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One Bath, Two Bath, Red Bath, Bloodbath
Topic Started: Aug 17 2012, 09:04 PM (2,397 Views)
Aura
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The Fool
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(Jumping post order with permission from decoy73.)

Steinman was firing madly, sending bullets all over the room while cackling like a madwoman. It was at this point that Keira knew that she was way over her head, even moreso than she had previously thought. She didn't stand a chance against this lunatic, especially with her current weapon.

I wish we'd have just gone to the park.

Keira didn't have time to have another thought before three bullets pierced her chest. The pain was searing, but extremely brief, as one of the bullets had struck her heart. Her bowie knife fell from her hand and clattered to the ground as her body fell forward. Mere moments ago, she was laughing it up with a friend. Now she was lying facedown in a slowly forming pool of blood. Keira MacDonald was gone.

At least she kept the promise she made to herself on the first day.

She never did kill anybody.

G08 Keira MacDonald: Deceased
10 Students Remaining
Edited by Aura, Sep 14 2012, 06:48 AM.
SOTF-TV v2

SP1: Lukas Graves- Forming a team in United
VW2: Angie Hart- Having a bad time of it in Balls Deep

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decoy73
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Charlie's gun and Keira's knife were able to keep Jennifer from shooting - for about a second. Then Jennifer started shooting everywhere, laughing like a maniac. Charlie flinched for a second before diving to the ground. Charlie quickly looked at Keira to see if she was okay, only to see three red dots splash onto Keira's chest, causing Keira to collapse facedown with nary a word.

Oh, no. That bitch. Charlie was really starting to feel it now. She'd killed Preston, but that had been an accident, on top of the fact that he'd only been slightly annoying. Danya she wanted to kill, but given Danya, if his activity were to make it to the public, that asshole would probably have to put himself in solitary confinement for his own protection from everyone else. Jennifer, however, had killed her only real friend in the game while laughing. The combination of Keira's body, her blood, Jennifer's laughing, and Charlie's gun led to only one semi-logical conclusion.

"You fucking cunt, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Charlie got up, pointed her weapon directly at Jennifer's chest, and squeezed the trigger, causing a fusillade of hot copper and lead to fly directly at Jennifer for about two seconds before she went through the entire magazine of ammunition. She would have started running at Jennifer screaming "DIE WHORE DIE," except for a sudden blinding pain in her stomach and her left shoulder. As the stars went through her eyes, she didn't even feel herself let go of her gun and get knocked onto her back as she was suddenly looking straight at Keira's face, with a wet feeling where the pain was. There was only one thing for her to do:

She grabbed Keira's knife and threw it at stupid bitch whore cunt Jennifer as hard as she could. Any feeling of victory was completely washed away by new sense of pain in her neck, right below her collar. Charlie once again fell back, looking at Keira as she coughed up blood and her vision blurred away.

Keira, you may have been Miss Right for me. Maybe if we had survived, I might have been able to say ...

FEMALE STUDENT #14 - CHARLENE NORRIS: ELIMINATED
9 STUDENTS REMAIN


I love you.
Second Chances 2
Male Student #18: Zubin Wadia Status: ACTIVE; Weapon: Franchi SPAS-12
Female Student #32: Sarah Miller Status: ACTIVE; Weapon: The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft Hardback Edition

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Lord_Shadow
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First body went down without incident. It was the second that gave Jen trouble. Charlie dove to the ground when Jen shot her first two bursts. Once she saw her friend bite the dust though, she got up to fight.

Another two bursts and misses, but that didn't deter Jen. She just kept right on. Her last burst went head to head with Charlie's rain of death. Jennifer smiled right until the pain of bullet wounds caught up to her.

She had no idea how many shots Charlie gave out, but she knew she took a good number to her body. She collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain. "DAMMIT. YOU STUPID WHORE. WHO SAID YOU COULD SHOOT BACK?"

Her body was on fire, and she was sure that if she didn't tend to those wounds very soon, she'd die. Bleeding out was no way to go. She got up, dropped the gun, and made her way to her pack despite the incredible pain.

