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Bloodgarden; An endless dedication... (CONTENT WARNING)
Topic Started: Dec 24 2010, 06:47 PM (12,063 Views)
T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
((Colin Falcone continued from All's Fair.))

((Set somewhere between dusk day 5 and dawn day 6.))

It was dark. Hours since he had left the relative comfort and illusion of a population long past. Hours since he had watched Jacob's final moments. He had looked so peaceful in his death. It was quick, and hopefully for his late friend, painless.

It had also been hours since he had seen Tim. Quickly spinning on his heel and darting back from whence he had came, everyone in the Town Square had departed. Bounce, Vic, Alice, and Tim were all nowhere to be seen. He had called out; nay, screamed Tim's name. He had hoped beyond all hope he was still in earshot. It couldn't have been that long since he had moved, could it?

Despair. Unfathomable despair. When one found a final source of strength in a purely hopeless situation, it was amazing how Dependant they became on it. Whether or not Tim had helped Colin in any tangible way, he was still needed beyond anything that Colin could possibly comprehend up to that moment. He had never in his live valued anyone or anything so dearly. Now, knowing Tim was somewhere on this island of killers alone made him cringe and writhe in mental, emotional agony. His friend, his truest friend, someone with whom he shared a bond incomprehensible to those viewing in their posh living rooms, the safety and comfort of their own homes, would ever understand.

And to them, this was just a game. Fiction. Drama. It was enough to make him sick.

If he could feel anything, anything at all through the tears. The sadness. The depression.

But no one had come, when he called in the Town Square. And after what had felt like hours, he finally wandered away. Resolved that the last he would see of his friend would be that incident. Screaming. Anger. Paranoia. Hatred. All these negative emotions that would mar their final memories of the other.

Colin wasn't a religious boy. But if there was ever a time to become one, it was now. The comfort that the thought of a God and a Heaven brought was beyond relief. It was a guarantee that he and Tim would see each other again. He wanted beyond anything in the world to believe that when his time inevitably came, that he would see everyone again.

Such a tragedy for a mother to survive her son.

Wandering. Pointless, and aimless. His feet carried him where his feet willed. He was a tumbleweed, no purpose or direction left to his life. Oh, but if only he had his phone, finding Tim would just be that much easier. But... But it wasn't meant to be. Cruel fate obviously wanted him off to his own devices, a scared, lonely, lost little lamb. And that he had become. Without Tim, all direction was gone. His mind, his thoughts began to repeat themselves. He had trouble remembering his own mind's wanderings from one moment to the next, let alone those of his feet.

Pain was his motive. Survive till that next announcement. Pray that Tim's name was not there. Hope. What a ray of hope it would be. Tim would still be alive, and he could find him. He somewhere remembered hearing that people were most likely to die within the first few hours of getting lost. He didn't remember where. He didn't even know if he had just made that up. A rationalization? A defense mechanism for an ailing mind, trying to give itself hope? Convincing himself that if Tim survived until sunrise, that he would be alive forever and ever, just waiting for Colin?

Everything that the poor boy's mind could conceive of going wrong had just gone wrong.

He wasn't paying attention. Not thinking straight. His feet were heavy on the ground, earth crunching and snapping, his footsteps sounding like that of a drunken moose.

Not that difficult for someone to hear him coming a mile away.

When had he wandered into the woods? It was dark too. He didn't remember that happening. His mind, a flashback. Tim wasn't there when he was talking. Was Tim a figment of his imagination? Did he really ever meet up with Tim? Jacob was real. Watched him die, something that horrible had to be real. His mind was going. He could feel it. He wasn't sane, there was no way. Weren't there stories of people hallucinating that their long dead friends were still with them? Never realizing it? A way to cope. Coping was what everyone was doing.

His eyes darted from tree to tree. Everything looked the same. He was a drunken man, drunk on fear, drunk on despair. Wandering and stumbling his way towards sweet release.

Noise. A clearing up ahead.

Not thinking clearly. He went right for it. Ignore the danger. Ignore the background, the island, the setting. Safety. Another person.

