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Is in some state of existence
[ *  *  *  * ]
He was stuttering.

The bleeding was worse than she had thought, red across his chest, a vivid reminder of what her gun had done, what she had done.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

Why was he still trying to help her even when he was dying? She couldn't understand. She shot him and he was still trying to help.

He expected so much of her, so much for a person she barely knew and she couldn't take it.

He wanted her to take his gun. She couldn't take it.

He wanted her to find her friends. She didn't know how.

He wanted her to live on. She didn't know why.

"Why are you so nice?"

But there was no answer.

Maybe if they had been anywhere else in the world, he could still be saved, but none of them on the island were doctors. No blood transfusions, no sterile equipment, nothing that could change his fate.

She'd just helped kill a man and there was nothing she could do about it.

It was unfair. There wasn't any way she could do what he wanted her to. She wasn't strong enough, or smart enough to do any of that. But she was alive and he was dead, even though everything within her screamed out that it should have been the opposite.

And yet there was some weight to the words of a dying man, wasn't there. Like some unviolable contract signed without her consent. As if, not doing so would be the absolute worst thing she could do.

Her other savior lay on the ground, face bloody from the fight. Was he dying too? She couldn't tell.

She recognised him now, now that he wasn't a blur of masks and flying toilet seats.

Jonathan was lying on the ground, unconscious or delirious or something, and he needed help, she needed to help him, but all she could remember now was every other person she'd tried to help.

"Are you okay?" She didn't know what else she could do right now.
"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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