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Time Is Not On Our Side
Topic Started: Sep 4 2010, 11:07 AM (4,137 Views)
Ruggahissy
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Isabel Guerra continued from Break Up and Break Down ))

Isabel’s legs ached from all the walking, but the more distance they put behind them and that chainsaw-mutilated corpse, the better. Even if her legs had been in ten times the pain they were in now, she wouldn’t have told Dave. She wouldn’t want him to think that she couldn’t keep up; Isabel wasn’t going to be dead weight to anyone.

"Hey, Hold on a second, I need to do something about my fucking knees."

“Sure, no problem. We need a break anyway. I think we’ve made it far enough that we’re safe.”

Isabel sank down and sat with her legs sprawled out in front of her. In her hurry she had taken off into the forest with Dave, not paying any mind to the bushes and saplings on the forest floor. Little scratches and cuts marked the bottom of her legs above her socks.

“Shoulda worn pants,” she sighed, watching the clouds though the tree tops.

She lowered her gaze to Dave and saw him spraying the gash on his knee. Isabel folded her legs underneath her and scooted closer to the wound. She sucked in some air through her teeth. Isabel surveyed him properly for the first time since leaving the fun fair. He did indeed have his fair share of injuries. Now that she noticed them, she felt a little bad for not having gone a little slower.

“Roland sure did a number on you….,” she said softly.

She pushed herself up, grabbed her bag and tugged at the end of her skirt. Isabel stuck her hand into her pack and fished around inside. She pulled out a hair tie, haphazardly bunched her hair up together behind her head and snapped the tie around the mass. She wiped her forehead with one of her overly long sleeves and lastly, picked up her trumpet.

There it was, he asked for her name. This time she couldn’t pretend she didn’t hear it; it was silent except for the sounds of an occasional bird.

My name? Maybe I should just tell him I’m girl 105, that’s what it says on my bag. Can I trust him? Seems sane, no weapon that I could see. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t just try to beat me to death. Why am I so superstitious about names? I should lie; I should tell him a fake name, not like I haven’t done it before in my regular life. But what if we run into someone and they yell out my name or something? That Roland guy knew me and he was the first one who found me. Then he’d be really pissed. If he found out I lied.

Leap of faith

“My name…..is…..Isabel,” she said slowly, finishing with a sigh.

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Yes it was.

“Dave Morrison. Nice to meet you,” she said with one hand occupied by the trumpet and the other on the strap of her bag. Her mouth tugged slightly at one side into a half smile. "Okay, Dave. Are we looking for anyone for you? Heartfelt reunion with a best friend? Building up a posse of guys from your sports team or club? One last chance to be with the girl of your dreams?"
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Ruggahissy
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The woods were so quiet. It seemed like forever since she had been somewhere quiet. The mirror maze she had woken up in was a dark, screaming nightmare with yells and howls bouncing off the mirrored walls like the reflections and the fair was a twisted warzone of blood and whack-a-mole. In the forest, though, she could almost pretend for a second that they had made it to their camping trip. Isabel and Dave had just wandered off from the main camp grounds, probably looking for wood for the campfire or the bathroom or something. The only thing that broke the illusion were the cuts marring Dave’s skin and blood on his clothes.

“You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to. I think we’re in pretty much the same boat. My best friend’s got plenty of other people she can band with, never really was on any teams or clubs and I never had a boyfriend,” she said with a shrug. “Though I have to say, it’s nice you’ve decided on the ‘waiting till a douche bag murders my ass’ method rather than the ‘chainsaw-to-the-gut’ method, for my sake anyway.”

His parents will be proud to see he didn’t play the game. I bet they’re watching him. Not like me. I bet my mom doesn’t even know I’m gone yet. She’ll notice in a week when there’s a huge pile of dishes in the sink.

An angry, squishy, grinding noise rumbled through Isabel. She frowned and looked down at her stomach.

“My stomach is trying to eat itself,” she mumbled.

She spotted a tree stump a few feet and way. She sat down, pulled up her bag and unzipped, trying to feel around inside for her smaller back pack. Once the second bag was unzipped she moved her hand, hoping for the feel of plastic.

Don’t tell me these guys took my lunch!

Isabel was relieved to pull out a plastic wrapped sandwich. She unwrapped it and savagely took a bite, but stopped mid-way and looked up awkwardly at Dave.

“Cho wan some?” she asked through a mouthful of sandwich. “S’ chicken pesto.”

Isabel swallowed her food and ripped the roll in half, extending the other half towards him.

“It’s good. I made it myself.”

A shrill electronic noise cut through the silence and the tree tops rustled with the sound of frightened birds taking flight. After the noise had died down, the next was the sound of a slow applause.

