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"So, Charlene. You think it'll be hard?"


"College. You think it'll be hard?" Aaron Hicks was looking at her in the limo. Was he because he was speaking to her or just sizing her up? Charlene figured it didn't matter. She was kind of doing the same thing to him.

"My studies? Don't know just yet. I could go into anything. Tennis team is going to be pretty cool. You?" She gulped the glass of champagne in one gulp.

"Well, I've got football, but I'm not really thinking about school. I'll think about that in school. Doesn't matter much now." He laughed. Prompting a slight giggle from Charlene. Possibly the champagne. Didn't really matter much. They had a prom to enjoy ...

Charlene Norris woke up from her reverie, her eyes adjusting to the light as they took in the tennis court. Had this been a movie, one could have relished the irony that the school's star tennis player was starting her game on a tennis court. She got up groggily, as the effects of the gas wore off.

Whah? Was I drunk at a party again? As her mind returned to the real, she realized that that was not the case. For one, she didn't smell any different, and she was fully clothed. She stood up, knees bent, looking around as she rubbed the back of her neck and looked to the ground ...

Oh, no. The revelation hit her like a brick to the head. The metal band, coupled with the sight of Steven Digaetano's face on her sweatshirt gave her the full realization of her situation. Oh, no, no, no no. She was on SOTF. She didn't know much about it, but she did know one thing: people like her, the popular girls with bodies to die for, were rape targets. She looked down, panicked. About a meter away from her were two bags. As she walked towards them, she saw the regulation bag that all the students were given. She gave it a good look - "FEMALE STUDENT #31 - CHARLENE NORRIS." Yeah. That was her. She opened it , rummaging through everything, when she felt up something cold. She pulled it out, to find out she was holding a gun (specifically, an FN Browning HP - single-action semiautomatic pistol, weight one kilogram, holds thirteen 9 mm rounds per clip and one in the chamber - although Charlene had no idea about this). She looked it over, absentmindedly pushing a button on the grip - and the clip fell right out.

Shit. She picked it up, fiddling around with it, eventually putting it back in. She went back to her bag, finding and picking up the other two clips and putting them into her pocket (giving her forty bullets total - unbeknownst to her, there was also a bullet in the chamber as well as a full thirteen round clip). She noticed a small switch at the rear of the gun - it was the safety, although it wasn't until she flicked it and saw the red dot did she realize that there was something wrong with that, immediately flicking it back (she had never used a weapon, but she had seen movies. She knew safeties existed.). Charlene just closed her mismatched eyes and tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants, under her sweatshirt and tank top. She looked around, finally paying attention to her surroundings, and found three people slightly ahead and to her left. She walked around, eventually finding the gate out, her bags on her back, walking towards the three (whom she now recognized as being all male) there. When she got about ten meters from them, she called out in as calm a voice as she could muster (she actually did it pretty decently, given the circumstances):

"Hey, guys. Pretty fucked up, huh?" Please don't kill me ...
Edited by decoy73, Aug 12 2010, 02:55 PM.
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