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Say You're One of Them; Day 5 evening/Day 6 early morning, Open
Topic Started: Feb 26 2017, 11:07 AM (1,446 Views)
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((Amanda Tan continued from The Greatest Sideshow on Earth))

The gun was lying in front of her once more.

When had she taken it?

She didn't remember taking it from the pub. She was certain that she'd have remembered if she did, that she would have remembered carrying it all the way across the island, and she didn't.

But it was undeniably here with her now.

It was haunting her, wasn't it? It was going to stay with her until she shot someone or she died and she didn't know which she prefered anymore.

She had fucked up. Completely. But Emma would be able to pull herself together. Jaime could watch out for herself. And they wouldn't have her making the decisions anymore and they would be alright.

She had told herself that, but she knew it was the trite rubbish that movie antiheroes pulled and it always ended up biting them later. All she had done was be selfish, and she was going to suffer for it. They wouldn't even have to kill her. Danya would be reading out her name one of these days simply saying that 'Amanda Tan died from extreme guilt'.

And that would be great for everyone, wouldn't it? One less kid for the terrorists to worry about, one less kid that her classmates needed to kill. But that would do nothing to fix the mess that she'd left behind.

She wanted to go back.

It was probably better to go back.

She could still remember the looks on their faces when she had left.

She shouldn't have left.

But she couldn't bring herself to return.

She had tried, once, earlier that afternoon, standing up from the spot that she had sobbed in for god knew how long now. She had even made it to the door, despite her quivering legs. But she couldn't bring herself to open the door. She didn't know why. She needed to do it to fix anything but she was hyperventilating and overthinking things and her hands just fumbled off the doorknob and she ended up storming back to the corner of the room where she had spent the night, where the flow of emotions finally overwhelmed and she fell back down again, not caring that landing on the floor that way hurt.

The gun was still there, staring at her not unlike Tessa had when she had left.

Both cold. Both judging her.

She had enough of it.

She'd had enough.

She picked the weapon up, pulling it above her head in a single motion, and threw it as hard as she could across the room.

The weapon clattered across the floor noisily before crash landing with a flurry of paper. Somehow, she felt no satisfaction from that either.
"I have the heart of a young boy. I keep it in a jar on my desk" -- Stephen King

Those no longer with us

It's the Grand Map of Doom! v6
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She hadn't noticed the door open.

The imposing figure paused for a moment, as if scanning the room for something.

Will McKinley. Oh god. The best she knew, he was a complete arsehole and god help her if she needed that right now when she was just doing her best trying not to wallow in her own misery.

His name had been mentioned earlier hadn't it. She couldn't quite remember, but she was sure of it, somehow. Will Mckinley was a killer, even if she couldn't remember who he had killed. He was another one of them, another murderer on this tiny island that they had all found themselves stuck on.

But what was he doing here?

Was he looking for another victim? What was he going to do? She didn't want to know, but she couldn't run. Will was blocking the exit, and even if he wasn't, her legs weren't moving anymore.

What was she supposed to do?

He had a gun. She didn't. Her gun lay somewhere on the other side of the room, and she could almost hear it laughing at her for throwing it away. One moment of anger and now she found herself defenseless.

Will turned to her at last, their eyes locking for a single moment. She flinched first.

She was prepared for him to shoot. Or shout.

But instead, all he did was ask if she was okay.


The tears started again.
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It didn't make sense.

Will Mckinley was perhaps one of the last people in the school she'd expect to be nice to her and here he was being completely, unreasonably, nice. She didn't deserve it, not her, not from him, not this, not anything.

"A-amanda." Her own name came between hiccups. The tears weren't stopping. She was trying to breathe, but her lungs kept heaving, refusing to let her stop.

He was trying to make her feel better, he'd even placed his gun on the ground.

"Sorry. I-I'm- It's-" She didn't know what to say. How was she supposed to tell Will, someone she knew only by vicious rumour, about how much of a flaming disaster she had been and how she was probably personally responsible for everything that was going to happen to Emma, Jaime and Lucilly?

She couldn't.

"Why are you being so nice?"
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So big, bad Will Mckinley was a fuck up too.

So that was all they were right now, two fuckups stuck in a room, their weapons lying on the floor, useless.

But they were different. Lucilly was still alive. Emma was still alive. Jaime was still alive. She still had a chance to do things. She could try. But she was too weak to do it.

He'd already gone through that. She'd forgotten about Rea, but she had died, day one. And yet, Will looked almost serene, something that was completely different from anything she'd ever heard about him. Was this the same Will that Cristo had talked about?

He looked like someone who had his shit together.

Someone completely different from her.

Her breathing was steadying out, slowly, the pain didn't go away, and her throat still hurt, but she was almost under control now.

