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Viewing Single Post From: Heartbeat Symphony
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Null sheen.
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Footfalls, hammering into the ground. Brock squints up into the sky, back-pedalling. He's mistimed this, he knows. The receiver has wrong footed him and now it's a battle, a battle to track back and get to his opponent before they can catch the ball spiralling from the sky. Brock doesn't want to screw up, oh how desperately he doesn't want to have cost the team here. It isn't that it's a particularly vital or important game, it's that Brock doesn't like blame falling on his head. This is the one thing he's good at...

The ball tumbles towards him and it seems so close, but he knows it's going over his head. A desperate leap and... Brock snatches it out of the air. Monetary surprise, then Brock does all he can think of doing. Puts his head down. Runs.




Brock isn't much of a runner. He's too muscular to be nimble or fleet of foot. Rarely is he in possession in a game. What he has though is power, more than most. The first tackle that comes in is awkwardly timed, Brock drops the shoulder and ploughs straight through the attempted challenge. The interception has thrown the opposition into disarray, he can see nothing but daylight ahead and-



Blinding pain to the head. Feels more like a bullet to the skull than a tackle. The ball spins away fades into nothing, Brock stumbles, falls. Why is nobody around him? Where is the field? The players? When did the rain start? Why can't he mo-


Water was splashing into his face. Brock spluttered briefly, then his eyes flickered open. First hazy, then, as things came into sharper relief... he visibly paled. He'd thought he was dead when that rock crashed into the back of his head. Lying prone on the ground with his only mobility amounting to suicide; Brock wished he was dead when the rock hit him.

God, why was he such an idiot? Why'd he have to lose it like that, not listen to his head and run for the hills the moment he'd realised who Sarah was? Brock knew she was dangerous, knew that she had backup, but he'd blown his temper like a moron and for all his anger towards Sarah, all his insistences he wasn't stupid... All he'd done was prove the point. He was useless. So useless.

He couldn't breathe. The tape was crushing him. Every shallow, painstaking inhalation caused the gun to dig into his chest. Brock, already half-panicked, started to hyperventilate. His eyes were wide and staring, not even looking at Sarah as she mocked him. The jibes were nothing compared to his own internal assessment of himself. Nothing.


Brock was going to die and not only had he blown his only chance to do something about it, he didn't even have the mercy of the death coming swiftly after the failure. He'd known this was going to happen from the beginning, realised that there was no way in hell he could bring himself to play to win... which meant that there was no way in hell Brock Mason was walking off the island alive. Brock had known it. But... there was a difference, when confronted by it like this. He was face to face with his demise. Literally.

You fucked up Brock. It's just another fuck up in a long long line of you fucking the hell up. Ain't nothing more to it than that. Happens you're one of life's great up-fuckers. Shit, guess second prize is that after this, you ain't gonna be fucking up no more, right? Some trophy. Fucked up so bad, it caused an end to all his future fuck ups.

He was dead. He was meat. And mother of fuck he didn't want to die, but there were no miracles here. Soon enough, Sarah would reveal whatever sick plan she had in mind and-


"I'll go first. hmmm. I never kissed a girl.

Have you?



Have you kissed a girl?

You never kissed a girl.

You ever kiss a girl?



An ice rink. A little chance encounter between two people that shared a school but little else. Except maybe a connection. Perhaps that was cliché or overly romantic. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck.



A party. Another meeting, awkwardness, two teens that just can't express themselves. Both shy and both lacking in eloquence. Some say actions speak louder than words. A kiss, in this instance, is worth the mother of all speeches.


Thump. Thump. Thump.

Brock couldn't just lie here to die. He couldn't just give it up and wait for the end. She was out there somewhere. Maybe she was hurt, maybe she wasn't even thinking about him. Maybe she needed the guy she had feelings for to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be alright, no matter how much of a lie it would be.

Thump. Thump.

Hilary was on this island. Not striving to do something was little better than abandoning her to die. Brock couldn't let that happen for as long as he lived and breathed. Whilst his heart thump was still beating, he still had a shot. He still had hope. He could still leap into the air and -just- snag that interception.


He could, at the very least. Try.

This is for you. All of it.

"I..." Brock spoke hesitantly as he addressed Sarah, smiling into his face. "I kissed a girl. It was the best moment I ever had," he looked down, found himself staring into the barrel of the rifle, swallowed and glanced back up to Sarah. "My turn, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I got one. One that I ain't thinking you'll be able to admit to," Brock trailed off, then deliberately slowed himself down, took as deep a breath as his confinement would allow. "I never - 'till just now, decided to do the right thing, even if it was dumb, just cause it was the right thing."


Something that might have been the barest hint of a smile flickered across Brock's lips before he jerked his head forward and spat into Sarah's face, leaning down towards him. At the same moment, he wrenched upon his bonds with all his might, flexed every damn muscle in his body to strain against the tape.


It stretched.

In some places, the tape actually tore a little. There was a quiet 'snap'.

Except it was drowned out by the deafening sound of a gunshot.

The abrupt motion of Brock's arm against the tape had jerked his hand. Caused his index finger to tighten its grip, just a little.

Just enough.

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