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Is in some state of existence
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Amanda Tan continued from The Greatest Sideshow on Earth))

The gun was lying in front of her once more.

When had she taken it?

She didn't remember taking it from the pub. She was certain that she'd have remembered if she did, that she would have remembered carrying it all the way across the island, and she didn't.

But it was undeniably here with her now.

It was haunting her, wasn't it? It was going to stay with her until she shot someone or she died and she didn't know which she prefered anymore.

She had fucked up. Completely. But Emma would be able to pull herself together. Jaime could watch out for herself. And they wouldn't have her making the decisions anymore and they would be alright.

She had told herself that, but she knew it was the trite rubbish that movie antiheroes pulled and it always ended up biting them later. All she had done was be selfish, and she was going to suffer for it. They wouldn't even have to kill her. Danya would be reading out her name one of these days simply saying that 'Amanda Tan died from extreme guilt'.

And that would be great for everyone, wouldn't it? One less kid for the terrorists to worry about, one less kid that her classmates needed to kill. But that would do nothing to fix the mess that she'd left behind.

She wanted to go back.

It was probably better to go back.

She could still remember the looks on their faces when she had left.

She shouldn't have left.

But she couldn't bring herself to return.

She had tried, once, earlier that afternoon, standing up from the spot that she had sobbed in for god knew how long now. She had even made it to the door, despite her quivering legs. But she couldn't bring herself to open the door. She didn't know why. She needed to do it to fix anything but she was hyperventilating and overthinking things and her hands just fumbled off the doorknob and she ended up storming back to the corner of the room where she had spent the night, where the flow of emotions finally overwhelmed and she fell back down again, not caring that landing on the floor that way hurt.

The gun was still there, staring at her not unlike Tessa had when she had left.

Both cold. Both judging her.

She had enough of it.

She'd had enough.

She picked the weapon up, pulling it above her head in a single motion, and threw it as hard as she could across the room.

The weapon clattered across the floor noisily before crash landing with a flurry of paper. Somehow, she felt no satisfaction from that either.
"I have the heart of a young boy. I keep it in a jar on my desk" -- Stephen King

Those no longer with us

It's the Grand Map of Doom! v6
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