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False Awakening; because psyche terms are kind of scientific
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 12:51 PM (4,277 Views)
Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Roland Hayes START))

As Sarah, Dutchy, and Jason were getting their bearings, familiarizing themselves with their situation, and meeting up, Roland was sitting on the beach, legs folded, sitting almost completely motionless. His daypack sat by his right side, his goddamn fucking tennis racket by his left, and the ocean in front of him, lapping quietly and making the soothing, natural sounds that were put on those stupid fucking CDs that people buy and listen to while sacked out on their couches because they're too fucking lazy to go to a real beach.

But it didn't soothe Roland! Roland wasn't even paying attention to the goddamn beach or his goddamn daypack or the goddamn people on the horizon. No, Roland was captivated and stupified by the blood splatter on his left shoe. It wasn't a yellow shoe, wasn't a smiley face shoe, but it had about the same effect.

She died, and he did nothing.

He couldn't do anything. He was so packed to bursting with anger and hatred that if it overcame his fear even slightly he would explode, ceasing to exist, maybe even taking a few innocents with him. Just like on the beach, he was concentrating so much on his thousand-yard stare that he didn't look at anyone. Sarah Xu was sitting three seats away from him in the front fucking row and he never fucking noticed. He didn't know where the fuck Lily was; he couldn't bear to see her face. The poor girl was probably crying her eyes out, then and now, and if he saw that he would fucking snap. He didn't even pay attention to the damn briefing, because he'd seen this shit before. He knew how it worked. He'd just pick up version-specific shit from the shit in his daypack if he needed to.

The knockout gas did nothing to diminish his state of mind. Sure, his fear was gone, since nothing he could do was important enough for those assholes to blow his collar, but he didn't need to explode just yet. His rage was merely building anew.

He opened his mouth. His vocal cords were choked up, and he couldn't speak above a whisper. "She just had a baby," he stammered, eyes wide open and unblinking, as if the bloodstain would consume him the instant he took his eyes off it.

An expression finally lit up his face, the corners of his mouth jerking up as a chuckle slipped past his lips. "Made my essay on Naked Lunch, y'know. Didn't think she'd be into it that much. We had a... we had a good conversation." He talked in a higher pitch, tinged with the kind of crazy that people get when they can't believe where the fuck their life just took them.

"Always voted Democrat. She knew her stuff! She loooved talking to me about that shit." He laughed nervously for a few seconds, stopping because his voice cracked. "I hope she likes her memorial. Hope we all like our memorials. Not that it matters. Won't fucking help us in any goddamn way!"

Now he acknowledged the tennis racket; his hand gripped its handle so hard that his skin was bound to turn white eventually. His breathing quickened, his jaw clenched, and he leaned forward to get up from his seat. "None of you chucklefucks ever did anything about this. Not one. It was too hard for you. You wanted the comforting lie, you wanted to keep to yourselves, you wanted things easy. Well, you got it."

On his feet now, he started pacing on the beach, waving his racket back and forth. "You know what? When those planes slammed into the World Trade Center, you all noticed. You all flipped your shit. You were hungry for blood, ready to make damn well sure it never happened again! And it didn't! Because instead of one huge attention-gathering massacre, we now have four huge, publicized, televised ABDUCTIONS OF HUNDREDS OF HUMAN BEINGS!"

His vocal chords were working now! Anyone with ears could hear what that the collars picked up, especially with a voice raised like Roland's! "Where's your fucking outrage, people? Where are the fucking protests and the fucking riots and the fucking manhuntss? Are you just that fucking desperate to think that it's not real? You've seen Auschwitz! You've seen Darfur! You've seen Khmer Rouge and Rwanda and Yugoslavia AND YOU WON'T FUCKING SEE THIS FOR WHAT IT IS!"

Roland turned around and flung the racket a good fifty feet, where half of the head buried itself in the sand. By now Roland was so angry he couldn't make coherent sentences. "HIGH SCHOOL! KIDNAPPING! TV! FOUR FUCKING TIMES!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

That last scream was fueled by all the air in Roland's lungs and the maximum volume his voice would allow. He could feel his throat strain from the effort, but he didn't care anymore. He collapsed onto his knees and let the scream give way to uncontrollable sobbing. Tears and snot ran down his face, making him cover himself up with the sleeves of his hoodie. Everyone on the beach could hear him, and when they investigated, they'd find him supine on the beach, still weeping.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
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Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
Roland kept to himself for another minute, still overcome with grief. He could hear people talking on the beach, getting closer to him, but he didn't care. He just wanted a little more time to himself. But soon he heard footsteps and a bag dropping not five feet away, followed by the voice of his good friend Sarah.

"Roland, are you okay?" she asked.

He finally revealed his face, looking up at Sarah. His eyes were still red from crying. "No, I'm not okay, Sarah. None of us are. We're all dead." He planted his hands in the sand and pushed himself up, then walked to his tennis racket and pulled it out of the sand.

"I knew this would happen. He always does it in the summer. It's the same MO every time and yet no one catches on. No one!"

