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I Will Follow You into the Dark; Private. Day 8
Topic Started: Apr 18 2011, 01:06 AM (5,607 Views)
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personification of adhd
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues from The Dream Was Just The Same))

There was a bang.

And Maf sprinted faster than he'd ever run in his life, overshadowing all the days before him. Even though he'd been trekking uphill for a while, his energy was far from gone, the opposite. Jennifer was here, she was so close, he could find her at last...

All those nagging feelings of guilt and regret were gone now. He'd sorted that out back at the mirror house slash graveyard, and now he had purpose, a real meaning, a real goal where he could find solace in the fact that if he died, right now, at this very minute, he would die knowing he at least got close to accomplishing something.

So when he heard that explosion some distance away, his heart almost stopped.

But it didn't, and instead he mentally injected himself with steroids and ignored the fatigue, the pain, the overwhelming possibility that Jennifer was involved in that explosion...

He was clumsy, he was loud, he wasn't even bothering to hold back the disgruntled grunts as his foot went astray and knocked into a sharp rock, where he was quite sure for a few split seconds that he'd just broken something. But no, he kept on going, even in the face of certain almost imminent death up that damn mountain.

But that explosion wasn't all. It came with a scream.

And even though it wasn't a voice, it was damn well good enough for him.

He didn't falter, he didn't stop, he just kept going up that mountain until suddenly
level ground. But he didn't see Jennifer at first, in fact he wasn't even sure in a few scary nanoseconds that Jennifer could have been alive. An explosion, a collar explosion, a small pack of C4 attached to the jugular did not mean one could scream.

But it wasn't Jennifer, or lack of Jennifer, that caught his attention in those first seconds in what should have been the best moments of his life. Instead, it was the certain person, that same certain person, who he knew from first hand first-person experience was a cold-blooded murderer, who was now standing over the bloodied corpse of a girl he knew an age ago as Melissa Li.

Maf's eyes...changed. They no longer reflected a kind soul who was looking like the lost puppy he'd acted the part of, but they were threatening. His eyebrows threatened to slice open the bridge of his nose, and for those threatening few seconds, he was motionless.

The bag zipped open ferociously again, and now the man who was searching for what he wanted for so long that he wasn't going to let anything stop it stood there, in the midst of a death of a mutual friend, pointing a gun at a murderer and also a technical mutual friend.


A staggered inhalation. His finger was clenched tight enough that even the slightest mistake, the slightest change in his attitude elevation, could change so many people.

And the scariest thing, the scariest thing he'd ever experienced on the island...

Was that he wasn't sure if he cared or not right now.
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]

Maf was done following instructions, just doing what everyone told him to. No more.

No more was he going to stand idly by as once again, someone who just couldn't stop doing what he was doing to so many different people did it once again, and once again had the gaul to ask him to leave him alone.

He was up to his knees in over one hundred and seventy dead people, he wasn't going to let him get away with this any longer. He'd just killed one of Jennifer's best friends...who was next? Jennifer? There was nothing stopping him, no matter what, he just had to make sure that Nick didn't do anything more.

But killing was off the table.

Not to Nick though.

So what was he supposed to do now?

Well, Nick made that very decision for him. He charged.

Okay, this was it. Maf had to do it now. Just...close your eyes and tighten your finger.

Nick was getting closer.

Do it.


His hands couldn't move.

Nick's hands were at his side.

Maf's mind was screaming.

Do it.


His hands couldn't move.

Nick was close enough to see the tears in his skin.

He was supposed to pull the trigger now.

But they weren't moving.

C'mon, move.


Pull the trigger, you can do it.

But Maf's hands wouldn't move. He couldn't do it. It wasn't that he wouldn't do it, it was physically impossible for him to pull his finger in and discharge. He looked into his eyes, as they reached so close he could reach out and touch them, feel the veins pump fluid...

It was funny, in a way. In all the places that someone like him could be useful, it was here, in his most dire of times, that he fell short.

