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Viewing Single Post From: By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you
RedAstaire
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grim wolf wannabe
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Conrad did not want to die.

He should have been cautious.

He felt good talking some minutes before. Talking with Isabel about what had happened to him since she left their group. Someone that might understand his standpoint. Could relate his motives and thoughts.

He did not expect Isabel to trap him with her weapon. He tried to find bubble gum in his bag, asking Isabel if she had some. She replied with a 'shut up'. And then he just found pain in his stomach.

Help. Why. Fuck. No. Huh. Screams. Vowels. Syllables. That's what came out.

Conrad was not a person who was scared of injuries. If he bruised something while playing, no problem. The broken arm he had? Fucking painful, it distracted him, it was a big disadvantage. But he imagined that it could be plastered in the future. It was going to be fine. The pain, it could go away with meds, eventually, in the future. But Conrad was afraid of death the most. It was permanent.

Getting things into his body, was something he was used to. He was not afraid of getting insulin needles injected.

But this was no insulin needle. He felt dizzy. His tummy hurt. He wanted to vomit.

He tried to move. With all force. Get away.

But he was just one-armed. And his right arm was not good enough to move it away. His left arm made things worse. He needed to free himself from the pain. But couldn't.

Isabel then went to kill him with the sword he killed Harold with.

But then, Conrad had hope again.

She hesitated. She did not kill him. And then the hope vanished. It was worse.

He needs to talk. He needs to live.

He was going to die. He was dying. He was scared.

He just wants to live.

He wants to do so much.

"I can. You need me. I can help. You don't need to kill me."

Anything.

"I am useful. Too useful to live."

He would kill, just to live any longer.

"Die."

He would do anything to get out.

"Help."

This went longer than expected. His eyes watched. The room, isabel, the blood, the pain. It felt so long that he had been trapped on the wall.

"I can help you in winning."

He would eat shit just to get out of here.

"Don't kill me."

Shoot a knife into his eye.

"We can be a team."

Anything.

"God no."

But he did not want to die.

"Don't kill me."

Talk.

"Help."

Convince.

"I can kill, too."

Tears.

"My arm is."

Breathe.

"Why?"

But Isabel made him shut up.

Now, he could not help. He could not talk. Just inaudible noises. No word. Isabel would not listen. Isabel would not listen.








His body was fucked up.









But then things got worse.

Death was nearing.

It was hard to think. Concentrate what was happening to him. He did not know. He wanted out of here. He would be dead. This was what dying felt like.

A stab.

His lung. He could not breathe. Breathing hurt.

Any minute and all of this would end.

So much pain. So much fear.

In the end the fear of dying was worse than dying itself.

B002 - Conrad Timothy Harrod - DEAD

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By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you · Solitary Confinement