Life...
Edited by T-Fox, Feb 4 2011, 03:57 AM.
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Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
That noise had been the ravings of a crazy man. A crazy man he would realize was crazy all too late. To the eyes of Colin Falcone, the sight of Brook standing before him was a blessing, the port in the storm. He remembered the gardener from Bayview. They had a couple of classes together, and he honestly had quite liked the boy. If it weren't for his withdrawn demeanor, back then he thought they might have been able to become close friends.

So the fear washed away, just long enough for the scared, lonely boy to feel a moment of respite, a moment of comfort as he watched Brook walking rather hurriedly towards him. His posture almost immediately fixed itself, and the cloud in his mind began to waft slowly away. A familiar face.

"Brook!"

It wasn't Tim. He was still worried for Tim. He needed to find his friend. But honestly, for now? This would more than do. Another person, just as soft spoken, just as calm, just as much of a pacifist as he was back in Bayview. He hadn't heard Brook's name on the announcements either. So it served to reason that he was just as afraid as Colin.

The bodies were obscured from view by the odd tree in the supposed clearing.

"I-I'm so glad to see you." He panted, his vision tunneling onto his face. Brook's body was covered, nay coated in blood. If he had looked down for more than a split second, he would have at least had the inkling to ask. Some survival instinct.

"I got separated from Tim- my friend." His body was almost shaking. Adrenaline of fear washing away. But... Something still just didn't feel right. He glance down to the weapon in Brook's hand. Pointed groundward. In the least threatening way possible. But something still just didn't feel ri-

The blood on the barrel. His vision backed away, the shuffling of feet could be heard. The blood on his arm. The blood on his sleeve. The blood on his chest, on his pants, on his shirt, on his neck.

So much blood.

Still not completely in his right state of mind, rather than turn on a heel and flee for his life, he stammered. Like a deer in the headlights, he stared at Brook's chest. No, through Brook's chest. To the blood on the other side. To the pints upon pints of spilled blood.

What's going on... W-Wasn't Brook afraid of blood?

---

It was seriously hard to concentrate on this damn Algebra test with someone having a mild shit fit in the back of the room. About 20 minutes into the test, there had just been a simple "Oh- Shit" that came from the back of the room. A little distracting, but fair enough.

Now, a good ten minutes later, after a noisy, clumsy sprint to the nurse, the kid was still hyperventilating in the back of the room. Whatever the kid had managed to do to himself must have been nasty if he was acting like that. Stick a pencil through his hand? Either way, Colin did want to actually successfully finish this test. Whether or not he cared about his grades, his father did. And while his mother would inevitably sympathize with him, his father had the belt. And that was not exactly anything that he was looking forward to come report card time.

He also needed to be able to sit for his next show.

Pulling his eyes from his test, he glanced back to see a bandaid on the kid's finger, and a small red stain on the corner of the test page that was on top.

Really? A paper cut? He sighed. Hopefully he could block out the noise to finish off this god damned test...

---

"W-What happened to you? And how are you not like... Freaking out right now?" He motioned to Brook's entire outfit with his head. Another quick shuffle back. Some instinct inside him was finally starting to wake up. However consciously he refused to even entertain the notion that this wasn't explainable. Hell, maybe the island had forced him to get over that fear of blood!

Yeah. That had to be it.

He was safe here. Right? He had to be. Together they would go find Tim, and then the three of them would try and make the best of what time was left. Right?

And it was then that a red glint caught his eye from behind the tree. Some matted grass, a pool of viscous red liquid seeping from something... No, that couldn't be right. His eyes were playing tricks on him. Hell, he'd thought it himself earlier. He was losing his mind, succumbing to the forces around him. That wasn't blood. That was a trick of the eye, an optical illusion that the sun was making.

Hell though, it was a convincing optical illusion. His mind was beginning to feel a sense of panic. Adrenaline rushed through his veins yet again. He was jumpy, but his conscious mind could not fathom why.

He was just spooked for no good reason. Yeah, that's it.
Coming soon to a deathmatch near you:
Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
"Colin..."

Brook's voice was almost sad as he called out his name. Brook recognized him. That was a good thing. A very good thing. That meant they had some common ground to work off of. That was a good start.

