Schadenfreude
Posted: Sat Apr 01, 2023 7:30 am
In the end, she had not wandered particularly far.
Perhaps she did not want a repeat of the exhaustion that had struck her on day two by walking long distances. Perhaps she simply did not feel like walking very far. Perhaps it was something else entirely which she could not describe. In the end, Lara did not care. The listening station, on the far end of the research area and generally isolated from the rest of the area, would certainly do in terms of shelter.
Stepping through the door, she felt an odd sense of privacy. The window was piled high with snow, bringing an impenetrable darkness that was, in an odd way, comforting. That was one entrance that was safe, at least. The door was a different story, but she did not have anything to block it with, other than her own body. Well, it was not like there was any particularly comfortable looking spot to sit, so that's exactly what she did. Lara sat down, pressing her back against the door, leaning her head against it as well. A deep breath escaped her.
The listening station was safe, secure, private, alone. Here, she could plan in peace, alone without her emotions. There was no class president around to cloud her mind. There was no Evie to get her sentimental. There was no one but herself. It was the optimal situation. Of course, having a weapon of some kind would make it truly perfect, but she supposed she could not have everything she wanted. That seemed like it would be too good to be true in Survival of the Fittest.
Lara simply sat there for a while, eyes closed, but not sleeping. It was more like she was in a trancelike state, aware but unmoving, as she simply thought about what to do next. The experience with Chloé cemented not only her profound distrust of groups, but of her vulnerability to emotional manipulation. That could never happen again. In her worst moments, Lara would bemoan how distant and cold she was normally, but here, that was an asset. She needed to temper herself into a fine, cold, Damascus steel, where emotions were simply cut and discarded. Anything less would lead to her untimely death.
It was a while before Lara opened her eyes again, and when she did, it was nearly pitch black inside the station. What little light that made its way through the snow was snuffed out. She had no idea what time it was, since the sun set so early here, but she supposed she could stay here for the night. As she moved to set up her little sleeping area, a thought suddenly struck her. Opening the door, she ventured out of the building, quickly digging through the snow to find exactly what she needed. After only a few minutes, she went back into the listening station a large handful of sharp rocks. She deposited them on the ground before unlacing her boot and working off her sock. Lara placed the stones in the sock before undoing her bun, taking the hair tie and placing around the sock. She gave her homemade mace a few swings. Hm. The weight seemed good, and the rocks had enough pointy ends to do some damage if she aimed for the right spots. Good. While it probably wouldn't win her any engagements, she at least had something useful to fight back with other than her hands. She grinned.
With her newfound weapon laid next to her, she took her extra duffel bag out and laid it on the floor. While it was poor bedding, it was better than just laying out on the cold floor. Gradually, she drifted off into a mediocre sleep.
*****
Lara had no idea what time it was when she woke up. It was still dark outside, as only the tiniest fragment of light was penetrating the snow-covered window. The announcements had yet to come, because the sound of the speakers wailing would have woken anyone. She groaned, stretching and rubbing the tiredness and crust out of her eyes. Lara slipped her boots on before opening the door, being greeted by the darkness that was slowly giving in to the sun. Moving around the the part of the building that faced the woods, she squatted. It was time for a bathroom break.
Before she was done, however, she was rudely interrupted by the speakers blaring to life, and she nearly jumped. Now was not the time to be startled, though, because now was the time she needed to pay attention the most.
The first two deaths were accidents. Nothing really of note there. Dawn accidentally sawed someone's arm off. The announcements made it sound accidental, so she discounted it. Eden was the first one to be murdered, and surprise surprise, it was Kitty again. Lara needed to make sure she stayed away from the other girl at all costs, lest she end up as another name on her ever-expanding list. Joan was shot by Letitia. Kitty got another kill to her name, but she missed who she killed. It didn't particularly matter, anyhow. Dominiqua was shot by DeMarcus. Eden was killed by Juanita, and the sound of Juanita's name in the "murderer" category sent a small pang through Lara's chest. The lacrosse players were the few people she was close to, and she wondered if what Juanita did was self-defense or not. After that was another accidental death, not worth remembering. Russell shot Mildred. After that, Micah got-
Wait.
