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Stark
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Nuts.
[ *  *  * ]
((R.J. Lowe continued from Clap For The Killers))

At first, everything was beautiful. The sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, meadows of pure green stretched as far as the eye could see on both sides, and not a single car obstructed the highway as R.J. and Elizabeth tore down the road at top speed. Her engine roared with the fury of a raging lioness, but to R.J.'s ears, she was purring like a kitten. This was the feeling he truly lived for. This was what freedom truly felt like. One man, two wheels, and no obstacles.

Then, off in the distance, to the left, a lone tree stump. He thought nothing of it initially, simply driving on past it. He thought not much of the one he passed on the right shortly thereafter. I
t was only as the bare stumps and dead logs began to dot the landscape that he took notice, and it only grew thicker with them the farther he went, until he was eventually driving through a vast, dried up elephant graveyard of trees, the verdant, full-of-life meadows now just a fleeting memory. Above him, clouds began to form, white and wispy at first, but quickly expanding to a thick, black mass of vapor until the sun vanished without a trace. He looked down from the darkening sky, only to discover that the landscape had changed once more. The world around him was littered in corpses. Corpses of everyone he had ever known, all in various states of decay, splayed out across the felled forest. And straight ahead, standing in the middle of the road, was a girl, her skin pale, blood staining her pure, white dress as it dripped from a hole in her gut. A girl named Eva Lancaster. He tried to stop, but the brakes wouldn't budge. He tried to turn, but Elizabeth wouldn't let him steer. All he could do was stare helplessly as he awaited the inevitable impact, before he awoke in a cold sweat, shooting bolt upright from his makeshift bed on the forest floor, the taste of bile heavy in his mouth. Stumbling over to one side, he proceeded to cover a nearby stump in water, wheat, and stomach acid.

Only by virtue of spending two days awake and moving was R.J. able to sleep at all that night. Thoughts of what he'd done had continued to haunt his conscious mind. Thoughts of what could make a girl like Kris Hartmann a murderer. His own murderous rage at Staffan Kronwall. The fear of his own inevitable demise. Everything about his situation conspired to keep him from sleeping peacefully, and the conspiracy had thus far succeeded. For a moment, he thought about laying back down and trying again, until a new circumstance presented itself. A voice. A girl's voice, specifically. One that sounded oddly familiar, but that he was still too tired to recognize. More importantly, it was disturbingly close. He speedily grabbed his gun and his flashlight, having kept them close at hand as he slept, in case of an emergency. Shining the light in the direction the sound came from, the beam illuminated the figure that stood no more than 20 yards ahead.

...Oh my god.

Mary Ann Warren was the last face he'd hoped to see. Not because he didn't like her, of course, but because he really, really did. He hadn't been able to find her when they were getting on the buses, so he'd hoped she'd gotten lucky and not been able to come. Not only that, but now he had to be reunited with the girl he lovreally, really liked as a killer, something she'd inevitably find out about for herself.

Why... why couldn't you have just stayed home...

It was all he could do to helplessly drop both the gun and the light to the forest floor, simply standing there, nerves freezing him in place.
<Mimi>: You are much nicer than I thought you'd be!
<Stark>: Shut up, fatty.
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The Cries of the Voiceless · The Felled Forest: North