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Little Boy
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((Jimmy Brennan continues from The Man Your Man Could Smell Like ))

Jimmy crawled through the forest like a wounded animal, practically frothing at the mouth. To say his wounds hurt would be an understatement- the pain was unbearable. But he had to persevere. Somewhere out there in the forest was Rosa Fiametta. More then anything else he needed to talk to her, medical attention be damned. His head was spinning, he spat blood.

It made him laugh.

He was in the shit now. On his hands and knees, a force of nature, crawling through the underbrush like a deadly animal, just waiting to be discovered. A human punji stick. The kids back home were probably eating him up.

He was a hero disgraced, who'd been beaten down for it. It was fair,- he could understand it to a degree. He didn't like it, and if he had any say in the matter Ray would pay for his actions. Somewhere in his foggy mind the beating had knocked something into place.

It makes sense. It makes perfect sense, I- I just didn't fuckin' see it is all. But now. Fuckin' now, fuckin' NOW..."

Jimmy realized now who he was-, Danya, God, whoever the fuck it was, they'd put him here for a purpose. Not a hero, an anti-hero. It was all clear now. Dirty Harry, he'd seen that movie once. That was who he was, dispensing justice with lead. Phillip and J.J deserved it. They'd beat him down, and if he had to end them again he would in a heartbeat and fucking enjoy it. But Ray wasn't friend or foe, he was just some unlucky fuck who'd been stranded along with him. He'd die in time, he'd have to die for Jimmy to go home. But that wasn't his call to make. Bastards like J.J and Phillip, Maxwell and bitch Reiko. They were the ones who mattered. They were his duty.

It explained everything- why he'd failed, why Rosa had ran away. If he could get to her, he'd be able to explain everything. They'd be back together, making their way through the Island, a force of nature. He needed his pack. He needed his things.

He needed her.

Jimmy had been skirting around the edges of the town. He couldn't quite remember where they'd run off to, and he was kicking himself for that now. But he was certain he was close. In a shop perhaps, or another home. Not far. Then he could rest. His body was close to breaking, but he wouldn't quit until he found her.

It was the only thing he needed in the world.
Edited by Little Boy, May 28 2011, 04:38 PM.
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
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"My dick did the Mexican Hat Dance and I had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape." - Casey

NOTE TO SELF: Burns on the left side. LEFT SIDE.
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