Survival Of The Fittest

((Diego Larrosa continues from Will All Be Forgiven?))

Near the treeline, the boy lingered, watching.

He had been in the area since the day before, motivated by a need to replenish his water bottles. He had only been down one but memories of the last time he'd been without were fresh. His throat still itched, even though he'd just taken a swig of water a minute ago. The water looked different enough from that of the ocean for him to stay. It was finite, the other end of the lake was visible to him. It lapped lamely at its shores, barely audible. It asked nothing from him. That was enough.

The last time he'd ventured into the forest alone, he'd had a singular purpose in mind, a singular goal now. That goal was dead, buried by now. There was no one else he needed or wanted to find. He'd scavenged all the rations and weapons he'd needed. There was no point in walking anymore.

He'd eaten the last few meals by himself. Fruits and plants, retrieved in silence, together with other people's rations. He'd usually imagine conversations to help fill in the lack of noise, before. He wanted to imagine the last time he'd seen Cam and Theo together, the small talk they'd shared about the food they got. Cam's last words came to him instead. And then he'd shut his mind off. He'd gotten good at that, thinking of silence, in silence.

The day passed by slow and fast at the same time, with no one to help pass the time. Each meal lasted hours, but the periods of time in between were almost non-existent. Mosquitoes would occasionally pass by, bite. He'd slap them, and they would leave a spatter of blood on his skin. He'd rub it raw, bits of blood and sweat and dirt rolling off, but still somehow leaving a residue he could feel.

He'd slept by himself, fitfully. He wrapped himself around the grenade launcher, cartridges loaded, a security pillow. Various species would pass by, rustle the leaves overhead. They scared him as much as before, but nothing would ever come, and he couldn't tell if he liked that or not, being always kept in suspense. Part of him wanted someone to come just to end this, whatever this was, but he listened to that part of him less and less these days.

He woke up by himself, ate breakfast by himself. He listened to the announcements by himself, if only to take note of the names of those he would hear again. Cam's name came up near the beginning, and they said that Diego had a signature now, his shovel. He let himself cry a bit, after they announced the danger zone, and then he stopped, and he carried on with the nothingness that marked his days now.

His attention had been caught by the voices. They were at a normal volume, but Diego was close enough to hear them. The sound was welcome, for a moment. He'd missed hearing someone speak. There was no one to talk to anyways, nothing he wanted to think about. Nothing else to do. So, he watched.

Before he'd joined the gardening club, Diego hadn't really had a consistent group to eat lunch with. Whatever group would take him, he would stay with. But, there were some days when he didn't really feel needed or wanted by anyone.

He typically chose the end of the long tables, near but not quite at the corner of the cafeteria. It left room for any groups that wanted space to eat, and it wasn't quite as exposed as the very corners. He would also watch the other groups eating around him during this time. Idly, for the most part, because you could only stare at hamburgers and chocolate milk for so long. Discreetly, he hoped. No one had ever said anything to him about it, but he feared that everyone knew and made fun of him for it behind his back.

Most days, it was fine. He would get his food, eat it, put the tray away, and go back to class, and it would feel safe there. There were some days, though, when he would watch the people in front of him laughing raucously and talking at each other wide-eyed and excitedly, and he couldn't help but imagine himself in these conversations. His hearing had never been the best, so most of the time, he would fill in the conversations himself. He would think of them talking to him about his writing, or recipes they liked cooking. He would think of being able to provide witty replies, of being able to actually participate, bond with others, instead of nodding and laughing when appropriate, existing awkwardly on the sidelines, seeking safety in silence.

It was pathetic. He would never, ever mention this to anyone else, not even to his mother or sister. The moments had lost relevance for some time, anyways, after the club came along. He'd lived out his fantasy for a while. A most idle fantasy, yes, but a fantasy all the same.

They weren't around anymore. He didn't feel like his presence would be appreciated by anyone else.

The two hung around the shore adjacent to Diego for a bit. Ace and Sakurako, they were called. He wasn't close to either, but he knew how to pronounce their names. The announcer had named them a few hours prior, after all. They had been mentioned separately, and one of them, Ace, he thought, had been in a firefight, so they must have met up after their respective crimes.

