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Lily Maclaughlin was alive. She was awake. And for the moment, she was entirely lost.

The journalist girl had her back to one of the myriad felled stumps in the area she had woken up in a short while before, her body hunched over the only thing left to her not in the daypack; her small notepad. She had it balanced in her left hand, while her right scribbled away with the small golf pencil she carried. Strands of her brown-dyed hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and hung from her head, framing eyes that seemed almost vacant.

What Lily was writing could have been notes, if it made any sense. The words didn't follow any structure, any form. She scribbled close together; letters overlapped, slipped into the margins, bullet points lost in a sea of shorthand and abbreviations that probably didn't mean anything.

She kept telling herself she was writing up the situation, that she was taking info, as if this island, this whole game was something she could take interviews on, that she could compartmentalize and put into a nice 350 word story in AP format (Updated for 2008 of course) and shoot off to the paper for editing. Honestly, it was the only way she could deal with the shock.

Halfway through her fifth little page of scribbling the pencil broke. Lily stared at it, as if it was a friend that had betrayed her. With a frustrated growl, she threw the pencil, watching it bounce off a stump before sliding out of sight. She looked back to the sketchpad, and saw, probably for the first real time, what she'd been doing. She recognized none of it.

Lily replaced the notepad in the pocket of her capris and buried her face into her hands. There were tears in her eyes, but she rubbed them out of her face with the heels of her hands. She'd already done that before, and she didn't think she could handle crying again.

She was going on the camping trip to cover it, thinking it'd be a good feature for the issue when the class came back. Not like she had any real desire to be in the woods. Then again, she might've even had fun. Then the horror started. She remembered the auditorium, the man...Danya. Lily knew plenty about Survival of the Fittest; several of the major news outlets she watched aired specials on it almost all the time. Not once, not ever did she expect she'd on it. If she didn't absolutely believe she was going to die, Lily might have believed she could've gotten an amazing story out of this whole deal.

It didn't help that they gave her a book on plants. When Lily had rummaged through her pack that was the first thing she saw, and she almost didn't want to believe she'd been saddled with it. She still didn't throw it out, maybe thinking it would be handy at some point. Maybe she just needed a talisman. She still didn't believe she'd be alive for very long. She'd heard gunfire, which meant someone was falling into the paradigm quite well.

"Maybe I'll have to write obituaries soon." She said aloud, and almost laughed with the absurdity of it.

She stayed slumped against the log for awhile, and finally grabbed her daypack. She was sure she was done for, but she'd be damned if she let the fact go without trying to change it. She shouldered the bag and pulled out the compass that had been provided, trying to get her bearings.

"A high school class of over 200 was kidnapped and forced to compete in near gladiatorial combat this week, according to reputed sources..." She muttered, and had to stop herself from giving another grim laugh.
Edited by Outfoxd, Nov 18 2010, 12:01 PM.
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Leona Van Kamp
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No News is Good News · The Felled Forest: North