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Summertree; What day is it? She's tired.
Topic Started: Jun 25 2017, 10:49 AM (268 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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((Coleen Reagan continuing from Waiting for the End))

The island had suddenly become a much more harrowing walk once she was pumped full of lead.

The effect of four measly bullets was actually quite amazing. She supposed the fire and even the flashlight had taken their toll in their own little ways and only compounded the pain she was feeling, but in a way that honestly left Coleen feeling like she could ignore it, brush it off. She had begun to feel cold acceptance as she and Jon - the boy's name was Jon - passed the asylum a short ways back. It was nice to be able to laugh at yourself and all of your most dramatic moments, no matter which side of the theatre mask they happened to fall on.

And as far as drama was concerned, Coleen figured that there wasn't a more thematically appropriate place than the chapel to a crematorium. There was even a little platform for the casket to go on. Unfortunately, she had grown too weak to reach it without help, let alone climb atop it to lie down, and had independently freed herself from having any help walking. She limped down the aisle way, looking at the few pews they could afford to place here. It didn't look like it was intended for a large crowd. The way the floor was broken up and laden with patches of green was quite pretty though, she felt.

"Always thought my funeral would have more people," she cracked. She would have asked Jon how pale she was getting, but then it would be a surprise how much paleness could shine through her face the way it was. She wasn't going to get a proper funeral anyway; what would become of her body? The authorities always seemed to find the islands too late, so they might come once the game was over and once all of them, save for whoever the hell the winner may have been, were dead. Would she be recovered, brought home to Kingman so her family could at least have a little bit of closure?

Coleen reached out before her and dropped to her knees, softening the impact with the floor. Most people didn't get to choose to willingly lay down to meet their end, she figured, and so she could consider herself lucky. Dying slowly was a terrifying and painful ordeal, but at least it had a perk or two if you really, sincerely looked for it.

"Are you familiar with a play... or maybe just the book, called Summertree?" Coleen asked. "It opens Act one with a soliloquy of a man laying against a tree. You aren't sure what's up with him at first, his surroundings look peaceful, but the machine gun fire tells you that he's fighting a war. And he starts to talk about how he could peel the skin away from a leaf and..." She made a concerted effort to catch her breath. "... and then just leave the stems, and it kinda looks like a skeletal hand. And then he starts to do the same to HIS hand, because it turns out it's been burned to hell. Napalm, maybe."

Her fingers came close to her face but she dared not touch it.

"Silly little things I remember. Just seems appropriate now."




At least she didn't have to die here. She'd much rather be back in Cameron's basement, grabbing a hold of the microphone and just screaming out her stresses of the day. Turns out once she cut loose and stopped thinking about everything, it came to her naturally. Vanessa would warm up to her eventually; Coleen understood what it was like to have been replaced at something you wanted to do, but they'd all talked about it and Vanessa would be left on backups, to do the screams when necessary, and that's when she wasn't rocking them all with lead guitar bits.

Cameron was happy where she was, playing rhythm guitar and just supporting everyone, in more ways than one. Brady, B.B.... drums and bass were the foundation of the band, she had learned in a quick, insistent blurb by Brady. Their technical skill didn't need to be the best. What they had was good enough to build off of. They all had fun, in and out of practice.

They were going to be famous one day.


G008 - Reagan, Coleen: Deceased
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