As Colin rambled, through the black of the night, he attempted to inspect Brook's visage. His new companion seemed to be almost eyeing him like a hungry wolf would eye a rabbit. Predator and prey. He shook his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his tired and weary head. He just couldn't believe it was true. Brook was too gentle, too soft spoken to be a murderer. Whatever had happened must have traumatized him. So deeply.

It was just the paranoia.

Sighing and stopping for breath, he listened to Brook's creepily joyous voice utter a response.

"Hell... I guess I'm just too strung out by this point to care! All the way around on the scale and then some, right?"

Okay, that wasn't paranoia. Brook's mood had just done a complete 180. This was beyond creepy. That response... That response was uttered in a tone like something a pleasently surprised middle schooler would utter. It sent a shiver down his spine that he couldn't control. His mind began to debate with itself, whether he should flee now or not. The giggle cemented the deal. He knew he should run, that Brook had completely lost his shit. But for some reason, some modicum of the past clung to Colin's perception of the boy before him. Something young and innocent shown through Brook, even through the crazy layer atop.

He knew that wouldn't save him if Brook had collected the 'postal' crazy that had been rampant about the island. But it was more than enough to make him rooted in place, unable to move.

Until whisked away by the gardener himself.

"Well, Colin..."

As the arm slipped about his back, he very visibly shivered. While Brook was still very warm and full of life, something about the touch was just chilling. As if something beyond sinister was happeni-

Oh. My. God.

Numbness and shock were quickly surging over every other emotion that he could possibly have comprehended. Three bodies lied in the twilight, the moon shimmering off of the blood and the pale skin almost goulishly beautiful scene. It was a gothic garden of blood and gore.

"I've been keeping appearances around here..."

Something straight from hell had just appeared before him, and Brook was Bezlebub himself. The orchestrator of this grim arrangement. This is exactly what Dante would have pictured for one of his fictionalized seven levels of hell. The only thing missing was the fire and brimstone. And even without; god damn was it getting hot around here.

Sweat poured through his pores as Brook led him closer and closer, the faces becoming visible, two wounds still looking fresh; the one in the center not quite so much. He didn't recognize a single of the trio more than he would any other person from his year. They looked so peaceful if it were not for the red that they now bathed in, leaking from their bodies and to the ground.

And suddenly, his balence was gone. The world had dissapeared from below his feet, and towards the bodies he fell. The feeling of Brook's arm upon his back melted away, and time seemed to slow as the face of the boy became nearer and nearer, agonizingly slow. He shut his eyes, just as his own body fell upon theirs, a sickly splattering noise and a cold wet feeling making him suddenly feel violently ill.

"This here! Take a good look, Colin! Ya like it? I'm gonna need your help..."

Quickly he rolled on his back, just fast enough to see the moonlight cast a ghastly shadow upon his now captor's face. The grin... That grin would haunt his dreams, if he were to ever have another. Paralyzed by fear, every conscious thought screamed at him to flee. This would very well be the end of the line if he had not. But he knew that Brook had some sort of gun, somewhere nearby, even if the scant light was not kind enough to betray it's position.

Everything came into vivid detail as his mind took in every last thing, every single scenario. The trees, their branches blowing in the breeze, obscuring the bright silver ball; queen of the night sky. Leaves rustling in the clearing, a gentle summer's breeze carrying the remenants of the fall before away, freedom he longed for. The looming power of the boy's form, wine-colored sillouete imposing accross the dead of night. The white hot sting of tears as they flowed from his cheeks over small cuts and scrapes, the result of a man who had been out in the wilderness for far too long.

"Brook, please don't do this... Please..."
Coming soon to a deathmatch near you:
Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Brook's face seemed to light up, and with that 'glow' that radiated from his fittingly dark face; evaporated any hope that Colin had still clung to, replacing it with despair and terror. That look from before... He wasn't losing his mind, Brook was the insane one. His eyes were wide, his entire body shook. He tried with all of his might not to focus on the dead bodies behind him...

"Okay... don't do what? You're gonna have to be veeeeeery specific!"