His mind swimmed with visions of how he could have prevented this from happening, or at least saved a few students. He could have warned Lily and his friends from going. But they probably wouldn't have believed him. He could have slashed the tires on the bus, but if they didn't select him he would be expelled. The terrorists could have even killed him, and gone on with the plan anyway, but then they'd expose themselves and maybe some people would get away.

Fuck it. He couldn't have done any of that. The best he ever did was spreading pamphlets that no one read. Making a real difference was an opportunity that had been stolen from him forever.

"SARAH! DUTCHY!"

Roland quickly turned around and saw that gay Australian guy he saw hanging out with Sarah and Dutchy sometimes. Bernard?

"Hey man," he said. "Sorry about all this. I wish I could do something about it, but..." He sighed and shrugged.

He was burned out now, having spent his emotions minutes ago. Now he felt himself sweat, and wiped his face with his other sleeve. Then he sighed and just took his hoodie off. He wore a simple blue t-shirt underneath it, with had a few dark patches on it already. "I don't know anymore," he finished, looking at the friends he was lucky enough to see here. It was great that they were unharmed, but what about the others? What were they doing now?

He turned to face the heart of the island, away from the ocean. "We should get moving soon," he said. "It's not safe here. Too much open space."
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Goto Top
 
Solitair
Member Avatar
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
Sarah was silent, not that Roland blamed her. There's not much that could be said at this point. Apparently Dutchy didn't agree, though, because he whispered to Roland in that one other language he knew. Hearing this, like other times he heard foreign languages, made Roland feel a bit guilty that he never made the effort to learn a second one, being a member of the world's most proudly unilingual country and all. Although Scandinavian would've been a very low-priority pick if not for his friendship with Dutchy.

Meanwhile, Brendan was passed a gun from that other guy whose name Roland didn't know. Was the kid a jock? He didn't really remember seeing him anywhere. Judging by the way the others acted, he'd butted into the group rather unceremoniously and without much regard for manners. Probably wise for him not to pay too much attention to him, either. Lily wouldn't be so dismissive, but then Lily wasn't here, was she?

She needed to be here. He needed to know that she hadn't gotten into any trouble. That went for all the other activists and maybe the debate club members, too. Hell, if he were looking for some of them, he might as well look for them all.

When Brendan suggested the same thing, he nodded. "My thoughts exactly, man. We're not gonna do anyone any good standing here. It'd be for the best if we went to look for our friends."

He moved next to Sarah, looking over her shoulder at her map. "Christ, this is a big island," he said, looking at the relatively tiny buildings on it. "We should probably head for some of the man-made locations if we want to find people. I'm better that others have had the same idea."

Standing back up, he reached for his daypack again and hefted the strap on it over his shoulder. "Dutchy's right. We are the good guys. And we're not the only ones. It's not just members of the activist club, either." Again his thoughts turned to Lily, who might have been the best one of all, if his fondness for her wasn't making him exaggerate, which was likely. "I know that you want to limit our scope to other activists, Brendan, but I'd like it if we tried to meet with some other groups out there. I know they've formed, they always form, and most of them are trying to help each other out. We might be able to compare notes and shit. Whereas if we just keep to ourselves... only one of us is going to live. Best case scenario."

He gave Dutchy a smile, then looked back at Sarah. "How's it looking there? You got our location yet?"
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Goto Top
 
Solitair
Member Avatar
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
Roland wrapped up his miniature speech at about the same moment that Dutchy offered him his harpoon. This gesture stunned Roland at first, but then Dutchy began to reveal his rationale and Roland began to feel distinctly uncomfortable as a result. Actually, uncomfortable was putting it mildly. He'd forgotten that Dutchy was the most dedicated pacifist Roland knew, mostly because Dutchy couldn't stand bloodshed at all. The boy had a very fragile mindset when it came to that sort of thing, and Roland knew that eventually they'd all have to face it. With a trembling hand, he reached for Dutchy's harpoon and grasped it, transferring ownership in an instant. It'd definitely be more handy than that stupid tennis racket, and if he had to use it lethally, he would, even if that meant losing Dutchy's trust.

Wouldn't he?

He didn't explore the thought any further on account of the loud gunshot that echoed from further down the beach. The sound sent the group into a panic; Sarah quickly grabbed a bag and ran towards the sound while Dutchy scattered his possessions in order to find a first aid kit, quickly following her. Brenden went next, taking up some of Dutchy's things before vacating. In seconds Roland was left alone with Jason, the one kid who didn't quite fit and now further distinguished himself with his paralyzing fear.

"For fuck's sake, man! Let's get a move on!" Roland got his bag ready and made his way to the rest of the group, carrying the racket, harpoon, and hoodie in his arms, which slowed him down. One look back told him that he'd managed to snap Jason out of his trance, getting the guy to follow him.

He hoped the five of them were enough to solve this problem.

((Roland Hayes continued in D-Day))
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

V4:
Spoiler: click to toggle


V5:
Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
Rose Matheson: The Sprinter ... ?
Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
Offline Profile Goto Top
 
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