There had to be something to stop the bleeding.
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((Nick Reid continued from Valor))

Nick stepped slowly through the open door of the hotel, head on a swivel, taking in as many details of the interior as his brain would absorb. He checked his surroundings with an energy and intensity that bordered on fanatical - but not, he reminded himself, without good reason. His fight with Adam had been a sobering experience, a grave reminder of how easily brute strength could trump his meager skill at arms. And yet he couldn't feel entirely malcontent with the whole ordeal. It had been a sort of reaffirmation as well. No matter how much he burned himself, how deep a hole he dug himself into, there was always a way out. Creativity, desperation, luck, genius, whatever you wanted to call it, he'd been preserved when by all rights his eyes should be staring unblinking into the sky.

A sudden series of noises sent his heart leaping out of his chest. He thought of collapsing furniture, someone tripping down the stairs, until he heard the screaming. Gunshots. A lot of gunshots. He twisted his head, trying to pin down the exact direction of the noise. It was frustratingly difficult to pin down an exact location, and the endlessly reverberating walls didn't help, but he had a vague direction and that was good enough. And so, he did what came naturally now when he heard the melodious strains of gunfire and bloodcurdling screams.

He started moving towards the source.

He drew out the pistol he'd taken from Adam as he broke into a run, hesitating for a moment before cocking back the hammer with a sense of finality that belied the trivial adjustment to the weapon. It meant so much more than flicking an off/on switch, popping out a little red button with "safety" written underneath. It was a visceral click, fully half of the process of sending a bullet downrange. The weapon in his hand wasn't merely "just in case" any more, because "just in case" was over. And most importantly, if almost comical to consider, was the fact that he didn't know how to un-cock the gun without firing, or if that was something you could even do at all. Given the fact that a cocked revolver was far more dangerous than he was willing to keep on his person, there was only one logical conclusion; whatever happened in the next few minutes, the gun in his hand was going to be fired.

He sped down the hallways of the resort, heart beating faster with every doorframe he ducked into, until he could see daylight streaming through up ahead. The door to the pool, according to the signs on the wall. That had to be it. It seemed a likely enough place to congregate, and if it wasn't it then he was hopelessly lost and he'd just expended a non-negligible amount of energy to go precisely nowhere. He paused by the doorway, catching his breath, hoping he'd find a cold-blooded murderer when he stepped out.

He couldn't believe what he was doing.

And he couldn't imagine doing anything else.

The sight that greeted him sent his stomach turning somersaults. Two girls lying half-naked on the ground, in pools of their own blood. Not moving. And still dripping wet, as if they'd been simply having a relaxing swim up nearly until the moment they died. The incongruity of it was chilling, no less so than the sight that greeted him next. Jennifer... Steinman, was it? The one whose name he'd heard so much on the announcements. The obvious source of the carnage, and not looking so sprightly herself. It was a pitiful sight. Would be a pitiful sight, he reminded himself, would be if there weren't two of his classmates lying dead and broken just yards away. He had no idea if her injuries would be enough to stop her, or if that was even her blood dripping off onto the ground.

He raised his gun.

It couldn't be that hard of a shot. He could point his finger right at her, after all, didn't doubt he could put an arrow through her throat if he had his bow with him. He had the spatial awareness. He just needed the proper technique. He straightened his arm, tried to aim from his shoulder. Increase his muzzle control. Put those stabilizer muscles to good use. It was just like aiming a bow, except for the part where it was completely different. Just keep the sights aligned...

He swore as his shot impacted the pavement.
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Lord_Shadow
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Jen was so concentrated on tending to her wounds that she only noticed the newcomer when a shot ran out and the pavement next to her kicked up small bits of debris. She jerked her head in the shot's direction. She was greeted with the gun-toting would be killer. But luck was on her side, it seemed.

"I do not have the time for this. Fuck it, just do what you have to do Jen. Not now, not ever motherfucker."

