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Dutchy bit his tongue, unsure of what exactly to say. The realization that somewhere out there, Lillian Hayes was fighting for her life hit him full on. Dutchy had, as ashamed as he was to admit, forgotten that Roland had a sister. He liked Roland, practically loved the boy, but he'd never exactly gotten a chance to know the other members of the Hayes' brood. Guilt quickly overwhelmed him, the pale Icelandic boy grimaced in discomfort as the taste of blood filled his mouth. A shiver went up his spine as he curled up against Roland. The realization of his vanity struck home as he stared off into space, contemplating his friends words.

Here I am, moaning and crying for everyone, for everything I've lost... And Roland has a sister. Out there, out where there's gunfire and.. and killing. People being mean, and people dying and he's sitting here, guarding me. He could be out there, he- he could be sitting here, going out of his mind with worry but- but no, he's waiting. Patiently. He's calm, he's not crying and he's not worrying... he's not even scared. How? How is that even possible? If I die, that's it. My parents, they only lose me. But Roland, his parents... They had to lose two, a daughter and a son.

"I'm... I'm worried for everyone. I don't want to hear any more names..." He whispered, struggling to make himself clear. "I'm scared everytime that microphone crackles and 'he' starts talking... I don't know how you're doing this. You're... you're really brave Roland. You're braver then I could ever be."

I'm doing nothing, and it's costing them time they can't afford to waste...

Dutchy bit his lip again, despite the pain. He didn't know what to add, what to say. Sorry? Sorry wasn't cutting it. He could be sorry all he wanted, but sorry wasn't going to stop Danya, sorry wasn't going to make anyone safe. Dutchy hated Danya. He wanted him to go away, he wanted him to disappear forever. He could almost picture the man in front of him, taunting him for his misplaced courage. He'd been so sure he could save them, save everyone. He'd been so sure he could be strong. But he'd failed, failed miserably. It was up to people like Roland to carry him along like extra baggage, while he dreamed seemingly endless nightmares about broken bodies, beeping collars...

He'd failed, plain and simple. Failed as a friend, failed as a companion. He'd failed to even keep smiling, the one thing that made him who he was. He'd cried, he'd practically fainted, he'd puked and sobbed and moaned and had served no positive purpose, not for a single person since he'd woken up on that beach so long ago.

I'm a symbol of this, of Survival of the Fittest. A symbol of what Danya can do, what Danya IS doing to Bayview. Breaking it apart, piece by piece. I do have a purpose. To remind Bayview of what it once was, and more importantly, what it was now.

Dutchy found himself letting out a low giggle, and barely managed to stop himself. Casting a worried glance up at Roland, Dutch looked back towards the wall, embarrassed. There was no doubt about it. His mind was going. He'd spent far too long thinking, contemplating over things he couldn't change. It was driving him crazy, and the more he thought, the more he felt himself separate, looking back on his own past as if he were a different person. Would the old Dutchy have sat there, thinking about death? It was impossible to even consider the circumstance. He'd barely watched a violent movie in his life. Blood made him squeamish. He'd practically fainted during the Kimberly incident. He couldn't hurt a fly, but then again he couldn't help a fly either. But yet here he was. Death was all around. Vera was gone, and more were dying every minute. And here he sat, not trying to help, not even bawling his eyes out, but contemplating. Trapped underwater, drowning and breaking apart, drifting away...

Back before the island, that was Dutchy. But I'm not Dutchy anymore.
Dutchy wouldn't cry, he wouldn't let his friends down, not like me.
He'd had stuck it out to the last, and he would have... smiled.
I can't be Dutchy anymore... Not after what I've done. But I can't let them know that.
Vera. Vera was lucky, she still thinks I'm me. She didn't- she- she didn't see me. She didn't see that I'm a failure. Wherever she is... she- she doesn't know. She still thinks I'm a good person.
Oh God, Vera.
I can't let them know I'm already lost- that I'm never going to make it out of here...
They deserve better. They don't need to know, they don't need to cry. They're all heroes, the good guys and who am I?
I'm not even me anymore. Good guys keep fighting, Super Man never gave up. Not like me. I gave up.
I'm talking about nothing in my head, worried and sick and getting worse.
I can't keep playing this stupid game.
I'm wasting away to nothing, and I'm taking them with me.
And if I get out they'll just look at me and remember what they lost...


I can't do that to them...

I need to make them smile.
That's all I've ever wanted to be, just like Super Man, a hero. Strong in the face of danger,
A hero, a rock, strong and loyal.

I can't do this anymore, not to them. I don't wanna' cry... No.

I don't want to make THEM cry...

If I just had a cape, I'd save you all.

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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
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"My dick did the Mexican Hat Dance and I had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape." - Casey

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