"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Viewing Single Post From: Burn On
MurderWeasel
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Somehow we drifted off too far...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
And Kris was gone.

Everything else seemed pretty insignificant in light of that fact. Erik was around, somewhere. So was whoever else had been there. Whatever. She just watched the blood flow from Kris, watched the life fade from the other girl.

It took the words of the other boy to shake her from her reverie. He was pointing his gun at her, demanding to know if she'd killed that other guy. All of a sudden, there was nothing in the world more boring for Kimberly than having guns pointed at her. The boy was shaking, maybe in rage, maybe in fear. Kimberly didn't give a fuck what was going on with him, what his problems were. He could go off somewhere else, die or whatever there was left to do in this game.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd insist on sticking to his delusions, on getting his revenge on Kimberly. If he did that, he'd have a fun time come the next announcements. Whatever. It wasn't like Kimberly had lost the will to live or anything. She felt pretty much like she'd been feeling for a long time now. Slightly more aimless, but only a bit. She had a pocketful of obsessions. It would be a simple matter to draw a new one forth. She just wasn't quite sure she wanted to yet. She wasn't sure what she wanted in general. Well, mostly. She wanted this loser to fuck off, just now. She wanted some time to think, to talk to Erik. She thought she could hear him, not so far away. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do, probably. She'd have to make sure he understood. That was what being partners meant.

But she had to deal with this shit first.

She dropped the knife. Flexed her fingers. Glanced at the boy.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I totally picked up that rocket launcher or whatever the fuck it is with my one good arm,"—she gestured at the bandage covering her left shoulder—"aimed the damn thing, and shot someone I couldn't even see. I definitely didn't deal with the person who actually could've done that shit, who killed like a half dozen people or something. That's just unreasonable."

She was tired. Didn't even have the motivation to be properly biting.

"Look, that's Kris Hartmann there. She's been terrorizing everyone since she woke up. Shot me on the first day. Now, you wanna shoot me too and feel better, go ahead. I mean, fuck, you'll probably regret it, but I can't do anything to stop you. Otherwise, fuck off. I kind of need some space here. You aren't the only one who has problems, you know."

Yeah, fuck off. Leave me alone. Go grieve somewhere else. It's hard and shit, sure, like I don't know that. Like everyone else on this island doesn't know that. Like we haven't all hurt by this point.

But she didn't care enough to say all that, to keep on ranting and cutting this boy down. Whatever. So he was selfish and stupid. So what? So was everyone else. So she would hope he'd take it elsewhere and leave her in peace.

"Almost done here, Erik," she called, still facing the grief-stricken boy, calling to her partner, somewhere behind her. Just a little something, to let this boy know she wasn't alone, was no raging psycho, and had someone who would back up her version of events.
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Burn On · The Mountain