Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Create your own social network with a free forum.
Learn More · Register Now
Viewing Single Post From: Thirteen Steps
Member Avatar
party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Astrid forced herself to take deeper, slower breaths, to try and will her heart to stop beating so fast and to build a wall in front of the emotional outburst that was threatening to overflow and spill out of her. She’d never been an actress. It was enough of a task for her to fool other people as to what she was really feeling, let alone trying to fool herself. So she didn’t, 99% of the time. Astrid spoke her mind, even when people didn’t want to hear it.

Now, she really needed to fool everyone into thinking she was that same Astrid, that same cold-hearted, stuck up, arrogant bitch, the way she knew people talked about her when they thought she couldn’t hear. Her breathing eventually slowed. She folded her arms, put the steely glare back on her face, and sat back down.

She still felt cold, a numbing frost running through her veins.

The other three were leaving, sooner rather than later, before she could even begin to form any sort of attachment to any of them. This was supposed to be a good thing, the best case scenario for everyone involved. It was hard not to feel angry at just how fucking dense they were all being, however, too wrapped up in their ideas of trust and pacifism to even want to look at the bigger picture.

You had to kill at least once to get out of here. Just one person. That was all Astrid needed to do, fuck, it was all she could bear to do. If you didn’t kill, then you were writing your own death sentence, even if you ended up being the only person left alive on this godforsaken island. What were Harold and Ty going to do if they were the last two people alive? Two best friends, working together to survive and overcome every obstacle in their way, and finally ending up with a choice; force yourself to kill your friend, force your friend to kill you, or force the terrorists to kill both of you and render this whole fucking exercise and the deaths of everyone involved absolutely fucking pointless.

Lizzie had said one single thing that made sense. None of them should die yet. Almost no-one in her class deserved to be put into this situation. And yet they had, and there was nothing any of them could do to stop this. People would die. People had almost certainly already died. No-one here with half a brain wanted to. No-one here deserved to. But this wasn’t a situation where you could stand up against your oppressors and topple them from the inside. Standing up to the terrorists and refusing to play their game didn’t make you a better person, it made you a fucking imbecile who might as well start digging a grave to save the terrorists the inevitable bother.

Astrid stayed in the room for several minutes after the other three had left, still seated, but her posture slowly relaxing until she was slumped in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. There was no point hiding it from herself. She’d admitted her intentions to a group of people already. It was out in the open. She was going to kill someone at some point. There wasn’t any other option in front of her that she could see.

She started laughing. She wasn’t sure why. It started softly at first, growing steadily louder and louder, tears rolling down her cheeks as she did so.

In the blink of an eye, Astrid was on her feet, chair now in her hands. She hurled it towards a section of the others, watching them crash into each other, clattering over, coming to rest on their sides and backs like some bizarre modern art installation. She was breathing heavily again. She cursed under her breath to the empty room.

She still wasn’t prepared for this. Not mentally and not emotionally. But she’d have to find a way to be when the time came.

There wasn’t any other way.

((Astrid Tate continued in Quickdraw))


"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
Offline Profile Quote Post
Thirteen Steps · Group Therapy