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God was telling you "not yet".
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Leila could hear every mumbled, stuttered, flustered word from where she sat, meaning the sources were somewhere nearby. Stirring out of her paralysis, she began to shakily get to her feet, hushing herself as her bangles clanged against the zipper of the daypack. She recognised the speech well enough, but she couldn't quite put a face to the voices, and found herself wary of taking the first step towards them.

Judging by what she could hear, and piecing together what that man on the video had told them, the voices could have belonged to anyone who came on the camping trip. She paused, letting the thought weigh heavily on her mind.

We were meant to go camping... Her body trembled as she stood, the daypack in no danger of leaving her side as she huddled it close to her chest. We were meant to be drinking, and fucking around, and- and being... 18. Her heart sank deeper into her chest, the other organs threatening to engulf it as a familiar lump began to swell in the base of her throat. We were... we were meant to be celebrating, not... this. Not fucking THIS.

She wanted to be back home, or out clubbing, or getting wasted with her friends - but this, this was her reality now, freezing and alone and scared of what she would find waiting around that corner, and more importantly, whether or not the weapon in her bag would ever be put to use. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it, whatever it was, but secretly she knew that there might be people like that boy around here. That boy who shot and stabbed his girlfriend without blinking an eye. Those were the kind of people everyone here could end up becoming, even the ones who looked oh so harmless, even like...

“Hands up, packs out, bitches,”

A tiny squeak escaped her body, quickly muffled by her own hands as she stood rooted to the spot. Someone else had come along - someone dangerous, she assumed. Leaving the safety of the Ferris wheel's shade, she stepped out into the open, glancing around in every direction to see if she could pinpoint where everything was taking place. Then she heard a response, and her eyes looked squarely ahead, in the direction of one of the stalls.

Stepping carefully on the ruined ground, she winced as her delicate feet met with the harsh edges of the rock and the dirt. The luxury of decent footwear was not one she currently possessed, and as she marched slowly forwards, her lips quivered as she tried her best to repress the cries threatening to give away her whereabouts. To say she looked her worst right now would be entirely accurate, although given the states she'd sometimes found herself in (and much to her relief) at least she wasn't covered in someone else's vomit.

After an agonizing walk, she found herself behind what looked to be an old ring-toss stall, but the years of rain and rot had worn away the name on the sign. With her daypack in hand, she crouched down below the side of the counter, hoping that she was invisible to whoever stood on the other side, waiting to rob the people who had been so near her all this time without her knowing. It made her a little sick, to think that she could've been attacked at any opportunity, but the fact that she was still alive meant that she hadn't been seen just yet. At least, that was what she hoped.

Counting herself up to three, she raised her head, ever so slowly, above the counter; her eyes widening at the sight of her classmates being held up by that weirdo, graceless Gracie Wainwright. A weirdo... who now possessed a rifle.
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Break Up And Break Down · The Fun Fair