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Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
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((Leila Langford continued from Aimless))

Fuck Ricky Fortino. Fuck him, and fuck that other guy. Fuck them both. Fuck them all. Fuck. Everyone.

How could she have fallen for such a shitty trick so easily? Ugh, it felt like everything was turning to shit so fast, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was like she was drowning. Drowning in shit. That was how she felt right now. So lost without her map, so guilt-ridden and haunted by those final whimpers of her best friend as she bled out onto the sand. And what could she do, really? With that awful gun and feet that felt as though they were going to pretty much fall off at any given moment, she was hopeless. A sorry excuse for a friend and an even sorrier excuse for a killer.

She was gonna take down Danya? Really? Was she high or something? Was all that missed out sleep finally catching up with her and making her think like a crazy person? Leila didn't know. She didn't have any of the answers she needed, and since everyone was apparently succumbing to the tribesman mentality this place leaked out, there was no-one she could turn to. It wasn't like she needed anybody's help, oh no, she just wanted someone to talk to. Someone she could vent out her frustration on, someone's shoulder she could cry on crush. With her hands... just... crush. Yeah. Didn't have the strength for it, but it'd be fun to try. Like a stress ball. She could just squeeze on it until she tired herself out - until she felt a little better. That was all she needed.

But who? Trent would've been ideal. The little fucker always annoyed her, so he would've been perfect. From what she remembered, his name hadn't been called out on the speakers yet - or Violet's. So they were both fine. Fine and dandy, probably using this whole thing as inspiration for their shitty little films. But they still needed a star, right? So why then hadn't they found her yet? They could pretend they were back home, dress Trent up like a mudman using the soil and twigs and whatever. It'd be fun. It was always pretty fun, she had to admit that much. Hell, she even got paid for it and watching herself and Hilary freak out and get killed by the monster was always a laugh. They even went out for drinks afterwards, or sat in and celebrated another hard week's filming with a marathon Nightmare on Elm Street session. They could do that here, she reckoned. She was pretty sure Violet had her camera with her anyway, since she saw it on the bus.

Coming to a stop somewhere in the woods, she wiped the remains of her foundation away with the back of her hand. She couldn't recall when she'd started crying, but she must've been doing so for quite some time. Her nose ran and her eyes were filled with water which was now pouring down her face. Taking solace in the fact that no-one was around to see her, she fell back against a tree which hid her partly from the cameras above. If she was going to cry, then she'd make fucking sure that no-one was going to watch. Danya wouldn't get the satisfaction, and nobody would be able to take the piss out of her for it if they couldn't see what she doing. Nobody.
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Bloodgarden · The Woods: Coastal