Which hit him like a hilt to the gut and a tackle to the upper body a split second later. In any normal situation, an assault like this wouldn't have meant anything. Nick was substantially weaker, smaller, and a hilt to the gut hurt no more than a fly to the gut. But this wasn't a normal situation, there was no way on earth that these sets of events could even scrape the concept of a normal situation. He was tired, fatigued, and hadn't gotten real exercise in a week, nothing substantially more intimidating than a real run, anyway.

Add onto that the unexpectedness of the assault and the ground underneath him having quite the unsubstantial footing, and you have yourselves a situation on your hands.

Maf tripped over. He fell over, in some way eerily similar to what happened to Quincy at the warehouse
which was not important now
and in the dimness of the day's light, he could see Nick moving with that sword. He felt a sharp pain in his back, something was digging into the back of his head. Did he hit something? He was standing over him, about to swing it down.

His breath was sharp, and fleeting. Leaving him. It could be his last one, but Maf saw down his self, and watched his foot lay in between Nick's feet. There was no time for thinking now. Maf was just acting on pure, concentrated instinct. His life was in serious danger, unparalleled to the warehouse, hell it overtook the warehouse by a mile.

His foot swept to the left. It bucked his legs, sent the strike to the side, where it could have embedded itself in his skull had he not been any quicker, or at least what anyone in his situation would naturally conclude. Naturally.

As Nick fell, Maf scrambled to his feet, clumsily and slowly. His eyes stuck on Nick's figure, holding that sword with such a purpose.

He didn't want anyone to die here. No one more.

But Nick was making it hard.

Maf strode forward, his head spinning like a top set to overclocked speeds, and wasting absolutely no precious seconds here, clasped his left hand over Nick's wrist, and his opposite hand to the sword. He ripped it out fiercely, no concern for Nick's wellbeing, not that he even deserved it in Maf's eyes.

"Now. You've got five seconds to explain yourself now Nick. 'And God help you if you think I'm joking'," Maf let the mirrored words sink in, just because...he didn't even know why he was doing that...

So much bitterness in his voice, every little bit of hate was just bubbling to the surface after all these years.
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image

I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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In all his days of imagining how it could possibly end, a sword-fight never even came to mind. Of course, it wasn't a sword-fight, really, but a sword taking on a dagger, something that was nothing compared to a sword.

But that wasn't what mattered right now, technicalities. He wasn't expecting that new weapon to come out, or him to fight back more. Maf should have expected it, the same thing happened all those days ago. Nick had no hope, yet he was fighting anyway.

'The cornered rat will bite the cat.'

Nick was one hell of a biter it seemed.

The dagger ground against the tip of the sword, with power unknown. Instead of trying to press forward, Maf instead slowly started backwards, and pushed the tip of that...thing, in Nick's hands, away. But he didn't give up. He tried again, trying to slash at his neck now. Maf brought the sword up in defence, and it clanked soundly in defence. His attack didn't linger this time, he brought it back and struck forth, faster than before.

Maf once again stepped backwards. Whether he liked it or not, this was bad for him. He could lie to himself and say that it was safe to do what he was doing, but Nick had him right where he wanted him. Nick must have known by now. He knew that Maf wasn't going to kill him, known that if he pushed all the right buttons, all the right motions, he'd just be a big fat marionette for him to control in his own game.

But what could Maf do about it? With each strike Nick took at him, with each parry, block, and dodge, Maf found himself being thrown further steps backwards. Throughout this, he told himself that it'd be alright. It'd be alright, Nick couldn't kill him.

I just have to wait it out, what am I gonna do nex-




"Um, thanks again for the ride. And the food."

"No problem. Just...don't get involved in that again."


They say a voice can change everything.

Maf wasn't sure who 'they' were, but they were right. Jennifer's voice broke through the fight like she had her own blade, cutting away the opponent and lifting Maf as metaphorically as possible off his feet. As Nick's next attack clattered off his own sword flinchingly, it broke through to him, clear as the first day they ever spoke. The day she tried to fight his battle for him.

