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Topic Started: Mar 21 2011, 12:51 AM (1,342 Views)
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((Kevin Warick continued from Milk of Human Kindness))

Kevin had kept a pretty low profile for the past three or four days. He'd slept off his hangover, and then had gone off on his own. At least one of the boys he'd watched dig the grave had since died. Kevin had found his body right here, on the greens. It was actually pretty upsetting. He'd considered burying the guy, a sort of tribute, since he'd buried those other bodies, but it was a lot harder to dig a good hole in the greens than it was in the sand on a beach.

He wasn't quite sure what to do now. He'd left his sax behind somewhere, maybe even back at the mines. He couldn't recall. He'd lost the alcohol somewhere too. Pity. Now would be a really great time to get drunk.

But on the bright side, he'd lived longer than half the others. For dodging any real conflict, he was doing pretty good. He just had to keep it up. Ride that streak until it ran out. Just keep going. Stay alive.

It shouldn't be too hard, right?

Of course, he was hungry, tired, and a bit scared, but he was used to that by now. He was used to all of this.
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Kevin was just sitting and waiting, enjoying the view, when he saw the other guy coming towards him. He squinted, trying to recognize the boy, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do. He was dressed in clothes that had perhaps once been nice. Now, though, he looked disheveled. He had a big gun.

He knelt.

The gun pointed at Kevin.

His brain made connections half a second too slowly.

There was a loud sound. Kevin felt something slam into his shoulder, jerking him backwards. The bullet(s?) hadn't gone through, but that wasn't really a comfort. His shoulder was screaming, and he was screaming too, wailing like his sax used to do, with all that pain and emotion.

Kevin couldn't move his right arm. He thought his shoulder blade was shattered. Here, on SOTF, that was probably a death sentence. He didn't have to die just yet, though. He hadn't been that scared before, but now he was terrified. He pushed himself to his feet, left-handed, and tried to stumble away, lurching along in a slow jog, bent over and howling the whole way.
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He was getting away. He was getting away slowly, painfully, dripping blood from his shoulder, leaving a trail of himself along the ground, but he was getting away. He was outrunning the boy. No, the boy wasn't even chasing him. The boy had a gun, so of course he wasn't chasing him.

Kevin realized this a second too late. He was about to throw even more of a lurch into his step, bounce side to side, try to make himself a harder target, but then there were two more loud reports, two more bullets whizzing towards him, past him, through him. The first actually missed, due to luck which would have been phenomenal had the second not punched through his back, piercing his left lung and nicking his heart.

He stumbled another two steps before falling face first to the ground. His nose shattered and stars flashed in his vision as his face slammed into the dirt. The grass cushioned him slightly, but a small rock tore a hole in his cheek.

What the hell had even happened? The whole thing was surreal. One moment, he was sitting quietly on the ground, thinking and just being. Forty seconds later, he was dying in a heap. It just wasn't fair.

There wasn't anything he could do, though. He was scared. He was wondering what else could have been, what life could have thrown him had he stayed with the group he'd found, had he not gotten drunk. Maybe he'd still be living. Maybe they'd have survived, too. He was pretty sure every person from the mine was dead now. Maybe not that girl. What had her name been again?

And still, he was trying to escape. he probably had less than a minute left to live, no matter what happened, but still he clawed at the ground, inch by painful inch, trying to just get somewhere else.
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He was going. Slowly but surely, inch by inch, Kevin was making his way forwards, no target in mind, just trying to be somewhere else. There was something going on, though. He was no longer alone. There was someone beside him. He couldn't look up, but he knew. He knew who it was.

The boy apologized.

Kevin could have laughed, except that his body couldn't sustain it anymore. Sorry? He was sorry? If he was sorry, he'd have shot once. If he was sorry, he wouldn't have come over. He'd have left Kevin to die in peace. If he was anything, he was looking to still his conscience, looking for last minute forgiveness. That, or he was playing this up for the audience at home.

He said it was all for the best.

Kevin could have snorted. Of course it was. It all was, wasn't it? All of this. Everything was for the best in the end.

Bullshit.

But the pain and the bleeding was so bad now, so strong now, that Kevin couldn't articulate this opinion. Blood was gurgling in his throat. He coughed, hacked, spat blood onto the ground.

And he forced out three final words.

"Bite me, fucker."

And then it was all just too much, and the world was gone.

B034, Kevin Warick: DECEASED
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