"Kids, I have to say that I'm truly impressed with your first day showing”

Hearing his voice was like having a bucket of ice water poured on her head. She shivered but the feeling didn’t go away. Her free hand gripped the edge of the tree stump until her fingers turned white.

No.
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Ruggahissy
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Isabel seemed to snap out of her fear induced trace when Dave called out to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath and opened them again.

“I’m fine,” she replied sternly. She wrapped up the rest of her sandwich and shoved it back into her bag.

“Not hungry anymore,” she said while digging around inside the bag again. Soon she found what she was looking for, a pencil case. She opened the case and pulled out a black sharpie marker. She originally bought the marker so she’d have something better than pencil to sign year books with.

Isabel rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and started writing on her left arm. The first name, “Omar B.” was scrawled on her arm with one tally mark by the name. Next, “Alex R.” with one tally and “Reiko” with two tallies. When she reached “Ivan” she turned her arm over and wrote on the underside, “Janet” next. She hurried to write down the names and mark their kills.

Alex was mentioned again, she turned her arm back over and added a tally to his name. She moved to her other arm at the mention “Rob. J.” and finally “Kris H.” with two tallies. Isabel had skipped a few and struggled to try and remember them, “Collin F.”, “Jackie B.” and turning her right arm over she finished with “Staffan.”


“It might be a good idea to keep track of who’s playing and how deadly they are,” she said to Dave, feeling her odd behavior was in need of an explanation. “A piece of paper might get lost or damaged in the next few days, but this way I’ll have the names with me no matter what.”

When she was finished she stuck the market in the waist of her skirt under her shirt, sighed and held out her arms. They were covered with writing and tallies. Only one day had passed.

“Our class has some major aggression issues” she said in dismay. “I’m surprised Roland didn’t get credit for his work back there.” At that she took the marker back out, uncapped it and wrote Roland’s name on a little patch of skin left on the underside of her right arm.

“It’s really stupid, my mom used to yell at me for writing on myself. I guess it doesn’t matter now. Now that I think about it, depending on how long we last, I don’t know if I have enough skin.”

Isabel stopped and looked awkwardly at Dave for a moment, then away from him at one of the trees.

I said “we” instead of “I.” “How long WE last. I shouldn’t delude myself into thinking this guy and I will stick this out to the end together.

“Anyway....” she started again, “Looks like we’re safe from the danger zones for now. You know, maybe this Danya guy is mad he never made it as a comedian so he kills kids. Sort of how like Hitler kind of failed at being a painter. He certainly thinks he's funny.”

Isabel put her hands on her head and shut her eyes. She and Dave hadn't stopped running from the moment they woke up and now that they had stopped the weight of being tired had caught up with her.
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Isabel slipped off of the tree stump and onto the floor; her back now leaning gratefully against what little was left of the tree. Her sleeves were still half pushed up, leaving some of the black scribbles visible. Her one hand was still resting on the end of her trumpet. She closed both eyes.

“Sharpie usually lasts a little longer than other pens. If I don’t use soap, and honestly, where would I find any, it’ll maybe last 3 days. Past that, maybe enough people will be gone that I’ll be able to remember the killers by memory. Or I could just keep retracing over the faded names. I’ll figure it out later.”

"I don't know about you but I'm pretty fucking tired right now."

She opened her right eye to look at him just in time to see him let out a very satisfying looking yawn.

Oh no, no, no, no

She couldn’t hold it back. Isabel opened her mouth and inhaled deeply letting a huge yawn escape. She put up her right hand with fingers outstretched to cover her mouth.
“Me too,” she pushed out around the tail end of the yawn. "Guess we better find a place to sleep for a while. Nothing good’s gonna happen for us if we’re wandering around this place like zombies. Dun wanna pass out in the middle of a Mexican stand off or something."

Gradually she stood up and took her bag and trumpet up with her.

"Let’s look around for somewhere that might be safe. Well….safe as one can be taking a nap on murder island."

Why is this happening to us? Why are so damn unlucky to end up here? Why

Why?
--------------------------

Why do…..
--------------------------

Why do birds, suddenly appear? Every time you are near?

Albuquerque, New Mexico: 2003

The old song sounded tinny as it leaked softly from the office speaker, wherever it was. A young girl was seated in the waiting room of Heart Hospital of New Mexico with a plastic waste paper basket in her lap. Her eyes watered and she clutched her orange bucket tight, her fingers curling over the lip.

Oh god, please not again.

The taste of her own mouth was nauseating. She tried not to think about it, but that only made her focus on it more. She spit into the bucket hoping it would help, but to no avail. A strong contraction somewhere in the bottom of her torso pushed up and repulsive, wet, squish resulted from a new deposit into the orange basket falling on top of what had been regurgitated earlier.