Micah was dead.
...
A grin split Lara's face. Before she knew it, it kept getting wider. And wider. And wider. A giggle escaped her mouth. Soon enough, more giggles came out, followed by a chuckle, followed by laughter, and then capped off with full, gut-busting laughter. She stepped away from her snow toilet before falling to her knees. The laughter just kept coming and coming the longer she thought about Micah being nothing but a rotting corpse. That son of a bitch. That fucking son of a bitch. He was dead, he was nothing but a corpse, but she was alive and well. Hah. Haha. Hahaha! Piece of shit. She hoped that there was a special hell for him, and that it would be bleak and unending. A Tartarus, specifically built for him, where his agonized soul would be tormented for eternity. The thought brought her a sense of delightfully sadistic glee.
Eventually, the laughter subsided, and she gradually began to compose herself, but the smile still refused to go away. Every time she thought of his face, she could see it being slashed, burned, ripped apart. She hoped his death was as painful as she imagined it would be. Fucking bitch.
Soon, she got up, and while the smile remained, her brain began to chastise her for indulging in her emotions. Hadn't she just made a resolution to herself less than twelve hours ago to keep them in check? Obviously, she still had work to do tempering herself, but she hoped that she had expelled the majority of them in her little outburst. After covering yesterday's energy bar in deep snow, she entered the building once more and began to pack up her things. The sooner she got out of here, the better. Staying in one place for too long was not a good strategy.
After everything was secured, Lara marched out of the listening station and into the sunrise instead, her sock mace in hand. Perhaps the fourth day would be kind to her? Really, even if nothing of note occurred, it was not a bad day. A day being uninteresting was leagues better than a day being an active hindrance. She knew that good days on the island would be exceedingly rare, so she could settle for mediocre.
Then, she was gone, leaving only a trail of footsteps in her wake.
((Lara Bullock continued elsewhere))
Perhaps she did not want a repeat of the exhaustion that had struck her on day two by walking long distances. Perhaps she simply did not feel like walking very far. Perhaps it was something else entirely which she could not describe. In the end, Lara did not care. The listening station, on the far end of the research area and generally isolated from the rest of the area, would certainly do in terms of shelter.
Stepping through the door, she felt an odd sense of privacy. The window was piled high with snow, bringing an impenetrable darkness that was, in an odd way, comforting. That was one entrance that was safe, at least. The door was a different story, but she did not have anything to block it with, other than her own body. Well, it was not like there was any particularly comfortable looking spot to sit, so that's exactly what she did. Lara sat down, pressing her back against the door, leaning her head against it as well. A deep breath escaped her.
The listening station was safe, secure, private, alone. Here, she could plan in peace, alone without her emotions. There was no class president around to cloud her mind. There was no Evie to get her sentimental. There was no one but herself. It was the optimal situation. Of course, having a weapon of some kind would make it truly perfect, but she supposed she could not have everything she wanted. That seemed like it would be too good to be true in Survival of the Fittest.
Lara simply sat there for a while, eyes closed, but not sleeping. It was more like she was in a trancelike state, aware but unmoving, as she simply thought about what to do next. The experience with Chloé cemented not only her profound distrust of groups, but of her vulnerability to emotional manipulation. That could never happen again. In her worst moments, Lara would bemoan how distant and cold she was normally, but here, that was an asset. She needed to temper herself into a fine, cold, Damascus steel, where emotions were simply cut and discarded. Anything less would lead to her untimely death.
