"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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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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Reach. All Nathan wanted to do was reach. Fingers tapped the handle, taunting his efforts to defend Jason.

I've fucking failed all my life. I'm not going to fail now.

Nathan pushed himself an inch forwards. The sounds of the scuffle behind him an ever present hiss in his ears.

Not now...

He clutched the handle and brought it closer to his face. He blinked and then, in spite of himself, he laughed. It was a mear chuckle and it only lasted for a few short seconds before he coughed up a fresh spray of blood, but Nathan couldn't help but laugh. He lay there for a few seconds, sucking in as much air as he possibly could.

Now he just needed to turn around and fire.

In his head, Nathan thought that the act would be simple to do, even in spite of his current situation. Yet the simple act of turning ones body around when you were loosing feeling in your legs was an unexpected complication. He had to use his arms to spin himself around, like a hand on a clock. Every move came with a low grunt of pain and a loud weeze.

Can't fail. Not now.

Seconds seemed like minutes as they passed by. He strained his head upwards to look, but could really only see the legs of Brook and Jason. This seemed to set a fresh fire from within him and with a renewed haste, Nathan kept shifting.

One more push. That's all I need.

His legs had gone completely numb now, it seemed like death was prone to a sense of humour. All that time wasted on trying to meet expectations. And now, they were useless. He grimaced, feeling the sticky blood pooling up against his teeth. Hillarious.

Nathan lifted his head and saw now that Jason was loosing this battle. He had to do something. He had to do it now!

His arms stretched outwards, fingers tightly gripping the handle of his weapon. They were heavy now taking all the effort he could to bring the pistol up to the melee. His hands were shaking. Were they shaking because dying. Or were they shaking because he was about to shoot? He was telling his body to stop. But it seemed like it had ceased to listen to his silent orders.

"Shoot him Nath! Shoot him!"

Nathan's hand pulled on the trigger.


The gun had fallen out of his hands from the sheer force of it firing and it fell to the grassy floor like it had been dropped fifty stories. Nathan found himself staring down at the grass grasping for air. His vision had become hazy, but he had to know. He gently strained his head up to where he had fired the gun. His eyes narrowed at this point there were mere shadows floating off in the distance. There was one still standing, and one that had fallen on the ground.


He blinked...



and then he heard a voice...



It was Jason's.



That meant...




Nathan's head crashed down to the forest floor. For once, breathing was easy for him. Funny that dying was able to give you such peace. So he shot Brook after all. Jason was safe.


Nathan coughed up a fresh splash of blood and grimaced.

Well look at that Mom, Dad. You're son was actually good for something after all. Guess I get the last laugh now don't I? Geoffrey...


Nathan closed his eyes.

You take care of yourself...


B057 Nathan Choultard - Deceased
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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Bloodgarden · The Woods: Coastal