"Sorry," she wiped her face, but it didn't help much. Her hands were damp and all she managed was to smear her tears across her face.

"I mean, thanks."

She needed to say something more. Will had opened up to her, and it was only right, that she said something back.

"So, I fucked up too."
Edited by Randomness, Mar 10 2017, 10:17 AM.
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"I- I left my group behind." It sounded worse now that she said it out loud.

"I didn't mean to leave them."

"I was just... so... frustrated, aright? And I was just trying to keep the group together and everything was just falling apart. And things were just so- They were a mess, and all I wanted to do was to get away and I did."

"I was kinda making all the decisions and they were all terrible. Emma and Jaime are still out there somewhere, and I can't even bring myself to go back to them. I can't face them."

She noticed that her own hands were clenched tightly; she was still shaking a little. Was she making sense? Did he understand any of it?

Words were said almost as fast as she could think, and she knew that he probably had no clue what she meant. There was so much more she wanted to say, more thoughts that could filter themselves into words at once.
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"I don't know."

No. That was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't even want to say it out loud, as if saying it would make it a promise. And even if she found them, could she make things better? Was there anything she could do that wouldn't lead to people screaming at each other when she showed her own sorry face again?

But she did want to find them, didn't she? That's what she'd been trying to bring herself to do all day.

"I-" She couldn't even bring herself to stand right now, how was she going to help them? How was she supposed to apologise to them? How was she supposed to be trusted by them ever again?

"I don't even know where they are anymore."
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She wanted to say yes.

That would have been nice wouldn't it? And she'd somehow get everything together and she'd find Emma and Jaime and maybe even Lucilly and everything would work out nicely.

But that was wishful thinking, wasn't it? She needed to pull herself together to even try to try any of what she wanted to do, and Amanda knew that she was a complete mess, right now. She couldn't do it. Not like this.

And yet she couldn't say no. Not when she wanted, needed to do it so much. Not with Will asking her about it like this.

The door opened again before she answered. But there was no time to be relieved or surprised.

Alex and his knife were suddenly up against Will, knocking them against a wall.

Too close. Too close.

Will had taken his gun.

No. This wasn't happening.

She had just needed a place to calm down, not for things to explode around her again.

"What are you doing?"
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She did.

She scrambled up at fast as she could, but her shaky legs betrayed her as she moved, everything lurching, nothing making sense and then she was down on the ground again, but further from the two of them. Far enough to get up and make another break for it.

She needed to get up again. She needed to do something. Will was hurt, she could hear the pain in his voice and she wanted so desperately to run as hard as she could.

But she was on the ground, and she needed to help Will and Alex was getting closer, and it took her far too long just to realise exactly where she had fallen. She was exactly where she needed to be. Was it coincdence that she was here, now? Did she mean to move her, to fall here?

Her gun was close enough for her to reach.

She could do it. She needed to help. Make up for the times where she failed to do anything that mattered. She could do something that actually meant something for once.

She raised the gun towards a person for the third time that week.

She was still scared.

She still didn't want to do this.

She didn't have the right to do this.

Even if Will had helped her, even if he was hurt, even if Alex was getting closer, even if she was angry that she failed to do it before, it took everything she had just to try.

Her fingers weren't listening to her anymore, quivering more than she expected, but it wasn't as if her brain was giving commands either.

The shot went off.

Blood flew through the air.
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There was pain as the bag hit her, but nowhere near as much as she felt from the sight of Will. There was blood everywhere, and it was her fault. She was the one who had done it.


She was just trying to help. All she was trying to do was to help.

All she had done was try.

And yet again she had failed.

Will was bleeding because of her.

Will was dying because of her.

And somebody in a mask had to sweep in to save the day, because all she had done was ruin everything again.

She couldn't help.

Even as they hit the wall once more, she did nothing.

She had the gun but she was useless.

All she would do was hit the man in the mask she would be thrice damned.

She could only lie there on the ground as everything finally unwound around her, dull thud of flesh against concrete, again, again, again, someone else was dying right now, and that was her fault too.

Why did everything she do have to fall apart like this?

She wanted to cry again, but she couldn't. There were no tears, nothing, no emotion she understood in her thoughts.

She was so useless. Even Will, in his state, was doing more than her.

Why couldn't she just bootstrap herself out of self-pity?

Alex slumped to the floor, but she had no idea what to do.

How could you make up for shooting someone?

"Will? I'm so s-sorry." No apology would cut it.

"I was just trying to help." It sounded like she was just making excuses.
Edited by Randomness, Mar 21 2017, 12:58 AM.
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He was stuttering.

The bleeding was worse than she had thought, red across his chest, a vivid reminder of what her gun had done, what she had done.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

Why was he still trying to help her even when he was dying? She couldn't understand. She shot him and he was still trying to help.

He expected so much of her, so much for a person she barely knew and she couldn't take it.

