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TFW you will never find out what's in the basement; pm me your basements for entry
Topic Started: Nov 2 2016, 11:32 PM (719 Views)
Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Steve Dobson continued from The Gadfly Cometh))

He sat at the edge of the plateau on the island's local maxima, gazing out at the boundaries of his wall-less prison while his fingers rifled dumbly through the medical supplies spilled out around him.

Turns out sickles didn't really do well in bags.

Like people on islands. Or inside walls. He twitched the corner of his mouth and pulled his hoodie tighter against himself as a stray breeze wandered by. If only the wings on his back would sprout and he could fly... where? There was nothing over that horizon. Just a straight shot through the narrow inlet into nothing whatsoever. More glittering water, more aimless gusting air, more birds. And beyond that, even more nothing. He shivered again, not from the cold. As wide as Evangelion was good. There you go, that was language you could use to put a point across. Some might even consider it an understatement.

He turned back to the blood oozing from his leg. Bump after bump after bump - not that it really took that long - the razor edge of his designated weapon ate through the thin-walled canvas bag. And then, stupidly on his part, it broke through his flesh just beneath his hip. That was what he got for his sudden wanderlust. Running to and fro like they were trapped in a blender - did that not tire his classmates out? Provoke stress and surprises and dramatic sudden meetings? Which was why

That thought, and the unrolling of something promisingly white and medicinal-looking, was interrupted by a mechanical whine that nearly jolted him over the edge of his perch. Apparently this was a good place for sound to carry from, because the list of gruesome deaths blared painfully loud from close by, rattling his bones as the news quite literally flooded through him. Some were sliced and some were shot and one of his classmates had simply offed himself. For some reason, that was the one that stopped the breath in his throat. Maybe he was just feeling particularly wretched at the moment, but he couldn't help feeling like they were kindred spirits, connected in some profoundly disturbing way he didn't want to think about - though there were a lot of things recently that weren't exactly his choice.

And then it ended, and only the screech was left in his ear to attenuate gradually towards thick, heavy silence. Aside from absolutely everything, nothing seemed amiss.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
And then, without warning, he was sitting on nothing at all.

For one ridiculous moment, it seemed like just another gust of wind. And then the realization that pounded his leaping gut back down where it belonged: there was nothing but wind.

The ground tilted up toward him at a crazy angle, and his bag followed along behind more out of simple entanglement than any purposeful reaction. There wasn't time for that, or much of anything else, really. Only one thing made it through his mind intact, and it spewed directly out his lips.

"Oh fu-shit!"

The printed wings on his jacket billowed out mockingly, medical supplies fluttering out in his wake like ticker tape to celebrate another murderous triumph. His last half-formed thought before the ground connected was a frantic survey for the brake pedal.

He hit feet first, legs breaking his fall. And break they did. One bent before him. One simply shattered beneath him. Both produced the sorts of noises that sent people out of theaters with their hands over their ears. Or mouths. He crumpled heavily onto his side, completing his inadvertent, and unfortunate, demonstration of how exactly to survive a lengthy fall.

The comet's tail of debris struck all around him, though he didn't notice. Only vaguely did he even register his bag impacting not far away, his designated weapon scything into the ground through the thin canvas with a sharp, wet sound.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Breathing hurt.

Hmm.

Not breathing hurt.

That was unfortunate.

Steve rolled his head from side to side, which hurt, and looked around. Some vague inner monologue tried weakly to direct him without quite cracking the surface of consciousness. Try to stay calm, try to take stock, try not to scream from the pain until his legs were bloody paste.

Groaning, he raised his head up a little. One of his legs stuck out at a sickening angle. The other sprouted a jagged mess of white and red that might have sent him vomiting if it didn't promise to hurt so badly. He tried to sit up instead, and compromised by laying back and doing absolutely nothing. For what seemed like an age, he tried simply to withdraw from it all. Let it be a dream, let it be a hallucination. Let him be back up there at the very lease, please just grant him that, even if it meant he was still listening to the growing roster of his dead friends.

Nobody replied but the girl who'd leaned in after him like he has a toy she'd tossed out her window just to see it hit the ground. Getting closer. Smiling. Every gear left inside him kicked up to full tilt.

Weakly he reached for the bag, though he didn't really know what he'd do if he did grab it. It was just- despite the pain flaring so hard it melted his proprioception into one indistinct blob of agony, despite the blood and the labor of his breathing, despite everything logic told him about becoming a helpless lump in the middle of a killing field, the sudden realization hit him so hard that there could be no depth of desperation left unplumbed.

She was going to kill him.

"I don't suppose," he said with gritted teeth and no small amount of hissing and straining between syllables, "you're here to help?"
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He'd never realized how much effort writhing in agony took. His whole body ached, not just from the beating and the cracking and the shattering, but like he'd run a marathon. Everything not slick with blood was hot and clammy with sweat. A weight on his shoulders he couldn't let go. Another lesson filed under things you only ever learn once, he thought dizzily, almost blearily. A small comfort that, though he snapped back to reality with a sudden bitter fury.

