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((Jonathan Gulley continued from Kanji my computer can't translate with a copy paste))

To anyone's eye, Jonathan looked like shit. The expression on his face, the dried tear stains on his cheeks, the matted hair, the cuts and scratches on his chest from the fact he had no shirt and had walked through thick brush to get here... And to those people's eyes, they were right, he did look like shit; he also felt like it. As he walked towards the cliffs, he had to contemplate his next move. As he was nearing the cliffs, he couldn't get what happened to Barry out of his head, nothing he thought of could block it. Home, escape, death, his friends, all of it got replaced by Barry's last words, and the moments before he approached Alvaro. Jonathan refused to think of him after those moments, but that last image of his face, haphazardly turned in an angle like that, it sickened him. Someone like that, they- they didn't deserve this.

He couldn't think of his plan to escape, or even let someone find them, he couldn't think of what happened if he were to actually make it home, and if anyone he was close to would stay close provided they even survived too... Jonathan walked towards the cliffs, the fence blocking him from the other side. It wasn't the only thing blocking him; no matter how much Jonathan wanted to give up, he knew he couldn't. Hunt down Alvaro, kill himself, find his friends and live out his last moments in some sort of civility, win; all of those thoughts passed his mind, but he knew he couldn't do any of them. Grabbing the gate, he stared out into the ocean, despite all of the hellish experiences this island gave him in just under an hour, the ocean was a surprisingly calming sight. The reasons they were calming however, disturbed even Jonathan.

No matter what happened to him or his classmates on this island, the world moved on. People wake up, go to work, go home, sleep, and then they do it all again. Maybe a group of people spoke up, maybe Kingman would mourn, but that's it. That's all they'd get. The worst would be the people giving them actual attention, the ones who'd watch it, place bets, and treat it like a simple game of football. Outside of that, school would open and close, kids were preparing for summer break, and the president might give them a single sentence about how sorry he was this happened, and that he'd try better next time. That's it, that's all they got.

Jonathan wanted to be the one to change something, he couldn't end up like this, he had to make sure nobody else did either. He had to make a change somehow. But how was the question, nobody would give him a single second to explain, not even a thought, they were all content with dying here. He didn't get it, either they thought he was a joke, or they avoided him because of the people he hung out with. They either thought he was trouble, or just stupid, and that he wasn't worth the time.

He turned around, planning to walk back into the brush, when something caught his peripheral vision. Brendan Harte was staring right at him as if Jonathan had just killed someone. He was right there, sitting by a hill, just looking at him, in broad daylight, anyone aware could have noticed. If Brendan was playing, Jonathan would've already been dead... Maybe Jonathan was as dumb as people thought.

"H-hey, Brendan..." Maybe, just maybe, Brendan could help him. Jonathan hoped this wouldn't be like the other times.
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Sep 26 2016, 12:37 PM.
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Just People In A Messed Up Place · Northwest Cliffs