Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

If you're a newcomer and interested in joining, then please make sure you check out the rules. You may also want to read the FAQ, introduce yourself and stop by the chat to meet some of our members. If you're still not quite sure where to start, then we have a great New Member's Guide with a lot of useful information about getting going. Don't hesitate to PM a member of staff (they have purple usernames) if you have any questions about SOTF and how to get started!

Let the games begin!

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Float
Topic Started: Jun 12 2011, 11:30 PM (1,758 Views)
Greg The Anti-Viking
Member Avatar
On the left is a mod, on the right is a pre-made psycho...get the picture?
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Morgan Leftowitz continued from Lonely American Nights))

It had been a long haul for Morgan Leftowitz. But he had finally made it. His feet were still damp as the swampy water turned into sandy beach but he could care less right now. The foggy morning made it hard to see, but he knew that the boat was nearby. He could smell the ocean, feel the breeze on his face. He and Jen were almost there.

He could feel his eyes drooping, there had been a lack of sleep through the last few days. Sleep was replaced by sheer drive. He had made a promise to the person that was still in his arms. A promise that they would make it off this island. They would go together, they would make it home.

He had intended to keep that promise.

"Alright..." he said, directing his words to Jen. "We're here. Just a moment."

Morgan gently dropped to his knees and propped her body up against his backpack. Her eyes were still open, blankly staring out into the morning looking up to the sky. Morgan had not closed them, not out of disrespect no. He just wanted her to see home again...

He took the gun with him, looping it on his shoulders and walked forwards into the mist. He could see the outline of the boat and began to run towards it as if it was the light at the end of the dark tunnel that this island had been.

Once he had made it through the fog though, his run started to slow to a halt. His jaw slacked and all the heat in his body had been ripped out of him.

"N-no...."

The boat. The place of refuge. The vessel that would take them to safety. The means for him to apologize for not being there. Was scuttled, a large hole in the middle of the boat.

"No..."
v5 characters
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff

Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!

Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...
Japanese Proverb
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Greg The Anti-Viking
Member Avatar
On the left is a mod, on the right is a pre-made psycho...get the picture?
[ *  *  *  * ]
Morgan shuffled forwards through the sand. As if his moving closer would reveal to him how silly it was for the boat to not be shipshape and ready for sailing! But as he moved closer, the truth just grew before him.

He found himself unable to speak. The weight of what he saw had sewn his lips shut. He had wished to shout, to yell out, to scream, but it was in this moment he finally noticed how raw his throat had become. It felt dry, a growing itch developing inside that tickled his vocal chords.

And then he started to feel in all at once. His entire body cried out at him. His arms were limp at his side, yelling at him for foolishly carrying Jen over here, especially now that there was no boat. His legs were wobbling back and forth, struggling to keep his own weight afloat. How long had he walked? He tried crunching the numbers in his head, but now the numbers were just a blur. He had prided himself on knowing odds of poker and percentages, but he couldn't think of how many miles he had traveled. If he hadn't lugged Jen over in a fool's errand, maybe he could find the strength to stand straight.

Finally, he felt an emptiness in his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything in days; it just never came into his mind. He had a single goal at that time, eating could wait. Sleeping could wait. This emptiness in his stomach though, it didn't feel like it was just hunger. It felt like he had been punched in the gut with a pound of bricks.

Guilt.

Back when they were in the warehouse. He had promised that he would find a way off this island. Jen had counted on him to find the way to lead her to safety. She said that she loved him, and then she was dead. He still had aimed to keep the promise and so he took her with him. He never had the chance to say how he felt to Jen, so he was going to return her love by taking her home. It was the least he could do.

But even a task as simple as taking her to a working boat, had failed in the end.

Morgan realized he was crying, the moisture collecting on his thickening stubble. He dabbed at his face, fingers scraping across the uneven fuzz, but it wouldn't stem the tide. He hated having a beard. If only he could shave.

His arm dropped back to his side. And for a while, Morgan just stared at the boat. He watched as waves crashed through the open hole. Over and over, the waves rammed through the boat, as if it was just another part of the ocean.

It was then that he heard the giggling to his side. Giggling that woke him out of his hypnotized state. He turned down and looked at Celeste. How long had she been with him? Was she with him the whole time? He couldn't remember.

"N-N-Now...now what?!"


Morgan's hands balled into fists, they were shaking now. 'Now what'? There was no 'now what'? It was over! They were stuck here. And he had failed Jen. There wasn't any 'now what' that was left for him. He turned his head back to the boat and could feel the fire wanting to rise out from his throat.

Then, an idea came to him. He knew what he would do. He had to go to his backpack to get Jen's vodka. But he needed to be alone for this. What he was going to do was something between him and Jen. Celeste wouldn't understand it.

His hands fumbled around the strap of the rifle he had around his shoulder until he firmly gripped the handle with his right hand and placed his finger at the trigger, holding it in place. His thumb did not move an inch.

He turned to Celeste and pointed it at her.

"Leave me. I need to be alone. If you don't leave now..."

He aimed the gun so that the bayonet was pointing at Celeste's chest.

"I will shoot."

