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Break Up And Break Down; Start of (the end of) G010
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 10:47 AM (9,576 Views)
Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
G028: Langford, Leila - Start

Her mind was broken. The things she'd seen... oh, my, the things the girl had seen.

Having been one of the first to awaken in that hall, she was also, of course, one of the first to scream. She wasn't like a lot of the others, she'd only ever heard of SOTF in passing conversations she'd had with her parents, when they were concerned about her safety. She'd dismissed it entirely, stating it was nothing more than a prank, and if her parents believed it was real, that kids were actually on an island somewhere killing each other as they spoke, then they were living in a fairytale. There was no way anyone would let that kind of thing happen, so thinking that the students at Bayview, of all places, would get kidnapped was beyond a joke.

But then she fell asleep. Then she woke up. Then she saw every one of her classmates strapped down to chairs and benches with armed soldiers watching from every corner of the room. Then she saw her teachers try to resist. Then she watched, screaming, as their blood sprayed furiously across the terrified people around them. If she could, she would have never stopped screaming, but having a gun pointed directly at your face works surprisingly well at making your voice disappear.

Forced to watch the video being played out in front of them, she screamed again as the boy on the screen stabbed his girlfriend, her eyes losing all their shine as the life was drained out of her. She remembered feeling sick at that point, knowing full well that this was much more than a joke, that this was real and happening to her right now. She was a contestant on SOTF, one of many, and that meant she was about to live out the worst moments of her life right here, right now.

Cradling her daypack, she sat in the cold light of dawn with her stilettos clutched tightly in her hands. She'd attempted to walk in them after getting used to her surroundings, but the ground was rugged and plant-life grew wildly around the fun fair, leaving her with no choice but to remove them at once, lest she cracked open her head. For now, she just wanted to rest, to make sense of everything that had happened, but whenever she tried to think she was immediately brought to tears by the image of her teachers dying. It played over and over in her head, like a terrible recording, and for the past hour it had paralyzed her.

When she initially awoke, sprawled out beneath the Ferris wheel, she couldn't recall any of the time spent getting here, even going as far as thinking she'd simply had one too many the night before and got herself lost. After taking a good look around, however, she quickly realized that she was nowhere near St.Pauls anymore, and all the memories of the bus trip and the "introduction" to the game came back to her as forcefully as they had entered.

Now, she simply sat, trembling and afraid, with her mascara running down her face and the layer of foundation she'd had on almost gone now after hours spent asleep with her face in the dirt. Her breath had yet to return to normal, with her constant crying having worn her out, and soon enough she began to feel the need for a drink as her throat grated with every gasp she took. Water could wait though. Though she may have been handling the daypack like a lost child she'd just found, the thought of opening it up and finding a machete inside was something she didn't want to acknowledge.

This was her last defense - if she opened up the bag and saw the weapon inside she'd know that there was nothing left to convince her that this could all have been a joke. The deaths of the teachers? All the blood and the violence? Easy to fake. She'd seen it herself, after all, whenever Violet would make them film a scene wherein one of them had to get brutally murdered, and if this was on television, well, they would have had a much bigger budget to use for special effects. But if she opened her daypack and found a weapon inside, if she could cut herself with it and draw her own blood... then she'd know that this wasn't pretend. She'd know, finally, that this wasn't a joke. Whatever awaited her inside that daypack could only mean terrible things for her, and she wasn't ready to face them. Not just yet.

"Hello?"

She froze.
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Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Leila could hear every mumbled, stuttered, flustered word from where she sat, meaning the sources were somewhere nearby. Stirring out of her paralysis, she began to shakily get to her feet, hushing herself as her bangles clanged against the zipper of the daypack. She recognised the speech well enough, but she couldn't quite put a face to the voices, and found herself wary of taking the first step towards them.

Judging by what she could hear, and piecing together what that man on the video had told them, the voices could have belonged to anyone who came on the camping trip. She paused, letting the thought weigh heavily on her mind.

We were meant to go camping... Her body trembled as she stood, the daypack in no danger of leaving her side as she huddled it close to her chest. We were meant to be drinking, and fucking around, and- and being... 18. Her heart sank deeper into her chest, the other organs threatening to engulf it as a familiar lump began to swell in the base of her throat. We were... we were meant to be celebrating, not... this. Not fucking THIS.