But he couldn't let this happen to him, or to her. However much he didn't like it, Nick had made this battle about him, not Jennifer, not anyone else on the whole damn island, but about Ma'afu Tuigamala and Nicholas Reid.

And this was wrong. It went so wrong. Maf took his eyes off his opponent for only a brief few seconds, and that was all it took. All it took for the whole thing to flip itself on its head and shit like crazy.


Nick must have seen him falter, and took this as a give. Before he knew it, there was a sharp and stabbing pain, overwhelming all his senses, on his waist as Nick's blade punctured his side, just missing his pelvis, and miraculously missing organs and the very important things that would help him die faster, before it was yanked out just as quickly.

This didn't do jack-all to the pain though. Maf let out a yell, almost a scream, and fell to his knees as he felt his own blood seep through his shirt, out the new piercings in his side. Now is where it got blurry for Maf. Through the pain, he didn't drop the sword. The gun was gone, a long time ago now, irrelevant. He didn't see it, didn't feel it, but as his hand was brought to his side, in some sort of attempt to grab at the wound, keep himself from bleeding out any more than he must have already been, he sliced through the air in front of him.

He could have sworn he felt resistance as the blade clattered to the ground beside him. But all his efforts were towards controlling the pain, and stopping himself from doing anything rash.
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image

I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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((So fucking sorry about the wait, personal shit has just been getting in the way lately))

It hurt so much, so fucking much, the gaping wound in his side was pulsing a small current of blood, staining his shirt and the skin beneath it like dye. It wasn't controlled, just getting larger and larger and larger as the pain kept growing and growing and growing; all his senses were snapped towards it, his hand feeling the wound, twanging with pain every time his clumsy fingers ventured through the roughly cut cloth and into his own body. The the nerves would light up like a fire, sending a grunt of displeasure up his throat, uncontrolled, but he had to control it.

Jennifer wanted him to stop. He'd stopped. Maf had even stopped raising the sword in his defence now, and now look where it lead him. Bleeding. In so much pain.

But Jennifer didn't see it that way, she was gone. The only ones left on the mountainside were himself and the guy who just gave him a permanent reminder of what he'd done-

-and Maf had unintentionally returned the favour.

Never in his life did he imagine what it would be like to see what was happening in front of him. Nick was clutching his face, dangerously close to his eye, where blood was dripping out, almost the mirror image of his own wound, but...


...that was him.

Whatever it was, Maf did it.

He'd broken his mental promise from all those days ago. Maf did have it in him to harm someone, but as far as he was concerned, it wasn't him harming someone, it was just an accident.

...accident. That didn't resolve him of guilt at all, it was still his fault.

He should have known that.

But it wasn't the time to be thinking. It was the time to be acting. Nick was screaming, the blood covering almost his entire body, now that he saw it. He could see the spit spray through the air, the ferocity in his lungs and in his words flung through the air, leaving nothing to the imagination.

And then he flung forward.

Nick closed the space quicker than Maf could comprehend, and quicker than he could think.

But basic instinct took over him.

This was it.

He was going to die here.

Jen would remember a murderer.

Nick would write him down as a notch.

Bret would get the satisfaction of seeing him die.

Jason and Nathan and Brook would get the satisfaction of not having to put up with him again.

Worst of all, he'd die here, and everything he'd ever done so far on the island would amount to nothing.

Maf never even got to say one word to Jennifer, only the mere fragment of such.

Maf never got to find out what happened to Brook.

Maf was never going to apologise.

To everyone he'd dissapointed.

For doing what he did.

For hurting someone.

For hurting Nick.

For lying to them.

To himself.

Which was why it didn't fly through his head when the basic instinct of the human body took over. Maf's left hand left the wound, and clenched at the sword as Nick got ever so close again. The dagger was almost close enough to pick at his teeth, and Maf swung the sword in front of him. Instinct.

There was an almighty tear. A knife through a raw steak.

And Maf's hands felt warm.
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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((Recommended Listening))


There was nothing there on that mountainside.

