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Viewing Single Post From: Thirteen Steps
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Astrid sat in her seat, the only movement coming from the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, controlled and steady, another faÁade of calmness and an attempt at being in control.

She watched Harold as he spoke, trying to maintain a stoic look on her face, but she had never been great at hiding her feelings and views from people, and her stare had that familiar condescending, dismissive edge to it.

She felt the sinking feeling in her gut grow larger and larger as she realised just where Harold was going with this and that the next time she would hear about him it would be as a tally mark beside a playerís list of kills.

Astrid let out a long, disappointed sigh, still unable to prevent it from becoming shaky towards the tail end. She didnít want him to die. She didnít want anyone to die. She didnít know Harold, but he didnít deserve that, she was sure. There was almost no-one she could think of that did deserve to die out here, and the prospect of having to do that with her own two hands was something that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she was certain.

But that was the only thing she could do, and it was maddening that Harold couldnít see that. It was physically impossible to get out of here without having to kill someone first; people didnít kill? Then everyone died. You somehow, by some miracle, reached the end without killing anyone, without people labelling you an easy target? Astrid didnít really want to think about what the terrorists would do to you in that case, after making a mockery of their entire proceedings. This was their game. The only way to win would be to play.

Itíd be like ripping off a band aid. Do it quickly, and try to ignore the pain that comes with it.

ďItís funny, you know,Ē Astrid said, trying her best to recapture the way she spoke back at Kingman, but only getting a pale imitation of her voice instead. ďHow you say you donít want to just lie down and die? Because to me, thatís exactly what it sounds like youíre planning on doing.Ē

Astrid tipped the chair back forwards, coming back to rest on all four legs with a gentle clunk sound. She locked eyes with Harold and fixed him with a steely glare.

ďSo youíre only gonna kill if you fuck up badly? What if someone brandishing a machete and more fluid morals is coming at you? Or at one of your friends? What are you going to do then? What if they canít be talked down? Sooner or later, something like thatís gonna happen to you, and you know what? I really donít want me saying ĎI told you soí to be the last thing you think of.Ē

Astrid slowly stood up, still keeping her vision fixed on Harold. She didnít feel safe seated anymore. She was too vulnerable, too much at ease, not positioned to reach her gun in time. Words tumbled out of her mouth like they didnít belong there, trying to expel them as quickly as possible and not caring what they actually were.

ďIím going to end up killing someone,Ē she continued. ďI donít know who. I donít know when. But itís going to happen. Iím notÖ Iím not dying here. I canít. IíveÖĒ

Astrid realised she was beginning to shake. Her breath was hurried and shallowed. She felt very cold all of a sudden.

ďI canít die yet.Ē


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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Thirteen Steps · Group Therapy