Why had he left those kids arguing about whatever and struck off on his own? Those who didn't learn from the past were doomed eternally to repeat it, that was something it didn't take a bone-shattering fall to learn. Anyone who struck out on their own made easy targets. They got hunted and stalked and toyed with. You were as good as bleeding in shark-infested water, except the sharks were fucking coward assholes who kicked you off buildings.

Oh, and one more thing. She wasn't about to kill him.

The terror he held back so tentatively sprouted in full. On the balance, things really couldn't get much worse. People had died horribly before. And he was going to be one of them. Maybe, he thought with the misplaced optimism of someone facing a truly incalculable trial, he'd get to be top of the list. That would be something to brag about in the afterlife. But people had killed each other truly in horrible ways over the years. Horrible, terrible, stomach-churning ways. They'd spent thousands of years figuring out that art. Over days, sometimes. Even weeks. Scap-something. Or skip-? The one with the boats and the honey. Or good old fashioned flaying. Or breaking on the wheel. As long as the victim didn't have any means to move things along, the sky was the limit.

He was teetering on the edge of a brink far deeper than he'd ever imagined.

There was no plan. Just desperation. No begging, no pleading, sure. Don't feed her ego. But other than that? Hope she'd screw up? Make her mad, take the edge off the creativity? That was risky as hell. But it wasn't like any of the things oozing from her were creativity.

"S-screw off with your stupid games," he said with undisguised effort.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Brave and proud and whatever else you might want to be, there were limits to what a person's body could endure. And Steve was fast approaching them. The game, he had to admit, wasn't so much resisting it all as making her think he was. And even that was skating on dangerously thin ice. His resolve wavered each time the spearpoint locked another target, sent a fresh wave of primal what-ifs roaring through his mind. Enough to to produce full-body shivers like a giggling child recoiling from a tickling finger before it even hit home. Just... different.

He wanted to give it up. Just start crying and begging and pleading for help or mercy or his mom or his brother or something other than this. But the fact he knew, that nothing of the sort was coming, only made resisting the pleas that much more difficult. He was traveling that road by himself, he couldn't even pretend otherwise. And it was costing him so much of his last strength. So much effort, so much pain.

The only reason he didn't turn aside was because that would have made things so much harder.

He reaped his reward, a blade searing through his abdomen. Tearing, crushing, burning, all of them together or something new entirely. To inflict that level of agony had to mean that she really did hit whatever she was aiming for, though it registered to him only as shock that anything could hurt so badly. He shuddered as the blade hit sunk through to the ground beneath him, loosed a choked gasp as it twisted through the intricately-layered tissue of his body.

She gave him a laugh that would have curdled his blood had he not been so preoccupied with dying. Asked if he had anything to say.

"Mhm," he said and nodded, though it would have been easy to mistake the effort for a simple gasp and a spasm. But she was hooked, waiting for his witty retort, for the grand magnum opus of the final scene of his life.

And, well, so did he.

He had nothing, assuming he could even get his lungs to cooperate. The most eloquent half-constructions assembled in his mind and crumbled over their lack of foundation. So he seized on that.

"Unoriginal," he forced out weakly.

She slid the halberd out of his gut at that and began brewing the most vile, biting storm she could. A storm of words, grown and and polished and hurled like hailstones. Completely absorbed in in her own delusional grandeur. Completely oblivious to the fact that her sticks and stones had already broken his bones.

Perfect.

He rolled his shoulders, bucked his hips, did whatever he could to jerk his weight away from the ground for just one moment. In that moment he was beyond pain as adrenaline spiked through chest and through his legs and he kicked out with everything he had. His bent and broken limbs absorbed the better part of the impulse collapsing in on themselves, but what little made it through was enough. He didn't need all that much distance. Stretching his arm out to the maximum, his fingertips just barely hooked the strap on his bag. And then he pulled, pulled with his last might, ripped the cord across his collar like he was starting the world's most stubborn lawnmower. His bag followed without resistance, unstaking from the soil and pulling the embedded sickle along with it. rushing toward him like an oncoming train.

He almost smiled as he bared his throat to the rushing blade.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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Rattlesnake
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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Blood pooled beneath him at an alarming rate. He wasn't dead yet, but he would be. That was something, right?

Yup.

And that was it. Yup. And on the whole, with his body throbbing and his mind fuzzing over from an lack of blood and an abundance of every chemical his brain had to dump, he felt... neutral about it all. He'd given the girl - who was shouting words he didn't care to process again - the finger in his own little way, but he was still dying for it. At least the pain had gone and wandered off, or maybe ascended to a higher plane of existence. Perhaps his body had simply run dry of anything, including fucks, to give.

Speaking of which, Steve realized, he hadn't properly said any goodbyes. Obviously it didn't matter to anyone else who obviously couldn't hear him, but at some point you had to turn it on yourself. Death was only an adventure to a well-organized mind, or something.

So first off, he thought, he was really truly sorry that he had only one life to give, because he'd really bunged the first one up. A spare he could maybe take sheepishly out of the closet would be great. But, he continued with a sense of vertigo as the halberd split the air, for everyone watching and judging and calling him this or that, taking some sort of lesson from his defiant flailings, he was sorry again that he coul-

B044 STEVE DOBSON: DECEASED
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

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