friends, no family... no hope. All of those times she had gambled with her life... but something had told her that back then was not her time to die.

It was now. Oh, God, it was now. Tears began to splash down her front, but tears were worthless now. She closed her eyes, for looking up into those cold eyes, those empty blue eyes, was killing her faster than any knife could.

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((here comes the hero! *cue fanfare and trumpets* Oh, yeah, and coming from "Though We May Not Survive It..."))

Callum was panting heavily. His legs were aching, and it was nothing compared to the sharp pains in his chest, but he had to keep running. He had to, for Beth. She needed his help, and he had to keep running.

His sight came upon the bamboo coppice. This was a familar sight to him, his last encounter had left him feeling slightly confused. Could it be the girl from before who was endangering Beth? Or maybe it was her screaming... no. Callum knew it was Beth. He knew. The coppice was fast approaching now... he could see a boy with a knife... and...

And a girl. Beth. Pushing himself to run even faster, he reached the coppice and skidded to a halt. His immediate thought was to lunge at the attacker. But he had a knife. And he had Beth's arm. That could do a lot more damage than he was prepared to risk... he glanced over at the girl. Her hair was partially covering her face, but just the sheer length of it was evidence enough to Callum that it was Beth. It had to be.

Although fairly certain that his arrival had gotten both of their attentions, he shouted anyway.

"What the HELL are you doing???" His fist was raised high, the brass knuckle gleaming in a threatening manner.

=========

At the sound of someone else's voice, Mallory opened her eyes abruptly. There was a guy. A good looking guy, too... in a normal situation, Mallory would have just been satisfied sitting there, 'admiring the beauty' as she liked to call it... but right now all she cared about was getting as far away from the cleaver boy as possible.

It's pretty obvious what he's doing... he's trying to kill me. Doesn't take a genuis to work that one out... Her sarcasm shone through all of her fear.

Cillian let go of the girl, turning to the loud noise and the voice that followed. The smile grew wider at the presence of another. A whole new game. He spun the cleaver handle between his fingers as he faced the boy. This wasn't Cillian anymore.

Mallory was mildly surprised when her hand was released. She rubbed her wrists sorely, her eyes never leaving the cleaver in her attacker's hand. She wasn't entirely safe yet... who was this new boy?

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Callum glanced over at Beth. There really was no doubt that this was her; the long hair, the timid yet fierce eyes... he sighed inwardly with relief; she was safe for now. The guy with the knife had let her go.

"Beth! Are you OK?" he called out. He began to walk quickly to where the boy and Beth were located, hoping to see her more closely.

========================

Beth? Who was Beth? Mallory looked around, but it was only the three of them there. Had he mistaken her for someone else? All she knew was that this guy was trying to protect her, and that was something she appreciated.

Best play along to get maximum use out of him...

"I..." she began, as Callum approached the two, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that the cleaver kid looked more menacing than ever. How safe was it for him to get this close??

((do what you want with Callum... AIM and the Internet are playing up for me tonight.))

Crrrrreeeeaaaaaaakkkk.

Had they heard the sound they might have escaped. A dark figure, the size of a 12 year old, climbed through the window. It stood up straight, just a foot higher than the kitchen counter, and slowly it moved.

Cillian's hand reached out, clutching the boys upper arm joining the shoulder. His face pinched, nose srunched up and eyes seeming to want to cut through the boy's heart. A sickening view to such a twisted person left as a shell of who he once was, who he never could be because of a fatal drug addiction. He died when he was born.

Down the hall, could you believe they had never put any pictures of their darling son in view for everyone to see? Cillian took great pictures... kids in his class told him all the time. His fingertips grazed the left wall of the hallway. Still no one awoke to the steps taken, making Cillian closer and closer.

He pulled hard on the flesh, forcing the boy to move as best he could. His other hand went back to his side, the cleaver's flat end facing the girl.

"Man your battle stations!" Cillian called as his left hand dug deeper.

Callum yelled as the boy's hands clawed away at his arm. What was this guy doing??

"Beth!!" he shouted out. He caught a glimpse of her behind the boy. She looked scared. She couldn't look scared, he was here to save her.

He looked directly into the boy's eyes. Callum had no fear, no doubts... all he knew was that Beth had to be saved. And in order for that to happen, this guy had to be elsewhere.

"Let me GO!!" he yelled, taking a swing at the boy with his other arm, brass knuckle attatched. He had no idea where it would go, as he was in an awkward position to aim at anything really, but he had to get rid of the boy...

==================================

Mallory pushed her legs out to distance herself further from the two boys. Covering her mouth with her hands, she watched the fight through wide eyes.

She should be running... why wasn't she running... she could escape!...

This guy seemed to have some sort of an attatchment to her. Could she just run after he potentially saved her life?

Every man (or girl) for themselves. I'm lucky this time.

She went to stand up, but couldn't help but watch. She hoped that her saviour would win, but seeing as he only had a thing on his hand (and he wasn't a bloody psycho, Mallory thought) she really didn't see how he would stand up to a cleaver.

She could hope...

The right hand pressed against the open door, pushing it farther to allow the darkened shadow enter. Stepping forward, the silence deafening to the night owl watching out the window. A "Whoo!" sounded, but to no avail did it warn the Crowe's as little Cillian made his way to their bed.

The knuckles connected to his hip for a moment, but not enough to bring make the boy recoil as he threw him to the ground. He raised the cleaver once again.

The first blow came to the father. A loud grunt, and he was up. "What's happening?" the man called out, but Cillian drew the knife across his throat. Then across the stomach as the man stood. Tears of pain streamed down his face, and the mother awoke to the scream and the wet blood pouring on the bed.

Cillian's hand moved to the boy's throat, not pressing to keep him awake. Just enough to hold him to the ground. Just to keep him breathing for what he was about to do.

Mrs. Crowe screamed in terror as the small dark figure came her way. She ran quickly, white nightgown fluttering as she passed through the door into the hallway. The shadow followed stiffly. She made it to the end of the hallway, breathing heavily and crying and screaming. A sharp pain in the back caused her to fall. She tried to reach back to the knife that was embedded into her lung from the back. The knife that brought the feelings that Cillian had felt ever since he was five. But when Cillian saw her face, tearstained and coughing up blood, he cried.

"Make up your mind!" Cillian screamed.