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[Sorry for the lateness, it was finals week and I thought I could squeeze something out fast enough but things piled up. Won't happen again.]

It all went to hell so fast, before his very eyes. It never rained in Arthur's world. It only ever seemed to pour. With just one shove, his new travelling companion had gone off the brink, and any hope that Arthur had of Alba's friend joining up with them had gone away. He picked himself up off of the rock and stood facing the cliff that Bernadette had gone over, Alba's friend running over in immediate regret. The drop seemed survivable, given you fell in a very specific way, but Arthur had no real way of knowing for sure. He watched from a distance as the boy began to cry, Alba offering whatever she could to keep him from breaking down. It wasn't going to work. There was no easy way to console a murderer.

Because that's what he was. A murderer, purpose be damned. A crime of passion was still a crime. Arthur couldn't just let this slide. There'd have to be repercussions. Consequences for his ac-


Arthur winced, dropping his paintball gun onto the ground. Gunfire, but from where? Had Alba been killed? Was there someone else coming over the horizon, using their moment of weakness to pick off everyone on the cliffs? He turned his eyes up to find-


Looks like someone had reached the same conclusion he had. Arthur grinned, and picked his paintball gun back up, aiming it down at the base of the cliff.

"She's right, you know," he warned, "It's about time you took your leave. Just do it quickly." Arthur wouldn't hesitate to fire if he had to. Paintballs stung, they covered you in paint, but they didn't kill. The boy wasn't worth killing. He already looked like he wanted to kill himself over what he had done.

The smell of the salty sea tickled Arthur's nose, and he had to stifle a sneeze. Best not to ruin the moment.
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~



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Think About Your Life · Northwest Cliffs