They seemed to make small talk, at first. He was too far to hear the exact words, to even see when their lips moved, but he could see the shape, at least. Sakurako was tending to her wounded leg. She smiled at him. Ace was shirtless, like him. He was attractive, even with the bandages around his chest, head. They didn't see him, anyways, so he would allow himself to look for more than four seconds this time. Ty had said it was okay, that this, at least, didn't make him a monster, and he longed for a time when it would feel okay, so he made himself look for longer.

Their conversation progressed past small talk. They looked at each other a certain way, while they spoke to one another. Declyn looked at Cecil that way, whenever Cecil would come by the club to say hi. He recalled Declyn looking at Lorenzo like that, for a while. Or, it wasn't so much looking, as it was regarding.

He had looked at Lorenzo that way.

He recalled some other girl looking at Ace that way, back in the final weeks of school. Her name escaped him, but it wasn't Sakurako.

The two stripped off most of their clothes, waded into the water. Diego had also bathed nude in the lake, before the announcements. The need for privacy had long ago been stripped away. The cameras had witnessed him doing much worse things, there was no more shame to speak of. But, he had bathed alone. It had been utilitarian, a simple rubbing off of the blood that coated his face and back, if not the crushing weight that came with it. His shoulder still ached all the same underneath the strap of the grenade launcher, after he'd bathed.

Ace and Sakurako bathed together, on the other hand. Diego could not hear them, or even read their lips, but the gist of what they said to one another could be ascertained through the way they held themselves. How they held each other, looked at each other.

He imagined sweet nothings being whispered.

He remembered love songs written by men for women, by women for men.

Sakurako scrubbed the back of Ace's neck now. She did so tenderly. Ace returned the favor, kneaded her shoulders, tugged at her hair playfully. Whatever history the two had did not matter to Diego then or now. It was just that they both looked at each other the same way Declyn looked at Cecil. It went both ways. They had to have known what the other had done. They'd heard each other's names on the announcements. Why didn't that matter to them?

They were facing each other now. The words were not audible; they were either whispering or speaking in low, delicate tones. Diego imagined one asking the other to stay. Cam had asked Diego to stay, before. She'd said he was good enough for them, even with all he'd done. He'd stayed. He had asked Cam to stay for him, before, even with all she'd done. She'd chosen death over him. He was good enough until he wasn't.

The girl leaned into the boy, kissed him. He held her forcefully. It felt like forever, like just the two of them.

They were so fucking happy.

Ace had been on the announcements as many times as Diego had, now. They'd both gotten their second yesterday. Why didn't that matter to either of them? Why were they still so fucking normal? They'd been through the same shit Diego had, they had seen the same things, done the same things, yet they were still so happy.

Back at the bench, back when Diego had tried to kill himself, Ty had told him it was stupid to hate himself just for being the way he was. It was stupid to beat himself up for something he couldn't control, for something that so many others did, took part in. He'd made it sound so easy to just let go of his feelings like that. It looked easy for Ace and Sakurako, it looked so natural for them. So, why did everything he'd done matter to him, but not to them? Why did everyone seem to get how to live and cope on this island, but he didn't? Why did they get to stay and hold and love one another, when everyone Diego had cared about just left him?

What was wrong with him?

The grenade launcher shook in his hands now. He cocked it. It would be funny, right? If he literally just blew it up? Fucked things up, just for shits and giggles. Made things a bit level. It would be really fucking funny.

The honeymoon had ended already, though. Some girl, he didn't know her name, had walked in on them. The two covered themselves up, he heard laughing in the distance. It looked like some high school sitcom, because that's all it was to them. People lived and died horribly and painfully on this island, yet it was just so casual to them.

His finger had started hovering above the trigger when gunshots sounded. He flinched, dived down to the ground, avoided pressing down on the trigger somehow.

The gunshots came one after another, but they were fired perpendicular to him, Diego realized. He was at no risk. He looked up eventually, saw that they were all standing. They were shouting, more angry than scared, but they were still standing.

The moment had been thoroughly ruined for them, but he hadn't even been the one to do it. He hadn't even been allowed this one thing. He'd been allowed nothing. The island took and took and took from him and gave him nothing and

His finger pressed down.

For around three seconds, nothing happened. Diego thought the gun had been a dud. He pushed himself up, started to gather himself.

There was a thud in the background, quieter than expected. He heard screaming, he thought.

He looked back at where the people had been, and saw a plume of black smoke instead. The screaming continued.

He gathered his bags, and he ran.

((Diego Larrosa continues in Silent Key))