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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
((Jumping post order to move Dutchy outta here))

Dutchy couldn't breathe. People were coming out of the woodwork, girls and boys, some armed, some not. His eyes darted around, his lip trembling. He hadn't expected this. So much time alone, with Roland, marching in silence. And now? Now they were everywhere. His mind was racing. Someone had hit him. One of them was trying to kill him, trying to harm him... Roland was yelling, the rock still in his hands. Things were disintegrating before his eyes and he knew the end result.

Kimmy, bleeding out on the beach. Roland, bleeding out on the beach. His heart beat faster. He couldn't handle this.

Get out. Get out!

He couldn't stop shaking. His uncertainty was at an all time high. Who had it been? He barely knew these people. Faces in a crowd, now suddenly reaching out to strangle him. Unreal, the worst nightmare he could ever imagine. His collar was tight around his neck, and he knew it would never be removed. It would all end in tears, end with Roland....

Get out!

He was practically screaming it to himself, but he didn't dare to move. His guts were churning, and a seething feeling of regret and self-loathing built up inside him. Selfish. So very selfish. Roland would look for him, if they managed to...

He won't. He won't, he shouldn't, and that would be good. Because this is going to- going to end- No! Stay strong Dutchy, stay-

There was a sound, movement behind him. His thoughts flew away, his survival instincts kicking in. Dutchy spun, jumping in the air, letting out a frightened scream. The girl leaped from the bushes, running towards him at a breakneck pace. His eyes bulged in horror, no doubt in his mind what was about to transpire. His feet began to move and he was off, sprinting, his pack and Roland left behind.

He was crying again, his tears flying along behind him. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was his feet, and how fast they could carry him away. Away from death, away from the island, away from Roland and two hundred dead school kids. Away from what he was becoming, toward his home, so far in the distance...

I'm sorry! Oh God- Roland- I'm sorry!

He couldn't look. It was all pitch-black.

(Dutchy continues in Streita[/url))
Edited by Little Boy, Mar 29 2011, 10:44 PM.
V5
Posted Image Posted Image
Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
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Make Your Own Kind of Music · The Felled Forest: South