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Greg The Anti-Viking
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On the left is a mod, on the right is a pre-made psycho...get the picture?
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Tabitha Gweneth was trying to lose herself in the shag carpet. It was her attempt to clear her mind of what had just taken place. What she had seen. What she had heard.

But the smell of the gunpowder was more pungent. The sight of the blood, the sight of the eyes, more vivid. The sound of Clio's death cries, louder. The memory stronger then her attempts to bury.

She had just killed someone. It sounded so plain when you said it. It was nothing compared to the action itself. The realization of what had happened, the sudden epithany that she and she alone was responsible for killing someone. Not just anyone, it was a fellow classmate. She had killed so many people, but what justification was that? The two of them had passed each other in the halls countless times. They had shared classes togeather. And now...




Now she was gone...


Now the world saw what she had done...






A pair of white tennis shoes now stood where she was staring. The sneakers had lost their pristine shine, but the colour was still distinguishable. The white was speckled with a barrage of colours. There were flecks of green at the toe, mixed with numerous sploches of brown, and small drops of red. Signs of a long journey, and tell tale signs that they were witnesses...

Tabitha knew who those shoes belonged to, but she did not look up. If there was one thing that she could not allow herself to do. It would be to look up. Looking up to the owner of the shoes would be the death of her...

Fingers clutched her head and started to move her. She tried to force her head back. He was trying to look at her. It couldn't happen. Not now. Anything but that.

But she was not strong enough...

Ice blue. Unmoving. Invasive. The eyes of Ivan Kuznetsov looked at her with clinical observation.

Tabitha's legs squeezed into her body. She was squeezing her chest with her arms. She tried to wiggle back, wiggle deeper into the hole of a corner, but there was no room. No place to hide.

She said nothing. She could not voice a complaint. Ivan's gaze froze her.

His hand grabbed hers. Tabitha did not flinch. It was gentle, but they were rough. Traces of cuts lingered in that hand as it firmed itself against her sweaty fingers. She felt herself being forced up and her body reluctantly lifted up to her feet.

The buzzing sound returned, causing Tabitha to blink and waver for a moment.

She saw the door...

It was only a few steps away...

Tabitha's slick hand slid its way out of Ivan's.

Tabitha ran.

Something was wrong. As she ran, the world began to slide at an angle with every step. Her body was wobbling back and forth. The sirens in her head were trying to slow her down, but she wouldn't listen. She had to break out.

And just as fast as she had sprinted away. Tabitha was falling. The carpet cushioned the blow, but that didn't stop the pain. She let out a loud cry, and tried to scramble back to her feet.

She ran again. And faster now. Tabitha fell.

She tried a third time, and still. Tabitha fell.

Tabitha did not get up this time. Her body wilted into the ground. Letting the soft carpet absorb her.

She wanted to get away...

Tabitha wanted to get away...
v5 characters
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff

Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!

Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...
Japanese Proverb
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Meet Again · The Residential Area