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Clean and Righteous
Topic Started: Sep 1 2010, 07:08 PM (2,051 Views)
Namira
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Null sheen.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Kris Hartmann continued from A Pit Stop of Sorts))

Desolate. Barren. Dead. This place suited her well.

Kris had been walking for awhile since leaving the residential district and the group she'd encountered behind, and unlike her previous departures, the key difference was walking. It gave her time to think. Time she didn't want but couldn't avoid. She had to slow down, otherwise she'd wind up in a bad, bad way. Hell Kris had outright collapsed from exhaustion earlier, and fatigue was still tearing at her.

So the skater thought about how she'd never get to roll out for the Slam City Jam. Never get to meet the true pros, her idols that she held the faintest of hopes of encountering. She thought again about the loss of her beloved board, almost like having a limb severed. She thought about that wonderful, romantic prom night with Etain. But most of all, Reika and Kimberly replayed in her head, over and over and over.

Voice. Jump. Spin. Squeeze. Bang. Dead. "If you're going to shoot then sho-". Trigger, scream. Blood. Flee.

At last, Kris couldn't take it any longer. She was tired, she was rattled. She needed some time. She sank down to the ground and sat herself against a wide tree stump. Once upon a time, it must have been the base of a mighty tree.

"Just... leave me alone," Kris muttered, talking to the images that were constantly flashing through her head. "I know... I know what I did. Please... give me some peace."

Despondant, Kris stared out into space, her right hand gently caressing the grip of her SIG Sauer. She noticed it, looked at her weapon for a long moment, then looked away again, leaving hand and gun untouched.
Edited by Namira, Sep 1 2010, 07:10 PM.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Kris didn't even think about it. The second she heard the voice, the gun was drawn, she'd spun, and the pistol was pointed straight at the interloper. In seconds, she'd gone from leaning against the stump to lying stretched out on the ground, pistol propped up on the flat surface of where the tree's trunk had been.

She blinked.

What the... what the fuck was she doing? This was beyond jumpy, beyond paranoid, this was purely murderous. Just like she'd said before. Fuck redemption, Kris couldn't even get crept up on without pulling her gun out. At this stage, she wasn't even sure if it was just an excuse.

Mördare.

Kris' hands trembled. Her finger wavered on the trigger for an eternity... then she forced it away from there. This was Amber, Amber Whimsy, she hadn't done anything. She was just standing there with her army helmet and... and fuck she'd come so close to doing it again. For no reason at all.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't let anybody close to her.

"Get out of here," Kris murmured. "You can't be near me. You CAN'T BE NEAR ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?"

Hyperventilation. Something's wrong. Something's broken. In her brain, in her heart. Trembling hand, wavering resolve. She wants to shoot, she fears to shoot. Why?
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Why... why couldn't she understand?

It didn't make sense. The gun was there, Kris had it pointed straight at Amber. She'd told her to leave[/i]. Why didn't she fucking GET it!?

The barrel of the pistol was all over the place, roving up and down Amber's body, feet to head. Kris was afraid - not of Amber, but almost of herself. Her first instinct was always to go for the gun, above and beyond the 'somebody might get shot' thought she'd initially had when finding it. Kris didn't want to kill anybody dammit, it was just... there was something, some alien facet of her that did.

Oh yeah, that would hold up in court, right? 'It wasn't my fault, judge! My dark side took over my body and made me pull the trigger!'

And Amber kept getting closer.

"Amber..."

The other girl was edging forward.

Hand clenches tight. Fingers wavers, then released. No, can't pull. Back off. Back off. Can't...

"Get..."

She wouldn't stop moving.

Mouth dry. Bile taste lingers. Aim freezes. "If you're going to shoot then shoot." Like Kimberly. No! NOT like Kimberly! One hand clasps the other. Keeps it from the trigger. Back off Amber. BACK OFF.

"The fuck..."

There was desperation in Amber's eyes and hysteria in her voice.

Deathly still, aim unwavering. Closer, closer... the gun is immovable. Iron will. Kris can't... she can't... the control. Finger twitches.

"OUT OF HERE!"

And then Amber made to grab Kris.

The dream. Twisted tendrils emerge from the gun. Burrow into her arm. Covered in blood. Nothing but. Deep crimson tentacles wind around the hand, wind into her. She holds. She's held. Part of her.

Kris hurled herself backwards as best she could from her position lying down, the awkwardness meaning that Amber's fingertips just barely brushed her arm as she moved away.

Her finger spasmed, pulled the trigger.

Something smiles.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
From the position she'd hurled herself into on the ground, Kris watched, frozen in place, exactly what the consequences of her actions were. This wasn't Reika, who had died near-instantaneously, nor Kimberly, who Kris had fled from. Amber was screaming in utter agony, begging and pleading, blood pouring from her chest. Her eyes locked on Kris', beseeching her for help, asking that simple, yet impossible question; why? It seemed to stretch on for an utter eternity, not even ceasing when Amber collapsed, the girl still writhing in agony and screaming. Even when, at long last, the other girl stopped moving, Kris' eyes remained fixed on her.

The SIG-Sauer went tumbling from her fingers to fall into the dirt. Kris' trigger finger, in spite of her no longer holding anything, spasmed again. And again. And again; firing a gun that wasn't present. After a few more seconds of that, Kris sagged, falling onto her back and staring up at the sky through eyes that were suddenly blurred by tears. What the hell kind of a monster was she? That wasn't accidental, not even approaching it. Why had she even thought she had to bring her gun out in the first place!? There was no FUCKING reason! Kris didn't understand anything. She wanted to cry and was disgusted at herself for it at the same time. She had no right to tears after her actions.

...She wanted her skateboard back.

"Can't do this..." Kris murmured. "Just... can't," the skater pushed herself up onto her knees, then immediately hung her head.

Killer instinct... just survival. The gun has a grip, bound, tied. She doesn't want to die, the inner drive... outweighs conscience. Feeble protest. Tears nothing before hot lead. Insidious leech ever larger. Feeding on shame. Fear sweeps compassion before it.

Kris' hand reached out and she snatched the gun back up off the floor without even looking at it. The motion was almost resentful. She got up to her feet and was about to walk away when something caught her eye. Amber's duffle bag. Barely thinking, Kris went over and picked the bag up. She didn't even go close to the daypack, that just wasn't on her agenda (she'd barely had a bite to eat since coming onto the island). Kris felt like hell and looked like it too. Maybe... maybe a change of clothes would get some of the stench of blood from her.

Kris doubted that. She was awash with it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm ...weak."

((Kris Hartmann continued in Clap For The Killers))
Edited by Namira, Sep 15 2010, 01:26 AM.
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