She panted, wiped her mouth with her sleeve and swallowed. It hurt so much; her eyes filled with tears.

“What’s your name, honey?”

She looked up. A waiting room attendant with a clipboard was standing over her with a sympathetic smile and a cup of water. Shakily, she accepted the plastic cup and took a small sip.

“….Isabel Guerra.”

“Well hello, Isabel. Are you here all by yourself?”

She nodded. Isabel reached into her bag, pulled out her red wallet, slipped out a white card with a blue cross on it and held it up to the man.

“Here. Lemme call someone.”

The attendant took the insurance card and turned to his clipboard, scribbling things in a quick, steady manner.

Isabel pulled out a chunky Nokia phone and pressed the call button. She waited.

Click.

“Dad?” she asked in a rather pathetic voice.

“Oh hello Isabel, how’s it going?”

“Dad, I need you to come get me. I’m at Heart Hospital. ”

“The hospital? But, where’s your mother? If she took you there she should be able to drive you back home.”

“She’s out of town for a few days visiting abuela, she’s gonna be back tomorrow. I know you’re busy packing because you’re leaving, but please? I don’t feel good.”

“Wait, wait wait, she left you alone? “

“It’s was only for a few days,” she responded, her tone becoming irritated.

“…..What exactly is so wrong with you that you ended up at the hospital, babe?”

“I don’t feel good. I’ve been throwing up for the past two days. The neighbor came over when she kept hearing the noises and dropped me off here at the hospital on her way to work. I think I have stomach flu.”

Empty air filled in the silence.

Why do stars, fall down from the sky? Every time you walk by?

“Dad?”

“I can’t believe it; you really expect me to believe that?”

Cold icy shock hit her. If she hadn’t been in such a state of surprise she would have thanked that at the very least, she was slightly less nauseous.

“W-what do you mean?!” she blurted in a panic. The attendant looked down at her.

“The neighbor heard you throwing up while you’ve been alone. You’re mother and I are always commenting on the way you look and now you just HAPPEN to have the stomach flu? It seems far more likely to me that you’ve taken our comments a little too much to heart lately and the neighbor caught you and now you’re using this whole stomach thing as an excuse so that your mother doesn’t find out you have an eating disorder.”

Isabel started at her phone like it had grown tentacles.

“I…..have…NEVER. I would NEVER.....Why would you-” she sputtered.

The man with the clipboard looked down at her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped like someone had electrocuted her and shrugged away from his touch. He retracted his hand and knelt down at her level.

“Sweetie?”

She looked down at the phone. The call was still running. She pushed the call end button and looked back at the man.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a legal guardian or relative coming for you?”

“…..no. I gave you the insurance card. Just tell me what the deductable is and let me see a doctor.”

Just like me, they long to be, close to you.
Edited by Ruggahissy, Sep 25 2010, 05:53 PM.
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Out of the forest walked a very tired looking girl. She yawned and regrettably this sent Isabel on another yawn as well.

“Kay, number one, being killed by a trumpet would be a cool way to die. Number….uh….”

Did I just forget how to count to TWO?

She let Dave fill in the gap where she had trailed off with his introduction.

“My name’s Isabel and I don’t have a fun expletive for a middle name,” she said flatly after him and gave a short wave.

Isabel readjusted her bag over her shoulder and trudged a few paces over to some bushes. She pushed them with her foot, then stuck her trumpet into the middle of the brush. It looked like there was a clearing in the middle that would allow them to lie down while keeping them at least partially hidden from view with bushes. She dropped her bag in the dirt and started trying to make it somewhat pillow shaped.

“I can hear you still,” she called out to Dave while fussing with the bag. She smiled a little at his joke. For the second time today she smiled and for the second time it was Dave that caused it. He might have been an ass, but at least he was a funny ass. Isabel pulled a jacket out of her bag and draped it over her upper body. If the other girl wanted to sleep near them, it didn’t make much of a difference to her. She didn’t appear dangerous and her name wasn’t one of the ones written on her arms so she figured they would find out more about her when they were all in a more hospitable mood.

Isabel threw her head down on the bag and her dark hair spilled over the mound and onto the forest floor. Somewhere next to her she heard Dave plop down in exhaustion.

“G’night Dave, Night Claire,” she mumbled.


The fear of the day was pulling at her not to sleep, but her body was giving up. Isabel shut her eyes and it felt like they had sealed as if they were made of metal. Before she realized it she was being dragged backwards into the deep black waters of unconsciousness…




"You and I are going to have some fun. Just a barrel of fucking fun. A ton..of..fucking..fun."

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No.”


