"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Viewing Single Post From: One of Three
Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
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Trent wrinkled his nose as he got close to the cabin; the acrid smell of vomit flew into his face with the wind, causing him to gag a little. It smelt sharp and tangy, clinging to the inside of his nose, and he had to pull his T-shirt up to his face to stop the smell from overwhelming his recovering senses. His head was still drumming with a rhythmic pain, and his eyes couldn't quite focus properly, but at least he could still move, albeit in the fashion of the zombies in those early Romero films. It didn't matter though, as he kept reminding himself; "It coulda been worse. You coulda died, y' idiot." Which was all too true. He couldn't afford to do those moronic things any more, he had a real objective now, a real goal to aim for. Nodding along with his thoughts, he took a moment to stop himself as a brief dizzy spell passed over him, taking a quick look around after it was gone to check if he was still alone.

"Hey, bud... you have a nice nap?"

The voice sounded familiar - and close. The area blurring around him as his head turned quickly in an attempt to find the source, his eyes soon stopped dead when a large, moving shape entered his sights. Vision settling as he focused on the shape, he realized why the voice had sounded so familiar, and a smile threatened to close his wide-open mouth. "C...Craig? Is that - is that you, man?" This couldn't be happening, could it? Had he actually received some kind of luck now? Though the pain still hammered away at his skull, Trent didn't care. He'd found one of the very few people he actually liked on the island, and he didn't even seem to be carrying a weapon. An unusually happy Trent rushed (well, hobbled) over to the boy, unaware of the stoned look of relief on his face.

"I... hah, I can't believe it. Of all the peeeople, I find you, man. Craig fuckin' Hoyle." He laughed, trying his best to stay standing as his head began to spin from all the excitement. Lugging his legs behind him, he managed to get up close to the outer wall of the cabin, resting on it as he walked over to the confused on-looker who seemed a bit disturbed by Trent's condition. His hair was full of dirt and a small patch of sticky, congealing blood had emerged around the side of his head, hidden only slightly by his greasy locks. Added to this, he simply had the look of a major stoner about him, and the fact that his eyes wouldn't straighten did nothing to help matters at all. No, right now he was a mess, and as he finally got into Craig's proximity there was only one thing he could do.

"My... oh man, you're lookin' kinda..." Without another word he slumped forward, hanging his arms around the footballer's stomach as the world around him began to blacken once again. "Gotta... ohhhh, shiiiit..." His words slurred together into an indecipherable mess and his eyelids locked themselves down, leaving a bewildered Craig holding the unconscious boy carefully in his arms.

His goal was going to be harder to reach than he thought.
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One of Three · The Ranger Station