He shuddered. Hard. This wasn't just scary, this wasn't just terrifying. This was horrific, creepy, something straight out of a horror flick. Stunned silence. His mouth was agape as he stared up at his former classmate, focused on that gun, dull metal glinting a soft snow white in the moonlight. His head swiveled as far as it could, following the lion as he stalked his cornered prey in a circle.

"Because there's a lot of things I'm going to do right now, and I can't skip out on ALL of them... you saw it, Colin. You saw my garden, and it's not quite finished. So really... just fucking save it!"

In the brief moment between Brook's command and the impending impact, he felt like a whipped puppy. Brook had put so much anger and force behind his words, that they seemed to override his survival instincts for a split second. Had this not been as dire of a situation of the one he were in, he would have quietly apologized, turned and walked away.

But he couldn't here.

Primarily because there was a massive knee in his chest.

His mouth shot agape as a loud yelp forced it's way from his mouth as he felt Brook drop his weight into his chest, his lungs expelling all of the air with such force and violence. His throat was raw, and his chest was throbbing in pain. A quick cough.

And yes, the tears were becoming more and more intense. He was crying in fear for his own life, and for what his parents were watching. Sure, Tim and his life back home flitted in and out of his mind here and there throughout the entire ordeal, but what man can say he faced down death and cried for others without lying through his teeth? None but a saint, and while Colin was a pacifist, he was no saint. He had killed after all. Heck. This might be Karma.

A swift smack, and his entire head rotated quickly to the right in reaction. It didn't really hurt all that much, just a little sting on his right cheek. However pathetic that first hit was, the second strike hit home, right below his eye. He felt something give, just a little, and a shot of fiery pain washed over his entire face. This directly forced more and more tears from his right eye, something broken; never to work again.

He turned his head to face Brook again, and just as he looked up, he saw the gun directly above him. But it was pointed over him. Confusion. The gun grew in size as it rushed closer. Realization.

CRACK

He howled in pain as he felt his nose break under the hard steel of the gun. Blood oozed from his nose as he writhed on the ground, Brook's taunting voice nothing but a whisper.

"You're so gross, Colin, bleeding like that... it's people like you that covered me in all this. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop bleeding on me."

He coughed, spattering a little of the blood that had run down his face across the forest floor to mix with the blood of the others sitting below him. "I-I'd stop bleeding on you if you'd stop hitting me. Listen to yourself! You're hitting me, YOU'RE making me bleed. You can stop this Brook, for the love of God, stop hitting me! You don't have to keep doing this. Please!"

A final, desperate plea to anything that might have been left of Brook's sanity. Little did he know how far down the rabbit hole Brook had gone. Hearing Tiffany's voice, urging him onward. More and more blood.

And Colin would be Tiffany's next victim.
Coming soon to a deathmatch near you:
Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
There was a sound. Something that sounded absolutely abhorent. And then he watched Brook's head rear back, and his lips contort, a soft plop piercing the absolute silence. His eyes darted to the ground in the location where Brook's saliva had landed. And then almost immediately, back to the boy's face. Colin tracked and traced every single movement. Watching as Brook ran his sleeve across his face. He watched in a mixture of morbid curiosity and horror as Brook, even in the unending dark seemed to stare past his form and to the bodies behind him. He was so focused, so content to stare at the object of what had once been his own hatred and fear.

And then suddenly, with a jerk, Brook's head moved away, and Colin jumped back involuntarily. His eyes widened like a cat's as he watched on. His captor, his assailant seemed to be hunting... Searching... His attention was broken. His head turned this way and that against the dark, dreary forest. His face seemed to echo ponderance. Probably at his own demise. Which terrified him to his core. His entire life was boiling down to fight or flight, terror, a desire to flee. He knew that Brook had that Gun, and with that, he knew that he stood absolutely no chance of escape should he decide to pull that trigger. A single, quick, action. Such an easy action, with no repercussion for the wielder of the weapon. Even with a sword, the wielder felt that sting in his hands upon contact with the solidity of another human body. He had to realize that humanity, the act of which he was performing. The gun did not offer that same repercussion. The gun offered no backlash, no pain.

