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The Ballad of Ackbar; Private-until-Solitair-posts
Topic Started: May 1 2011, 05:46 PM (2,044 Views)
General Goose
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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Harun Kemal continued from Bitti Rüya))

Harun eventually found himself leading Roland around the island. There was very little conversation between the two; once Roland had realised that it was impossible to separate the sword and the gun components of his sword-gun, he dropped the whole "wanna trade weapons" act. After that, the two didn't talk much. Most subjects of conversation available at the time were rather depressing, and it was better not to think, let alone talk, about them.

Despite Harun being the "leader" out of the pair, he would be the first to admit he didn't have the faintest idea where he was going or what he was looking for. They were just wandering around aimlessly around the island, hoping they didn't stumble upon a psychopathic killer's bloodstained lair, and hoping they did stumble onto a friend from their days at Bayview or another potential ally. However, no such luck. They ran into a few bodies and a couple of sites of past battles between students, but no human contact. Which, speaking honestly, suited Harun just fine.

So instead Harun passed the time by polishing his weapon and frequently checking the number of bullets left in his revolver-sword-thing. It was weird seeing only five dusty, antiquated bullets inside the chamber of the gun instead of the six he'd grown accustomed to.

Eventually, the two reached a location Harun could only assume was the Fun Fair that he remembered being prominently featured on the map.

And out of nowhere, Roland, who up until then had been engaged in quiet thought, dumped his harpoon on the ground. The big, clunky weapon made a disconcerting noise as it landed on the ground, and Harun turned around, half-expecting Roland to be dead and a killer standing over him. Instead, he was on his knees, his eyes dead and devoid of emotion.

His hand moved up to his forehead.

He asked Harun to shoot him.

"No."

Harun was being selfish. He didn't want to kill another friend. He understood one-hundred percent why Roland had made that request, and he probably would have done the same thing in Roland's shoes. But Harun didn't want to shoot Roland. He just didn't feel like it, and for that reason alone, Roland was not going to die by Harun's hand.

"Sorry to disappoint. I just can't do it."
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General Goose
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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Harun tightened his grip around the gunbladethingy after delivering the disappointing news to Roland that, no, Harun would not shoot him in the face. Not only was euthanasia a complete moral grey area in Harun's book, but he was sure there was still a point to Roland's continued existence. Maybe a last minute escape plot, or some final heart-warming reunion or spiritual experience or something before their inevitable demises. But, the appropriate words to try and convince Roland to keep on trucking just didn't come, and Harun just stood there, glaring mutely at the larger boy.

He was impotent to do anything about the situation, and so just tightened his grip on his weapon out of a paranoid fear that maybe Roland would make a crazed, desperate effort to seize the gun from Harun's hands and do the job himself.

But, as expected, that thankfully didn't happen.

Instead, Roland's fingers drifted up towards the collar, placing themselves around the explosive portable prison, and he positioned himself so that, with one good, hard tug, he could end his misery and reduce the once-proud and closely knit activist club to just a miniscule handful of its former membership. Oh, and on a more selfish standpoint, he'd deprive Harun of his only current ally and splatter the mangled remains of his jaw all over Harun's clothing.

But, no. For some reason Harun could not fathom, he seemed to talk himself away from suicide, and let his arms fall to his sides, a defeatist, uncaring look in his eyes.

He got up to his feet, and the two resumed their search of the fun fair, no objective in mind and not a word shared between them.

That was, until the moment Roland spotted the Hall of Mirrors. No words were spoken, but a quick gesture from Roland told Harun to keep still and presumably keep an eye out while Roland investigated the bag of one of the game's many countless victims for highly sought-after supplies.

He stood just far away enough to escape what followed.
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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
There was something so absurd, so...unrealistic, so over-the-top in Roland's vaporisation by the sudden explosion that, as Harun was thrown backgrounds by the force of the explosives and an unbearable ringing noise persisted in his ears for the next few seconds, he couldn't help but ponder if it was just a pessimistic day-dream, or he'd finally gone off the proverbial deep end and seeing or hearing things that weren't true.

The sheer randomness of Roland's fate, the harsh, blunt brutality of the explosive that had ended his time on the island in such an unceremonious manner, the whole irony of Roland's life ending like that straight after he asked Harun to kill him....it was like something out of a film. The explosion, the whole tragic element of Harun's decision not to kill Roland being rendered irrelevant...it was shocking to deal with.

Then again, Harun might simply have been struggling to deal with the brutal, unpreventable death of one of his friends by an explosion right in front of his eyes, and may have simply resorted to the oldest trick in the book, denialism, and feeble attempts to try and justify it.

And so, as Harun looked up, his neck aching as he forced it to look at the bloody smear and scorched earth where Roland Hayes, fellow activist, good friend and good person, once stood, Harun's first words, said in a shaky, hoarse voice, were along the lines of "Oh shit" and variations thereof, repeated quietly under his breath in as many languages as he knew.

And, he was ashamed to say it, but his first thoughts were not concern for his friend's bereaved family, or mourning the tragic way Roland's potential was so meaninglessly cut short, but instead, he picked up his bag (which he had landed on when thrown to his feet), scanning the area for any obvious threat, and then sprinting (or trying to sprint with a sore leg and an underfed stomach) in the opposite direction, his mind a chaotic, petrified blur.

((Harun Kemal continued A Slight Change of Plans.))

Edited by General Goose, Jun 1 2011, 09:41 AM.
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