She wanted to be back home, or out clubbing, or getting wasted with her friends - but this, this was her reality now, freezing and alone and scared of what she would find waiting around that corner, and more importantly, whether or not the weapon in her bag would ever be put to use. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it, whatever it was, but secretly she knew that there might be people like that boy around here. That boy who shot and stabbed his girlfriend without blinking an eye. Those were the kind of people everyone here could end up becoming, even the ones who looked oh so harmless, even like...

“Hands up, packs out, bitches,”

A tiny squeak escaped her body, quickly muffled by her own hands as she stood rooted to the spot. Someone else had come along - someone dangerous, she assumed. Leaving the safety of the Ferris wheel's shade, she stepped out into the open, glancing around in every direction to see if she could pinpoint where everything was taking place. Then she heard a response, and her eyes looked squarely ahead, in the direction of one of the stalls.

Stepping carefully on the ruined ground, she winced as her delicate feet met with the harsh edges of the rock and the dirt. The luxury of decent footwear was not one she currently possessed, and as she marched slowly forwards, her lips quivered as she tried her best to repress the cries threatening to give away her whereabouts. To say she looked her worst right now would be entirely accurate, although given the states she'd sometimes found herself in (and much to her relief) at least she wasn't covered in someone else's vomit.

After an agonizing walk, she found herself behind what looked to be an old ring-toss stall, but the years of rain and rot had worn away the name on the sign. With her daypack in hand, she crouched down below the side of the counter, hoping that she was invisible to whoever stood on the other side, waiting to rob the people who had been so near her all this time without her knowing. It made her a little sick, to think that she could've been attacked at any opportunity, but the fact that she was still alive meant that she hadn't been seen just yet. At least, that was what she hoped.

Counting herself up to three, she raised her head, ever so slowly, above the counter; her eyes widening at the sight of her classmates being held up by that weirdo, graceless Gracie Wainwright. A weirdo... who now possessed a rifle.
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Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Enough was enough. For Leila at least, things were getting far too out of hand, and she wasn't ready to stick around and wait for the inevitable fireworks display. She wasn't a hero, was she? It wasn't as though she could run over and sort the whole mess out by punching Gracie in the face. No, she didn't have the guts for that, or any of the moral fibre attached to rescuing one of her classmates. It's not like she was even friends with the poor girl, so why was it her responsibility to help her out? It wasn't, she reassured herself, and that meant she couldn't stick around another minute longer - lest someone spotted her and got her involved.

Clutching the daypack in her shaking arms, she raised herself slightly as she began to step away from the stall. She kept her eyes glued forward as she started back, holding her breath to stop them from hearing her. Of course they couldn't hear someone breathing so quietly as she had been, but she wasn't going to risk it, not while everyone was in such a panic. Back, back, back she stepped, stepping over bits of rock and hardened earth as she went; it was all she could do to stop herself from shouting in pain as the soles of her feet began to ache and throb. Just a little further though, just a little more. A few more dozen steps and she'd be far enough to start running. Her heart dropped at the thought of running without any footwear, but that was something she'd have to think about later, not now.

The wind cooled down her body as she moved ever backwards, and for once she appreciated it. Her blood had been alight with adrenaline before, but now she was beginning to shiver a little as her heartbeat slowed the further she got away from the crowd. She needed to find a way out, but she was afraid to take her eyes off the shrinking, shouting people ahead of her, but then she almost shrieked as she felt herself walk right into something heavy. Sharply twisting her neck, she looked behind her to see - the Ferris wheel. She'd walked right into the base of the Ferris wheel and was now trembling as she accidentally loosened the string around her jangled bag of nerves.

"F-fuck... fucking thing." She muttered as she looked up at the great, rusting behemoth. Glancing over its worn-down body, she noticed a shiny black strip of leather hanging off the edge of one of the seats. Staring up intensely, she realized what she was looking at. It was too high to reach, way up in one of the top-most seats, but there it was - her duffel bag. Knowing that a scream would alert the others to her whereabouts, she settled for a good old-fashioned fist biting to let out her rage. The one thing she needed and it was stuck way up high in a fairground ride which she'd never be able to turn on. Well, wasn't that fantastic?

Cursing whoever it was that dropped her into the fun fair, she took one last cautionary look at the people behind her before dashing over (as quietly as she could) to the fence across the grounds. The whole place was run-down and in shambles, and so a lot of the fencing had broken off either as a result of the weather or just plain old vandalism. And so, once she'd made her way over to the other side of the fair, she threw her daypack over the boards and quickly followed suit. Though not without giving herself some nasty splinters first.

((Leila Langford continued in The Only Way Is Up))
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