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When Can I Stop Being Bad?; that is who you are (THAT IS WHO YOU ARE)
Topic Started: Feb 17 2017, 03:12 AM (182 Views)
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He couldn’t.

((Alvaro Vacanti, continued from How Can I Turn Off This Hatred That Fills My Eyes))

He couldn’t do it.

The sun had risen a while ago. The sound of the announcements - the man on the speaker, listing the names of who had died - still lingered in the air. Alvaro still remembered the names. Alvaro still recognised who they were. Caedyn - his friend, his coworker, someone he could have always relied on - had murdered someone the previous day. Bernadette - his customer, his friend, someone who was always kind to him - had been killed. Darius - his enemy, his bully, someone he’d tried to avoid at all costs - was also dead. Alvaro didn’t know how to feel about that. Alvaro didn’t know how to feel about any of them. They were dead. They were gone. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

So he tried not to think about it. He cast the thought aside. The weather today was nice. The sun was behind him. The wind was beside him, blowing his hair. The clouds had cleared and the rain had stopped and he could see the sea from here. It looked nice. This place looked nice.

It was a good place to die in.

Because no. He couldn’t do it. He had promised himself back when he was on the floor in the storehouse that he could do it and that he could fight and get off this island and win this game but he couldn’t. He knew that now. He couldn’t kill. He didn’t want to. Maybe he had killed Barry. Maybe he had killed Jasper. Maybe he had killed Irene, but he wasn’t going to do it again. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He had to kill more at this point, if he wanted to live. He wanted to live, but he didn’t want to kill. He didn’t want people to hate him. He didn’t want them to know what he had done.

And he knew that he was being selfish by wanting to live.

And he knew that by wanting to live, he was making everyone hate him further.

So he had to do this.

He had to die.

It was for the best.

So he had taken his steps. Up to the top of the cliff. The fence and the ledge was right in front of him and all that he had to do was to take the step. Fall. Then he wouldn’t have to kill. Then he wouldn’t have to be hated. He knew that it was a mistake - he knew he didn’t want to die - but it was the best decision he could make. The cliff was in front of him. The end of his life was staring him in the eye.

He just had to do it.

He just had to take the step.

Then it would all be over.

Breathe in, breathe out.



He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t take the step.

Because if he did it he’d die and if he did it something would happen and he didn’t know what the thing would be and he was scared and he was scared of dying and he didn’t want to die but he had to he had to stop himself he had to stop them from hating him he had to stop himself from hurting other people and he had to do it he had to take the step he had to kill himself but he couldn’t and he couldn’t take the step and he couldn’t let himself die and he wanted to live but then he had to kill more people and then everyone would know what he did and everyone would hate him so--

He had to.

He had to.

He had to.

There was no choice.

He had to do it.

He had to take the step.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do it.

He had to do it, but he couldn’t.

He didn’t know what to do.

He was standing on the edge of the cliff.


He couldn’t do it.

He knew that now.

He needed to think.

He needed to leave this place.

He needed to figure out how.

But he needed to do it.

He had to.

He had to end this.

So he stood there, for a moment.

Turned around.

He spared himself a glance back as he stepped off the cliff.

((Alvaro Vacanti, concluded elsewhere))
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