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Hollyquin
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A friendly clown welcomes you to LOCAH. It seems he would like to be your guide.
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"Can we wash up a little bit before we leave? I feel sullied and unusual."

Yeah, that made sense. Why had she just poured all this water on herself when the fucking ocean was right there? Hayley had felt weirdly like everyone involved was going to want to go, leave, now. Maybe it was just her who didn't want to be here anymore. The more she stood here the more she had to look at Jamdead-boy's body and the more she had to worry about her own sanity. But yeah, there was no harm in staying for a while more, right? Wash off a bit more. Ema wasn't bloody, but she was a little...urgh, not clean regardless, and Kyle was just a mess. So, washing. Cleaning. Staying a little longer. Giving Hayley time to think.

Yay, thinking. Just what I want to be doing right now.

She nodded in agreement after handing the falcata off to Ema, following the two, slowly, behind them, stopping for a moment to pick through her bag for a cigarette. She lit it.

Inhale.

Exhale.


She also found her flask and, in a moment of weakness and probably not-smart-ness, took a swig.

Oh, sweet, sweet vodka, my dear friend, I love you so.

The warming sensation traveled down her throat and suddenly, magically, everything was a little bit less awful. Now, not even Hayley Kelly, lightweight extraordinare, could get drunk off of one gulp of vodka, but the combination of her still mostly empty stomach, the cigarette, and, most of all, the sheer comfort the taste gave her, the sense memory of parties and friends and sex, all of that was enough to make Hayley feel better for a few glorious seconds.

And just as quickly, the feeling was gone.

Her throat and her stomach still felt warm, though, as she walked down to the water with the cigarette still in her mouth. Inhale. Exhale. She let the water run over her bare feet. She stood her ground. She realized she was still holding the gun, still wearing her bag, and backtracked a bit, placing the first in the latter and leaving both in the sand.

Walk forward, again. Step step. Inhale, exhale.


...What's wrong with me?


That was definitely the question of the hour.

So. I killed some kid yesterday. Steve, his name was, Steve something? Whatever. Doesn't matter. See LOOK that's PART of it even, I can't even be fucked to remember the kid's fucking NAME, that's so wrong. But I felt all bad about that and it happened cause I bugged out or whatever and whatever that might have been a mistake but that was like a thousand years ago in Survival of the Fittest-time so whatever to that. But then came Jame dead-b dammit, JAMES, James fucking MULZET, and like, that made sense, right, I was the Dread Pirate Mother Fucking Roberts, rescuing my damsel in distress and shit, that made sense! Anyone would do that, anyone with the license to kill, fuck, no, it's not permission, it's fucking ENCOURAGEMENT to kill would use it to keep their friends alive, right? So it makes sense I can't feel bad about it, I was just trying to protect them, ANY-fucking-one who isn't a complete pussy would do it, right?

She was rambling. Internally, even. Keep the self loathing at bay. Stra-te-ra-gy. Reality show strategy. Inhale. Exhale.

But then why am I freaking out? Why does the fact that my voice doesn't crack anymore make me feel nervous? Why do I feel like I SHOULD feel so much fucking WORSE for all this shit? I can't even feel bad about that Steve kid anymore, sure maybe it was a mistake and I was freaking out over nothing but it's in the past now and what the fuck am I supposed to do about it now, really, right, and I'm not a bad person, I'm not, I'm not.

So what do I need this gun for? To protect me and them. Why not the sword? Other people have guns, I need one too. Am I gonna kill more people?


That voice was no longer distinguishable. Her voice, herself, was one big internal conflict. There was no good or evil, there was only a lot of really sucky cranial drama. Inhale. Exhale.

Probably. Should I feel bad about it? Is that the right thing to do, feel really damn guilty all the time? Cause I'd get sick of THAT real quick.

Inhale.

Exhale.


Hayley flicked the cigarette butt in the water. The morning air was so quiet she could hear it fizzle out.

She moved slowly into deeper water.

She turned her mind off. It was so much easier that way.
Edited by Hollyquin, Oct 26 2010, 03:06 PM.
being meguca is suffering

[V5] ALIVE:
[x] Aidan Flynn [B???] // Passing slowly though the vector, damp with fog, the bog that grows the former business sector...
[x] Chitose Saionji [G???] // 公園に千歳は本を読む!

[V5] CONCEPTS:
Winston Evans aced the last English test and would like to point out how gorgeous your shoes are.

Those Who've Known - V4
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