A few drips of blood scattered from the end of a blade, tip to the sky.

They joined another blade.


The blade he stole from Nick.

Lying on the ground, just as wet as the blood from the body.

And Maf's body.

Still flowing deep.

It was so clear now. The breaking darkness as the sun finally took over the scene after minutes of motionless idling. Light crept across the uneven ground, slowly reaching that small patch of land.

Maf's eyes broke to watch it creep.

It reached Nick.

He blinked.

And just like that, the full impact of what he had done swept over him. His normally strong legs buckled beneath him like rotted tree trunks under pressure, and his upper body followed suit. Maf doubled over on the ground, his hands clawing at the dirt, and the contents of his stomach bubbled over after a minute of violent coughing. Cups of violent green bile forced its way up his throat, and burnt badly enough and smelling noxious enough to almost start the whole process all over again. Sure enough, once what he thought was the final mouthful of acids and waste splattered to the ground, the violent coughs started all over again, and his stomach emptied itself on the mountainside once more.

When his head finally stopped hanging low, he looked back up at the body...and this time he stopped acting and his mind started dragging itself out of proportion.

I killed him.

It wasn't possible.

I killed Nick Reid.


I had the sword, I could have just run, but I killed him.

There was no excuse. He hadn't been forced to kill, Danya hadn't won. He couldn't have just proven him right, if he hadn't been so eager to look for Jennifer when he knew, he KNEW that Nick was going to be here. No, he hadn't just suspected, he'd been certain to a tee that he was here. And he'd charged here, not even thinking.

And now Melissa was dead, and Jennifer was gone, and Nathan was nowhere, and Nick was dead, and Liam was somewhere having just killed again, and he was just like Liam now, and Jason, killers.

There were no words to describe, in English, in Fijian, in any sort of language, the amount of shame, and guilt, and every encompassing emotion that was pecking at his metaphorical liver as he stood planted there on his hands and knees, rooted to the ground, just unable to look away from the horrific scene that was all his fault.

And this was it now.

This was the beginning of the end.

Nobody would ever want to even think of being near him ever again. He would die, and Jennifer, and Nathan, and everyone else who was still out there, each of them their own percentile, wouldn't see him again as the same person. He felt different, a new mask. It wasn't his choice. He didn't want to be painted in this colour for the rest of his life, but this was the hand he was dealt.

The most painful thing in the world was knowing that it was all out of his control. He had no say in this. It was way beyond that now. Maf didn't even realise the red flag of choice was waved in front of his face a long time ago, but since he'd been so single-mindedly focused...

It was still so silent on that mountainside...

But he couldn't stop.

There was still time.

His own conscience was overwhelming him, but to everyone else he wasn't a killer yet. His name was still Ma'afu Tuigamala, and...and he had to make sure he could find Jennifer again. He had to find her, because...because if she could still want to find Nick, after everything he'd done, after all those people he'd killed, and she'd forgiven him, like Maf knew that someone like Jennifer Perez could do...then she had to do the same for him.

She had to.

He'd never stop feeling guilty, he'd never get over it, he'd never take this in his stride like so many people seemed to be doing thus far, but it was a step in a direction.

But even though he wanted to do this so badly, it seemed fate had other plans.

It was such a bad position to be kneeling in for such a long time. Such a bad angle, the wound was being drained faster and faster each minute, and the moment he tried standing up, taking his bag from a short distance away through tiny steps, his head was rocked by a rush of dizziness.

No no no way, not now...

Every step felt staggered, every breath felt weak. He'd lost so much blood Maf couldn't even tell which way was up anymore, it all blurred into a single direction: downwards.

Which was where he ended up going.

His legs gave way once more, but this time there wasn't nearly enough energy in his arms to catch him. He hit the slope, and his body followed.

Maf fell down the mountainside, and before he could even rationalise a way out, he passed out.

But he kept on falling.

((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues elsewhere))
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image
Posted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted ImagePosted Image

I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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