It was a while before Lara opened her eyes again, and when she did, it was nearly pitch black inside the station. What little light that made its way through the snow was snuffed out. She had no idea what time it was, since the sun set so early here, but she supposed she could stay here for the night. As she moved to set up her little sleeping area, a thought suddenly struck her. Opening the door, she ventured out of the building, quickly digging through the snow to find exactly what she needed. After only a few minutes, she went back into the listening station a large handful of sharp rocks. She deposited them on the ground before unlacing her boot and working off her sock. Lara placed the stones in the sock before undoing her bun, taking the hair tie and placing around the sock. She gave her homemade mace a few swings. Hm. The weight seemed good, and the rocks had enough pointy ends to do some damage if she aimed for the right spots. Good. While it probably wouldn't win her any engagements, she at least had something useful to fight back with other than her hands. She grinned.
With her newfound weapon laid next to her, she took her extra duffel bag out and laid it on the floor. While it was poor bedding, it was better than just laying out on the cold floor. Gradually, she drifted off into a mediocre sleep.
*****
Lara had no idea what time it was when she woke up. It was still dark outside, as only the tiniest fragment of light was penetrating the snow-covered window. The announcements had yet to come, because the sound of the speakers wailing would have woken anyone. She groaned, stretching and rubbing the tiredness and crust out of her eyes. Lara slipped her boots on before opening the door, being greeted by the darkness that was slowly giving in to the sun. Moving around the the part of the building that faced the woods, she squatted. It was time for a bathroom break.
Before she was done, however, she was rudely interrupted by the speakers blaring to life, and she nearly jumped. Now was not the time to be startled, though, because now was the time she needed to pay attention the most.
The first two deaths were accidents. Nothing really of note there. Dawn accidentally sawed someone's arm off. The announcements made it sound accidental, so she discounted it. Eden was the first one to be murdered, and surprise surprise, it was Kitty again. Lara needed to make sure she stayed away from the other girl at all costs, lest she end up as another name on her ever-expanding list. Joan was shot by Letitia. Kitty got another kill to her name, but she missed who she killed. It didn't particularly matter, anyhow. Dominiqua was shot by DeMarcus. Eden was killed by Juanita, and the sound of Juanita's name in the "murderer" category sent a small pang through Lara's chest. The lacrosse players were the few people she was close to, and she wondered if what Juanita did was self-defense or not. After that was another accidental death, not worth remembering. Russell shot Mildred. After that, Micah got-
Wait.
Micah was dead.
...
A grin split Lara's face. Before she knew it, it kept getting wider. And wider. And wider. A giggle escaped her mouth. Soon enough, more giggles came out, followed by a chuckle, followed by laughter, and then capped off with full, gut-busting laughter. She stepped away from her snow toilet before falling to her knees. The laughter just kept coming and coming the longer she thought about Micah being nothing but a rotting corpse. That son of a bitch. That fucking son of a bitch. He was dead, he was nothing but a corpse, but she was alive and well. Hah. Haha. Hahaha! Piece of shit. She hoped that there was a special hell for him, and that it would be bleak and unending. A Tartarus, specifically built for him, where his agonized soul would be tormented for eternity. The thought brought her a sense of delightfully sadistic glee.
Eventually, the laughter subsided, and she gradually began to compose herself, but the smile still refused to go away. Every time she thought of his face, she could see it being slashed, burned, ripped apart. She hoped his death was as painful as she imagined it would be. Fucking bitch.
Soon, she got up, and while the smile remained, her brain began to chastise her for indulging in her emotions. Hadn't she just made a resolution to herself less than twelve hours ago to keep them in check? Obviously, she still had work to do tempering herself, but she hoped that she had expelled the majority of them in her little outburst. After covering yesterday's energy bar in deep snow, she entered the building once more and began to pack up her things. The sooner she got out of here, the better. Staying in one place for too long was not a good strategy.
After everything was secured, Lara marched out of the listening station and into the sunrise instead, her sock mace in hand. Perhaps the fourth day would be kind to her? Really, even if nothing of note occurred, it was not a bad day. A day being uninteresting was leagues better than a day being an active hindrance. She knew that good days on the island would be exceedingly rare, so she could settle for mediocre.
Then, she was gone, leaving only a trail of footsteps in her wake.
((Lara Bullock continued elsewhere))