“Don't do it, Bro. She’s an obnoxious bitch, but she don't have it in her to be a murderer.”

"Let go, you can't expect me to just sit here and watch! Fuck! What the fuck have you done?"



“¡Shhhh! ¡Cállate niña! ¿No sabes sobre El Viejo?”

“N-no. ¿Quien es El Viejo?”


"I'd hold still if I were you. Wouldn't want to cut your wrists now."

“You wanna try it?”

“I don’t think my mom would want me to…..Okay. You promise not to tell?”


“If we sit by and let them get away with their sins, we're letting everyone who's watching know that we think it's 'Okay' to look out for number one. It isn't okay. There isn't a number one, there isn't a winner in this.”


“El Viejo es un hombre muy viejo, pues obviamente, y tiene piel pálido, pálido y él vive muy muy lejos bajo la tierra. Allí, él esta comiendo su cena.

“¿Su cena? ¿Qué eso tiene que hacer conmigo?”


"So now what do we do with you? I missed a chance with Emma, but you, maybe you'll do. Or wait, you're a dyke aren't you? Never felt the pleasures of a man. What do you think? Do you want to know what its like?"


“I won’t say anything. Are you afraid?”

“A little….”

“Let’s make the room dark. Pull down the shades.”


“It has nothing to do with sins. You are right that there is no winner, but not in the way you think. There are only losers. We are all losers.”


“Pues, cuando niñas y niños hacen mucho ruido, esta molesta mucho a él. Entonces él encuentra los bichitos, les pone en su bolsa y los lleva a su casa y les come.”

“!”



"You sick fuck. I swear to God, first chance I get I'm gonna cut it right the fuck off."

“How does it work?”

“Just put your hands here near mine. Put your fingers up against the side.”

“Okay.”


"We gotta get the fuck out of here."

“Oh my God. What the hell. What the hell!?”



“Entonces si no quieres ser matado y comido, tienes que ser bueno y escucha y ser tranquilo. ¿Entiendes?

"Oh ho, violent little cunt aren't you. You know though. I'm sitting here thinking to myself that I forgot my manners. We've got to pre-heat the oven don't we? I mean really, its just never good unless you're REALLY ready to go and wanting it more then anything."

“Now we both have to think of the same thing. You have to concentrate. Close your eyes. Do you feel anything?”

RRRRRRRRRRRRR

“S-sí. Voy a ser bueno. No quiero morir. No quiero que alguien a me mata.”
Edited by Ruggahissy, Oct 6 2010, 05:01 PM.
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The blood leaked from the girl’s eye socket and she screamed.

The triangle moved around the glowing Ouija board and she trusted.

The chainsaw revved and organs splattered at her feet.

The shadows stalked the darkness and she shivered.

Do you kids know what makes Uncle Danya happy?

The P.A. system roared to life, sending the birds scattering from the trees and waking up a girl asleep among the bushes. Groggily, she opened her eyes. She sniffed and wiped them, they were wet. Isabel rolled over and her hand hit another hand. She screamed, pulled her hand back and rolled the other direction into a bush.

I’m still on this island. I’m on this island and I’m listening to some psychopathic murderer imply that I am his niece.

She took a deep shaky breath and pulled out the sharpie from her skirt waist band. There was still a little room left on her left arm which she promptly filled in with the names. She sighed as she added two more tallies to Reiko’s name. This wasn’t like the time before. She knew two of the people who had died. Charlotte and Trevor, they had both been at the poker night at Alex’s house. They were gone now. However, those two were a minor shock compared to the news of a particular killer.

Eleventh to die was one Steve Barnes, who found out that Hayley Kelly losing her head meant him losing his

Her pen stopped moving. She swallowed and skipped the name, now finding she had no more room on her arms. Isabel lifted her shirt to the bottom of her ribs and started writing down the side of her torso. Names flowed and curved down the side of her body with the tally marks next to them. At the end of announcement she closed her eyes and flopped onto her back.

Hayley.

Her throat was closing up and strings of pain ran down from her neck to her heart. She uncapped the sharpie and unbuttoned the first three buttons of her shirt. She pulled down the shirt off of her left shoulder and wrote “H.K” near her collar bone with one mark, and then pulled the fabric back up. She tried to swallow the feeling back down; now wasn’t the time to lose composure. Her nails dug into her palm, trying to distract her with a new pain.

“D-Dave. Charlie,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

“Sorry freaked a little, Dave. Not used to waking up next to another body. Startled me. W-We,” she swallowed again. Almost all the way under control again. “We better get moving.”

((Isabel Guerra continued in Day of the Dove ))
Edited by Ruggahissy, Oct 11 2010, 05:42 AM.
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