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Viewing Single Post From: They say the hangover after you get drugged and kidnapped by terrorists is the worst
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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((G021 – MIA ROSE -- START))

Mia needed a fucking drink.

She wasn’t too fussy as to what that drink would be. Preferably water, because her throat was absolutely killing her, and for whatever reason her mind was still fixated on the idea of staying healthy and in shape. She was absolutely not opposed to something on the stronger end of the spectrum, however. A pint of something. Some lemonade or vodka, maybe. Hell, just give her an entire fucking bottle of Jack Daniels so she could down it and fall back asleep for a while.

A milkshake sounded pretty good too.

Damn it. Now all she could think of was the last date she’d gone on with Nathan, and how happy she’d been then, and how she couldn’t even remember the last thing they’d said to one another, and how she was stuck on the island and he was safe back at home and that they’d never see each other again.

Mia sniffled suddenly, rubbed her dreary eyes, and sighed. Her mind was a tempest, filled with emotions, filled with thoughts, filled with white noise. She knew she should be crying. She wanted to cry. She was going to die. It was almost certain she would die in the next few days. She would never get to follow her dreams of becoming an Olympic swimmer. She would never get to see her boyfriend again. Slowly but surely, her friends would start dying around her and there was no way she could help them or even see them again before it happened.

Right now, she just felt numb. There was a hollow feeling where her heart belonged, and nothing inside of her was working properly. It didn’t help that whatever it was the terrorists had used to knock her out had hit her hard. She still felt groggy and half asleep, her eyes threatening to blink shut every moment.

So instead of crying, Mia sighed again, and sat cross-legged in the middle of a dark and dusty room, staring at the gun lying on the floor in front of her.

Mia had no idea about guns. She had no idea whether this thing was a pistol, or a submachine gun, or a, what was it, RPG, or whatever. She’d never held a gun. She had never wanted to. But even in her dazed state, she knew she couldn’t just leave it here, or do anything with it aside from keep it on her at all times. She wasn’t stupid. Naïve in some regards? Maybe, sure.

But she wasn’t stupid, and there was no way she was giving up what could be the difference between life and death. People would kill each other. The words tasted sour, but she had to realise it sooner rather than later. Everyone knew this wasn’t a practical joke. Everything knew that if they didn’t kill, they’d all die instead. She needed a weapon to increase her chance of survival. That was how you stayed amongst the fittest; you found an advantage and you never let it go.

Mia sighed once more, a small cloud of dust being kicked up, before she scooped up the gun, weighing it in her right hand. It was much, much heavier than she’d expected. She lightly pressed her finger against the trigger. It didn’t even shift an inch. Firing a gun looked so effortless on TV, but, shocking twist, Hollywood and all the big name TV studios cared more about money and ratings than realism.

Slowly, Mia levered herself up, using the edge of the bed as a crutch. First things first; find out exactly where she’d been placed. A rectangular outline of light told her where the window was, and she shuffled over towards it. She grabbed hold of the base of the blind covering it, pulled down slightly, and let it roll back up.

Light flooded straight into Mia’s eyes, startling both her and a crow that had been nestling on one of the broken window frames. It squawked indignantly at her, flapping its wings, and Mia stumbled backwards in alarm. Half-blind, half-asleep and off balance, she tripped over her own feet. Heart in her mouth, Mia tried to stay balanced, but all that succeeded in doing was spinning her around and making her slam face first into the opposite wall. Her nose exploded with pain, and she could instantly feel a trickle of warm liquid make its way down towards her upper lip.

The sudden burst of pain, fear and confusion caused something to click inside of Mia, and all of her emotions shifted into place again. The delayed, pent up reaction to her situation flooded out of her all at once; not in the form of tears and sobbing, but in pure, undiluted anger.

“Motherfucking piece of shit cunt terrorists, fucking… fucking bullshit! Mothershitfucking bullshit!”

Mia stormed towards the bedroom door, slamming it open, almost ripping it off of its hinges and throwing up an almighty cloud of dust. Breathing heavily, she stomped out into the corridor, almost slap-bang into another girl, and as most rational, logically thinking people would do, Mia screamed straight into her face.

“Who the fuck are you?”


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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They say the hangover after you get drugged and kidnapped by terrorists is the worst · The Staff Dormitories B Block