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Throw It On a Fire; early morning, day viii
Topic Started: Mar 27 2011, 11:55 PM (1,303 Views)
Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Just a quick look, she'd told herself.

I just need to see them. Just once.

She'd been fighting the urge for two long days by now. Sitting there in her daypack, cradled beneath her clothes, they sat in wait, knowing that eventually their next owner would be unable to resist much longer. They played the waiting game, testing her resilience ever since they arrived in the crook of her hand. They felt the warmth of her grip as she held them tightly, letting her fill them with temptation, with a hunger and desire she'd never felt before. For they themselves were the prize, not the quick relief she experienced once Sarah walked away, nor the assumption that everything would turn out better than she'd hoped. No, they were boxes now, filled with everything the girl had mimicked but never done herself. These tapes showed the brutality and the horror of a girl gone mad, but more importantly they carried a message, and this message was heard only by one set of ears.

"Watch us."

Over and over, they called out to her. Every tired step she took was echoed by these words, and their voices grew louder the further she travelled. Her partner's voice soon became silent, crushed under their constant noise, and soon enough she began to forget he was even there beside her. He didn't matter any more - now that she had something so valuable, so treasured in her possession. These tapes held the answers she'd been looking for, but she couldn't let Mike know. These were for her eyes only; a gift from one director to another. She'd always had such vision back in school, that Sarah. She was the one who came up with the farewell project, who asked Violet for assistance. Who was to say she was any crazier than the rest of them here? Was she able to claim that she was any more sane than the others? That she wasn't just making the best of a horrible situation?

So many conflicting thoughts ravaged her senses at once, it was an infuriating struggle just to keep her body straight while she walked. Every bone weighed more and more each day, and whenever she remembered Mike was still around, she wondered why she let him navigate to begin with. What was she thinking, giving up such an important task to a deadbeat like him.

She'd been so stupid.

Why did she trust someone so much when she barely even knew him?

It was all she could do to push the dark ideas out of her head amidst the incessant aching her brain was undergoing. The rift between them was growing so fast, and neither one of them wanted to do a thing about it. They couldn't. They were both consumed by their own agendas, drowning in their own emotions; every problem became gigantic and threatened to tear them apart at any second, so they resigned themselves to silence just to keep alive the dream of the bond they once had.

Maybe things would've been different if she'd rejected Sarah's gift.

Maybe they could've died and saved themselves this grief.

But then they would've lost, and instead of being the ones to hold the tapes, they would've been filmed upon them - another glorious scene in the film of life that girl had made, all for them. All for her. All for Violet.

Mike couldn't watch them. She couldn't let him see what they contained. It would drive him insane, that was her reasoning. He wasn't strong like she was; he was all too ready to die just to make sure she was safe. He didn't think about what would happen to her if he left, or what kind of impact his death may have had on the entire game. She was the brains of the pair, certainly. Without her, he would've died a long time ago, and she had a feeling he knew it too. Total dependence on one another - it kept them alive, yes, but their resentment built up inside, leaking out with every angry grunt and every disappointed sigh. It even made her feel guilty sometimes, as she lay awake at night, unable to sleep once she started to imagine all the other people dying in the distance. Whenever they were safe, or had a rare moment of joy which they would later regret, she would think of everyone they had failed to protect, and the ones they had yet to find. Some of the most important people in the world.

Knowing that some of them were dead already was one of the most heart-breaking things she'd ever had to deal with. So much so that she gladly let the voices block out every thought she had of Trent, or Leila, or Hilary; the last one in particular created nothing but a violent pain to emerge within, so now she thanked the tapes for their existence, because without them she had nothing left to crave.

And this is why she let herself fall into their trap.

Why she let her partner carry on the nightwatch while she stared wide-eyed at her camera every second of the night. She knew he must've been tired, but she didn't care. Every impulse she had prompted her to throw away the blanket that strapped her down to mere curiosity, but still she kept on fighting. Their noise, their blaring horns demanded that she watch them, but there came a newer voice which forced her grip on reality. It told her not to watch them, but to throw them away. To not give in to this morbid need to know, and to listen to her friend. It sounded familiar, paternal, but after so many hours spent gazing into the darkness, she finally succumbed.

She grabbed her camera, grabbed the tapes, stuck them in and with a sickening click she pressed the button marked "play".

She watched, engrossed, disgusted, amazed, in awe, in repulsion, as the images made their way inside her head. They tore into her memory and held fast with hooks and bolts, and made themselves comfortable within this precious place, as they forever befouled it with their unspeakable display of the extent of pain one person could unleash upon another.

She tried to rip herself away, to apologise for even entertaining the idea of keeping the tapes around, but it was far too late for that now. Once she reached the end of the footballer's demise, all she could hear were the screams, failing to notice the sounds of the footsteps which were about to bring an end to the carnival of death as she sat in outwards silence - her mind so full it stopped her body working; her body shook with a shattering fright, while her throat quietly, painfully, rasped for breaths to fuel the cries she wanted so desperately for somebody out there to hear.
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Hallucinojelly
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Mike didn't know what to do.


When he heard the click, all he could think was how little trust Violet had in him; to watch the tapes in secret, to harbour them alone.

But now he stood a good few feet behind her, watching the curves of the blanket shake, and listened as she choked on the nightmares that were pulling themselves into her already-fractured mind.

He could hear every scream as the footage echoed round the room.

He could picture every detail right down to the finest point - the weapons used, the victims' expressions as they died, one by one in front of Violet's eyes. They were people from school; people they used to sit with in class; people they used to tease 'cause being popular made them the enemy; people who had their whole lives ahead of them, to fuck up however they wanted because it was their god-given right.

Moving closer, almost autonomously, he reached out for the girl's shoulder, but was taken aback by her startled cry when she realised who was there.

She looked haunted now.

It was in her eyes.

Those people.

All gone.


At first afraid himself, even angry, it all subsided once he knelt down beside her.

She tried to push him away, confused and scared as she was, but he took every hit and shriek as though he felt nothing; as though he didn't even care, and after a brief and harrowing struggle, he managed to hold her close.

Neither of them had the strength to fight anymore.

The little things...

They didn't matter.

So he cradled her tightly, closed his eyes, and let her sink into his body as they sat in the dark together, undisturbed in their own secret world as the hours rolled on by and the daylight swam away.


----


And come the next morning, they were gone.



((Mike Moretti and Violet Druce continued elsewhere))
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