And suddenly, in the middle of Colin's broken train of thought, Brook stalked off into the night. And before he could even make a decision as to whether this was a good idea, he quickly found himself on his own two feet. His chest hurt, and it was difficult to draw breath; his mouth hanging open as he drew in breath the only way he still could. It was loud, it was sloppy, and his now broken nose would probably afford him an inability to ever sing properly again. That was something he could never forgive Brook for. His livelihood, his dream, shattered before him, in just as many pieces as his own skull. Upon finding a moment later down the road, he knew he would weep. He would sing a now nasly tune, and try and forget. But the sound would be a constant reminder upon his escape.

Which, despite his misgivings, he found himself attempting to take now. His loafers pounded the dirt, each in sync with a beat of his own heart. Time slowed to a crawl as he hung in space, each foot slapping upon the soft, wet ground with a soft slap.

One.

Two..

Three...

Four....

His breath was heavy, and his entire body hurt, but he was fleeing towards freedom. He just needed to reach that tree line... Reach that tree line, and escape.

And it was then that he heard Brook's voice from behind him. Apparently the Keeper of the Gardens of the Inferno had found whatever devilish implement he had been searching for. The voice was cold as ice, and felt as though it made his entire body contract from sheer cold of it's harsh, cutting tongue.

"Heeeeeellllooooo!!! Colin! You'll never guess! I think I found just what we need!"

Perhaps that cringe, that contraction had in reality slowed him down. Not much, but enough.

Just enough...
Edited by T-Fox, Feb 8 2011, 12:57 AM.
Coming soon to a deathmatch near you:
Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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T-Fox
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N-Nopony! Ah was talkin' to nopony whatsoever!
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
The shadow and blackness of the forest before him was growing. Escape was in that darkness. Lying in wait, with it's warm embrace, just like Brook had been lying in wait in the darkness, the cobra, the temptation that wrought Adam and Eve to sin. His breath was heavy, and it just plain felt like something wasn't working right. His chest throbbed with every intake of cool breath, the summer's night air something so much more sinister than what those back in Bayview could conceive.

He heard Brook's voice behind him. It was still something jovial, something deranged. Hopefully that meant he had put enough distance between himself in the boy. Hopefully Brook was a poor shot.

Time to roll the dice. He heard a loud crack, and listened as the sounds of flapping wings; the birds who had the misfortune to make their nests near this ode to death. A violent ping as the bullet bounced from a tree a few feet away.

Another crack. Instantaneous fire. At first, as the second bullet struck home, he had thought the round had to be alight. His knee cracked with a sickening thud as his mouth opened, whatever noise that would come loudly forcing itself from his vocal cords as he fell like timber. The ground became closer and closer, but all he could focus on was the nova that had formed in his left leg.

Twack.

The pain that someone would normally feel from bouncing their face off of the earth didn't make itself known to him. His entire world was a small 9 millimeter wide spot in the center of his knee. He didn't even hear the crack as the third bullet rattled over where his head just was, zinging away into the forest proper.

He had only been a few feet away from salvation.

"Fuck's sake, Colin, you really are a kill-joy, aren't you?"

Brook sounded as though he was underwater. The pain had his full focus, but the boy still sounded as though he was directly over him. His eyes closed, panting in fear and pain. Even though the wound he held was not fatal itself, it spelled his doom. Colin was going to die. And yet though they flowed like water before, Colin's tears did not come.

That was at least until the unimaginable pain that echoed through his entire body. He felt Brook's hand wrap about his ankle, and then pulling. His hands clasped and clawed at the ground as he was dragged away, tears bursting from his eyes as the pained yells and screams came back.

And then suddenly it stopped. Back to a flame upon his leg, back to murky thought and pained speech.

"I mean, really, you were okay at first, but it's like you're TRYING to mess up my night!"

He felt a dull thud suddenly against the back of his head as Brook broke the weapon he had not seen upon him. Too much pain. There was a sudden blackness as Colin's eyes closed.

Not half a minute later, his eyes fluttered open again, his mind slowly registering every synapse in his body, yet again taking on the pain. He groaned, suddenly feeling a breeze on his torso.

