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Dreams and Reality; Private; sorry!
Topic Started: Oct 5 2016, 03:26 AM (967 Views)
Slam
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Mr. Danya
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Sandy Bricks continued from Among these 'hallowed' walls...))

Sandy remembered when they’d tried to make him take group therapy. It was about two years after it had happened, when he was still barely talking to anyone at school if he didn’t have to; they thought that him getting along with other people his own age with their own issues might’ve helped him feel less isolated. Going around in a circle, listening to people who had it just as bad as him, if not worse, wasn’t something he enjoyed, but actually talking about his own problems to a bunch of strangers was complete torture, and it wasn’t long before he was refusing to participate.

Needless to say, the sessions had not lasted long.

So it was that he’d recognised the group therapy room for its purpose, and almost walked back out again. He wasn’t plagued by disturbing memories about the practice, more that he just didn’t like that word in front of its name. After a day of people trying to force him into their company, groups were the last thing he wanted to think about.

However, he was also tired and the day was winding up, so he’d decided to bunker down for the night. He’d tried to read The Illiad he'd taken from the library, but the lack of lighting made it more trouble than it was worth, so his attempts to fall asleep were fraught with lingering frustration.



With the coming of the dawn came the announcements. Already more or less awake anyway, Sandy had listened in a neutral manner. There was a strange lack of horror over the beginning of the killing, but he knew that it was a difficult fact to accept all the same. The lack of concern over the names was also off, but strange was not the right word for that; he could not find the correct one.

None of the people he’d met yesterday had died, so was he supposed to consider that a relief? None of them had endeared themselves to him, and most of them had actively done the opposite. That didn’t mean he wanted them dead, that wasn’t right, but hoping for their safety was not even remotely on his mind.

He pressed his forehead into his knees, once again trying to drown out the world, taking a deep breath as he rubbed his temples. He couldn’t even get upset when he heard that nine people he was supposed to know had died; what kind of person did that make him? And if that many had dropped, what did that mean for his chances? What the hell was he supposed to think in a situation like this?

Sandy sat there for a long while, stuck in his silent struggle.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
No, he was upset, he must’ve been. Of course people were going to start dying and killing each other, that was how this whole thing worked, but that didn't mean it meant nothing. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t surprised or horrified or in tears from it, but it still must've bothered him on some level. He wasn’t some kind of unfeeling monster, after all. He couldn’t be.

As per tradition, his stressful contemplation was interrupted by unexpected company. Having chosen to camp on the same wall as the entrance to the room, Sandy was able to remain undetected as the girl strode right in, giving him the fleeting but valuable observational edge.

Just like in the library, this person was another complete stranger, barely recognisable as a face from the halls or perhaps some club driven photo spread. Given what had happened to him last time in this situation (he swore he could still taste those damned spiders), Sandy was already beginning to tense.

“For fuck's sake…” he grumbled to himself in as deliberate a whisper as he could, creeping up the wall to a standing position. He reached for the Molotov that he’d kept atop his bag, within easy reach for a situation exactly like this. He knew what it was by now, having taken some time to rifle through his bag the night before in a fit of boredom, but it suited him more as a blunt object than a fiery projectile.

“I’m not looking for friends.” He announced to Jasmine’s back, ready to give her a firm stare that said ‘and don’t try to convince me otherwise’ when she inevitably turned around. He wasn’t going to start the next day in Hell with a repeat of the first, and he strongly suspected that the sooner Jasmine was gone, the happier he’d be.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Sandy felt his hand grip around the neck of the bottle. Once again, someone couldn’t take a hint.

“Nothing happened.” He hissed at Jasmine, continuing to give her his uninviting stare. What did she even mean by something happening? Someone trying to stick a knife in him? Someone wanting to take all his stuff away and laugh at his loss? Something absolutely awful that no doubt must be falling upon him for the crime of being abducted by terrorists?

Well, he supposed, some things had happened.

He found his stare breaking, as he shifted his gaze away from Jasmine in an awkward grumble. Yeah, meeting people had been one painful, embarrassing experience after another; that’s why he was trying to cut them out permanently and just get people to leave him alone already. How hard was it to just hear no at face value and be on your damned merry way?

“It’s none of your business, now leave me alone.”

He continued to avoid eye contact, but his grip didn’t relax either.
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He was crushing the neck of the bottle again, that tremor coming back as his gripped his eyes shut. Every one of them who had been wanting to hang out, get along and all that crap; why did none of them ever realise how simple it was to actually help him?

“You know what the issue is?” he said, but it only really came out in a faint murmur. He took in a breath, determined to meet Jasmine’s gaze before he spoke again and make sure she understood it plain and simple.

“People like you are the issue. People who keep coming up to me and trying to team up, then telling me how stupid I am for not wanting to. You think we should all make friends when we’re about to die, that I'm a dead man if I don't. That it’s my fault if I’m just not someone who makes friends with anyone.”