He held the gun there for a few seconds. Seconds that lasted for days in Morgan's mind. This task was for him and him alone. When Jen wasn't there, he always did things on his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something in the fog. His eyes narrowed and he moved away from Celeste. In the distance was another person; someone else that had to leave this beach. Why was everyone here, why couldn't they just leave him and Jen alone? He just wanted to complete his job and then.

Peace.

He turned his gun towards the figure and started walking towards it.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he boomed, starting to rush out to scare it away. "Get the fuck out!"
v5 characters
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff

Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!

Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...
Japanese Proverb
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Greg The Anti-Viking
Member Avatar
On the left is a mod, on the right is a pre-made psycho...get the picture?
[ *  *  *  * ]
Any forward momentum that Morgan had was gone when the first bolt of pain rifled through his right thigh. There was little time for him to react as two more bolts surged through his left shoulder and stomach. He found himself on the ground, staring up at the cloudless sky above him. Sound had vanished. Or had it? No. Morgan could hear something, endless ringing.

There was something wrong, Morgan could already sense it. Air. He needed air. He tried to suck in as much as possible but he couldn't seem to find anything. He tried again, and could only feel a wisp flow in.

Something was running down his arm and leg. It felt thick and foreign to him What was it? Sweat? He turned his head and saw the rosette that was blooming on his shoulder. Morgan reached at it and felt the thick red goo stick to his hands. He rubbed it between his hands. It was then that he made the connection.

He screamed. It was blood. His blood. He placed his right arm back to the stand and tried to force his body upwards, but the sand shifted under him. As soon as he pushed up he felt another wave of fire in his chest.

Air, more air, his chest raising up and down like a piston, Morgan could feel his breath becoming rushed, unfocused, uneven. There was a foul metallic taste building up around his throat, thick liquid surging up into his mouth causing him to cough the foul tasting mixture out into the sand. Red stains painted the coarse grains in front of him.

No. No please. Don't tell me I'm...

Tears were starting to flow down his face. They felt hot, stinging as they trickled down into the brown sand. Low moans rumbled out from his mouth morphing into full fledged sobs.

Dying?

He could feel the blood soaking through his shirt. The shirt that Jen had found for him. The only fond memory of her that he still had left.

Jen! Where was Jen? He tried twisting his head out to look for her, but there was only a wall of fog.

He had to get over to her. There was still another thing he had to do. He still needed to apologize. He still had to make things right. The vodka was with Jen. How was he going to burn the boat without the vodka?

The boat. The whole source of all of this pain and suffering. There was no way that he would have been able to go home now. No way he would be able to sail Jen away to safety. No way to even bring her back home for Mr. and Mrs. Romita. The world was a better place without that boat.

Morgan could see his rifle sprawled out to his left, still loosely strapped to his shoulder, the butt of it lying on his bleeding stomach. A crutch! His hand fumbled around the neck of the gun to pull it closer to him, he could feel his hand tightening around it, but his arm was unresponsive.

"Damnit" Morgan wheezed. The mere effort that it took to grab the gun had sent him into another coughing fit. Air. More fitful breaths.

He had to do it. It had to be him. His body was failing him. Why now?

A figure appeared from the fog. He tried to remember who the figure was. But any attempt to do so made his head hurt.

The red-haired girl asked him if he was alright. Those words seemed funny to him. Despite his desire to laugh, Morgan found himself crying more. His breathing was becoming more and more erratic.

He felt a chill starting to wash over him. Yet his chest, his shoulder, were still ablaze with fire. His leg-







I can't feel my leg!

Morgan let out a cry, a cry that nearly choked him. He hacked out another fresh round of blood mixed with spit that clung to his the stubble of his thickening beard.

It had come to this; he had truly failed now. If he couldn't move, he couldn't get to the bag, and if he couldn't get to the bag. That damn boat would still be floating there, taunting him.

He looked to the girl in front of him. An idea. She could do it. She could get the vodka and a cloth and a, what was that thing that lit a fire again? Lighter! Yes lighter! Then he just had to light it and throw it at that damn boat. She could just move him! Then he'd throw it. It was perfect..

In his mind, he had this long explanation. A list of instructions of what he had wanted, yet when he opened his mouth.

"Burn the boat!"

There was a silence between them. Morgan's pounding chest and erratic breath were the only things that permeated the lack of noise between them. Did she understand what he meant? She had to know didn't she?

"Please..."

Still no response.

Morgan couldn't look at the girl anymore. It hurt too much to do so. It was just better to look up at the sky.

Pain. Fire. Hot, yet cold.

Breathing, fainter now. Fading quickly.

I'm sorry Jen. I-I tried.

In. Out.

I wanted to take you home. I just. I just kept fucking it up.

In.

Out.

There was so many things I should have said. I'm sorry.

In.




Out.


I'm a damn fool.





In.







Out.




I'm so sorry Jen.









Squeeze. Something grabbed his right hand. He turned his head to look.










Nothing there. The pain was fading. Warmth. Something there.





"J-Jen?"




In...






B013: Morgan Leftowitz- Deceased
v5 characters
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff

Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!

Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...
Japanese Proverb
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
« Previous Topic · The Key · Next Topic »
Add Reply