He wanted her to take his gun. She couldn't take it.

He wanted her to find her friends. She didn't know how.

He wanted her to live on. She didn't know why.

"Why are you so nice?"

But there was no answer.

Maybe if they had been anywhere else in the world, he could still be saved, but none of them on the island were doctors. No blood transfusions, no sterile equipment, nothing that could change his fate.

She'd just helped kill a man and there was nothing she could do about it.

It was unfair. There wasn't any way she could do what he wanted her to. She wasn't strong enough, or smart enough to do any of that. But she was alive and he was dead, even though everything within her screamed out that it should have been the opposite.

And yet there was some weight to the words of a dying man, wasn't there. Like some unviolable contract signed without her consent. As if, not doing so would be the absolute worst thing she could do.

Her other savior lay on the ground, face bloody from the fight. Was he dying too? She couldn't tell.

She recognised him now, now that he wasn't a blur of masks and flying toilet seats.

Jonathan was lying on the ground, unconscious or delirious or something, and he needed help, she needed to help him, but all she could remember now was every other person she'd tried to help.

"Are you okay?" She didn't know what else she could do right now.
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She recoiled at his words, almost falling over with surprise, but somehow she managed to steady herself.

Amanda couldn't reply to him. She didn't know the answer, either. She had no reason to help him. She could have just left, but she hadn't. Was it because of what Will had said? Was it because she had this need to actually succeed in helping just one person instead of the constant trainwreck of bad decisions her time on the island was?

Somehow she just couldn't not do anything.

And yet, he was being rude to her and perhaps if her emotions didn't feel so burnt out from all the crying and fear and terror and people dying around her, she might have done something about it. She couldnt bring herself to be completely angry at his reaction. Not when she halfway understood what he meant, even if she would never accept the conclusion.

"Sorry. Look, if you don't need help, I'll just leave, and then you can just get right back to dying."

Okay, maybe she was a little mad at him after all. He was alive and that's all that really mattered right now, wasn't it, no matter how much he protested it.

It wasn't her fault he hadn't died, anyway.
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Better, but not quite enough. As if she wasn't sick and tired of it all too. As if she didn't just watch the entire room die around her too. As if she didn't have friends dead or dying.

They were both being self-centered asshats, but at least Amanda was aware of it. But it wasn't like she had any right to complain.

"Right." The words were almost sincere. But did he really want to die? Or was it just a delusion due to all that had been happening around them?

"I don't think it's rest at all. Did you hear Will? There's still regrets, things you want done even when you're dead. " And someone needed to do it. She needed to go. She needed to find her group before something happened to them.

But she didn't go. Not yet. Maybe because there was a chance that Jon was about to off himself the moment she left. Maybe because she just didn't want his death to be another one on her own conscience. Because she didn't was already scared of the oncoming idea of her own name being read out across the island when morning came and that she'd feel doubly scared if she thought she'd have to hear it twice.

But if she wasn't going just yet, then what next? Was she going to stay here with his awkward pessisism, and the pile of dead bodies in the room?

There must be something she could do. But she didn't really know first aid. She could help out with sprains, cuts, maybe. Not whatever this was. And yet, it was all she could do for now.

"Look, if you need help, I'll try to help patch you up." Antiseptic and bandages were something she could try. It wouldn't end up looking pretty, but it would do. "I really don't mind leaving if you want me to though."
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Of course.

It made sense that she wouldn't get to help him either.

"Alright then. Suit yourself." She wasn't angry anymore, though. If he hadn't turned up she'd be dead. Even if he was so ridiculously grating for her.

Just dissappointed and tired. The adraneline was long gone, and all that was left was something numb and the constant feeling of something sickening crawling in her stomach.

She'd let Jon rifle through Will's bag, as if this was somehow different from Kaitlyn. She almost said something when he took the gun though. Will had wanted her to take that. She wouldn't have, and yet it was wrong to let Jon take it too.

The machete was taken too, and it was clear what he was planning to do. No one decided to become a walking armory for self-defense.

"Wait, are you seriously-" her question hung stopped midway as he stormed off, without even a second glance back. Bet he didn't even hear what she'd said.

Great. Great. Great. Great. Great.

She needed to pull herself together.

Take the gun. Find her friends. Live.

She needed to do things step by step.

The gun that she'd held onto for so many days now was lying on the floor, looking no different after it had killed a man. Then again, she probably didn't either, did she.

How many times had she half-decided to leave it behind already? She didn't bother this time, simply picking it up. Somehow she still couldn't leave it behind, despite everything that had happened.

The danger zones. Emma and Jaime weren't in the pub anymore. But odds were they wouldn't be far, right?

She'd find them. She would. There was no way she wouldn't.

((Amanda Tan continued in The World Without Us))
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