Never really could, and probably never really would.

“So if you really want to help and you’re not just saying that, do me a favour and go away.”

He didn’t flinch. He knew she was going to start insulting him, tell him how screwed he was, try to make him feel worse than he already did, but he didn’t flinch.
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Sandy’s anger rose with Jasmine’s as she fired back her heated insults.

There was no surprise as her shallow offer for help devolved into all the insults that he’d predicted, but it didn’t make him feel any better whatsoever. He didn't enjoy any quiet victory over how he'd completely anticipated how this hypocrite was going to treat him, just more frustration that he had been right the entire time. He was so sick of repeating this whole damned thing by now.

Then Jasmine crossed the line.

His hateful glare turned into stunned disbelief, as his mouth hung agape amidst the silence between them. He almost dropped his weapon in that moment as every tension in his body stuttered.

She'd really just said it. She couldn't have, but she had.

She wasn't allowed to talk about it. She wasn't allowed to remind him about it.

No-one was allowed. No-one had the right to bring it up so easily. like they were asking him about the weather. No-one was allowed to mention it as if they had any right whatsoever. Only a few people were allowed to talk to him about it at all.

Nobody else.

Not Jasmine.

He was advancing on her, and the bottle was threatening to shatter in his hand from how tightly he was squeezing its neck, but all he could focus on was the girl in front of him.

“You don’t talk about it!”
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She was backing away; he was moving towards her. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he would do, but he did know what she had done.

She wasn’t allowed to talk about it. She wasn’t allowed to make him relive it. She wasn’t allowed to say a damned word and threaten to make the memories boil over in his skull.

Fifteen minutes.

His jaw creaked as he clenched his teeth together. The squeezing pain in his head that had been growing ever since the trip had started was searing like a fire. He paused in his advance, clutching at his brow, staring at Jasmine with hell in his eyes. He tried to concentrate on her rather than remember, tried to do what he always did and distract himself. He wanted, needed, to latch on to the hate and anger over her, over it, over what had happened yesterday, over his whole damned life. Anything than go through it again.

She was still trying to talk.

“SHUT UP!” he screamed back, and hurled the bottle.

Just shut up.
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Sandy stood there as Jasmine went down. He stood there and watched her writhe in agony; nothing else, he just watched. His maelstrom of thoughts had suddenly silenced.

She’d caused it. She wouldn’t leave him alone, no-one would leave him alone, and she brought up it. He’d done what he’d done because she did what she did, and that was why she was in the state she was in.

Yet, apart from the heavy rise and fall of his chest, he was frozen, transfixed on her. She was a bloody mess, and she was screaming, and it was all so familiar and oh God.

His hand shot up to his brow again, as his eyes pulled wide back in his skull. Her face was full of glass and scars, and she was hurt and she was going to die and oh God why had he made himself remember?

His breathing grew heavier, muscles aching as he tensed them tight, sweat dripping down across his face. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…” he muttered, still gripping at his forehead, still wanting to stop remembering things, still wanting for everything to just do what he said and shut up.

What was the point of spending so much of his time trying to forget, trying to move past it, if something like this was just going to happen anyway? Why? Why him? Why did all this shit always happen to him?

His stomach was twisted in a bulging knot, and he felt his throat go short. Everything hurt, everything ached. He couldn’t breathe.

Desperately scanning for something, anything, he saw Jasmine again. He saw her bloodied face, her bleeding leg, her ruined body. He scarred her into his mind, forcing her in front of everything else just so that he wouldn’t have to think.

He was moving again. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but it was her fault.
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He stood over her, staring down at her. He wasn’t thinking, just like he wanted, but he wasn’t moving either. She screamed, but he just kept staring at her.

Sandy didn’t wonder what to do next. Sandy didn’t know what to do next, but everything in his mind was centred on Jasmine right now. It was all about what she’d done, about how all the pain that he felt right then and there was because of her. Sandy didn’t know what he was going to do next, but he felt his arms moving all the same.

Jasmine grabbed the shard of glass, and in that moment Sandy flinched. Survival instincts kicked in, a glimpse of sense shining in his red hazed thoughts, and he was almost forced into a retreat. Before he could take the step back though, Jasmine grinned a most unwelcome grin.

There wasn’t time to panic again, no time to expect the glass to be thrown at his face or stabbed into his shin. There was only the pair of words, the instant before the shard plunged into her neck, before everything really did turn red.

His hand shot up to his mouth as that horrible feeling filling his body grew worse. The anger that had overcome his reeling eyes gave way to shock, and that overwhelming hate was lost amidst the final image that had been scarred into his mind.

He stood over her, long after her body went limp, staring down at her. He wasn’t thinking, just like he wanted, but he hadn’t wanted this.

There was only one thing he could do:

Run.

((Sandy Bricks continued in 幽霊屋敷))
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