"...had a pretty good run, you did, but tell me... isn't it better this way?"

His voice was soft, and the entire world seemed to spin. Unsure how, he had now ended up on his back. Turning his head, he saw a female face next to him, yet the features were melted, indistinct. His vision was having issues from whatever Brook had concussed him with.

His screams turned to silent tears, his face and the ground below him soaked literally with his blood, sweat, and tears. He felt his body buckling under the pain, under the stresses upon him. The shard of glass slicing one of his flanks, and then the other. Each cut elicited a yelp of pain, but not another aftershock beyond. His arm lit, just as his knee did before, as he felt it fall limp upon the ground.

"Colin, you sing, don't you? C'mon... why don't you cheer things up with one of those little showtunes of yours? D'awwww, Coliiiiin! Come on! Hey... I know, how about I start us up?"

He couldn't quite comprehend what Brook was saying through the pain. But he did register that... He was being taunted. He didn't respond, he wouldn't give his attacker, his killer the satisfaction. This just seemed to make him happier. And then, in an off key tune, Brook began to sing.

Each incision was so distracting, and the first few elicited yelps of pain, but as Colin finally felt his fight or flight kicking in, he felt the pain numbing about him. And he could once again concentrate... A crappy song, from a crappy artist. My Chemical Romance, an Emo Alternative Rock band. He frankly did not appreciate the notion entertained that he would sing something like this. Even by the man who was mutilating him.

His face felt warm as blood from his chest splattered upon his cheek, and he listened in awe to Brook's Acapulco jingle.

The line was ironic, but the pain was intense. The pain could not be ignored. Colin coughed and sputtered as that piece of glass pierced his chest, a scraping kind of pain as it drove home into a rib, skimming the bone. Touching a lung. His entire chest expanded in breath.

And then, there was a momentary respite. It was almost as if Brook had stopped to admire what he had been doing. Stopped to let it sink in. No, that latter would be a sane man's action.

And suddenly he found himself speaking. His voice was still so nasly, so disgusting from the head wound he suffered. Which would make this absolutely perfect.

"B-Brook... I'll sing with you."

His breath was labored as was his speech, everything hurt with each molecule of air moving throughout his body. He could feel his own heart beat, throbbing in his chest, his neck, his wrists, his legs.

"But... But you're forgetting a line."

Sharp pain. He took in a full breath, and prepared to sing once more. To give Brook a small show before he made his way into the night. No. He would not give this maniac the satisfaction.

He almost sounded as bad as the lead singer himself.

"The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so!"

"But it's really quite alarming... Cause I'm such an awful... Fuuuuuccckkkk!"

The curse was his battle cry, one of irony for his escape plan. He steeled himself, driving his one good limb remaining directly into Brook's groin; his right leg. He watched the boy buckled in two, his head coming closer, and that same foot swung up, connecting directly with his foe's Adam's apple. A satisfying squish, a loud yell. Unscathed from what he was doing? Not anymore. His loafer no longer resided upon his foot, and he wasn't quite sure where it went.

But that didn't matter. Suddenly, Brook was no longer atop him, yet his shard of glass still lie embedded within his chest. He couldn't feel the pain though. Just a dull throb from where the bullet lie lodged against his knee cap. Each step away, a world of hurt. How did he get on his feet? He couldn't remember. No time to complain.

The blackness of the forest was upon him. He would not take the moment to look back upon the garden from which he fled, his classmate who would surely kill so many more of his peers; none so deserving of the fate he offered but the assailant himself.

Colin was free from Brook's grasp. However, he knew he wouldn't last long. Every new wound was leaking stream after drop after faucet of blood. He couldn't feel it, but he knew in his mind that it hurt. He just needed to get away... He couldn't give Brook the satisfaction. He couldn't give Brook the body he wanted.

His only regret was that Tim would probably never see him again. Best though... For the state he was in. He didn't want his friend to see him like this.

The darkness of escape engulfed him.

((Colin Falcone continued in The Encore...))
Coming soon to a deathmatch near you:
Garry Brooks - Swave Countryboy
Jade Aurora - Tomboy Drummer
Jasmine Tolle - Pacifistiic Artist

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