She gripped the machete. There was no way she was going to let this guy get off another shot. The animal within her wasn't about to die anytime soon. With a roar she rose to her feet and charged her foe, blade drawn.

She was going to carve him down to size, patch herself up, and live. No way would she allow herself to die now. She was pumped with adrenaline, channeling the beast within.

Kill to live... and don't worry about the blood loss.
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An enormous wave of pressure pounded Nick's battered ears as his arm snapped past vertical. The pistol's recoil was no laughing matter, especially with one hand occupied with the grip of the katana. With Jennifer quickly bearing down on him, he barely had time to level the gun again to get a second shot off. Frantically he squeezed the trigger, to no result.

Cursing, he tore off his pack and threw the gun to the ground with a clatter that barely registered over the screech of tinnitus, back with a vengeance; the rush of blood in his ears, his heart keeping time with a frantic beat; his absolute focus on the girl running towards him, a banshee's wail emanating from her lips. He said a silent prayer and locked both hands around the grip.

They clashed explosively. Small and thin though she was, Jennifer's charge still threatened to knock the flat-footed Nick onto his back. He mustered all the strength he could in response, swinging his sword with little more grace or subtlety than a baseball bat. Their blades met with an almighty clang and an explosion of metal shards from brittle hardened edges. Wrenching his sword away, he slid back, taking up a middle guard to judge the damage to his blade. A half a second's pause was all he could afford before launching into another sweeping counterblow, but it was enough to see that his weapon had clearly come out the loser in that opening trade. While the machete's blade was thicker, softer, the mark of the impact just a notch, his hard, shallow sword blade bore a crack that bit worryingly deep. There was no time to dwell on it, though. As long as they didn't meet again with that same ferocity, it was Jennifer who would miss that clean, sharp, painless edge.

But first, he needed to win. He wasn't doing so well in that department, not yet at least. His opponent was driving forward with the vigor and ferocity of a wounded animal. Which she was, he reminded himself. Not a person any more, after... that. It should have been an easy victory, by all rights it should have been. He had size and strength on her, experience at arms. His sword was longer, if heavier, lanky arms adding to his reach advantage. It should have been decided in a couple blows, he reasoned. That's how real swordfights worked, didn't they? Except this wasn't a real swordfight. Not really. It was two kids just trying to kill each other, one backed by madness and boiling rage, the other with caution and crippling fear. It was clear who would win that fight. He couldn't let her press that home, the advantage that was only there because he let it exist. As long as he stood parrying Jennifer's endless hammering blows, watching razor-thin openings slide by, he was in her home field. He needed to think, react, execute some combo primed and waiting in his muscle memory. He needed to play his own game.

He baited her swing, moved a little too far out, left one shoulder tantalizingly open. As her blade came swishing down, he sidestepped, turned his sword, swung it upwards to flip her guard wide open. But before he could blink, his stratagem went dangerously wrong. Something exploded off the tip of his sword and flew towards him while his sword wrenched violently in his hands. He stumbled, drew back into a defensive posture as blood trickled down his shoulder. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice that the crack near the tip was gone. And, along with it, the entire tip of the sword.

He steeled himself, striking length of blade off his list of advantages.
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Lord_Shadow
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Despite her size and power, Jennifer was clearly coming out on top in this fight. Nick had to ditch his gun for reasons Jen could only imagine and honestly not care about right now. But he still had a katana. They clashed, Jennifer putting all her fury into her might. Her anger rewarded her, as her opponent took the backstep, leaving her to push forward. She swung again and again, growling like an animal with each swing, forcing her opponent to guard and do nothing else.

She could win, she could kill him and live. And then she'd take her trophies, more mementos to remind her of victory. She pressed on with the attack. Jen was ferocious, not giving a single opportunity to counter-attack. If she allowed that she wasn't sure that she could survive. And yet, somehow she knew she wouldn't survive anyway if she didn't end things now.

Her movements were slowing, vision blurring, blood flowing out of her body more quickly than she wanted. The upside to adrenaline was the increased heartbeat and thus blood flow. That was also the downside, in her condition. Time was up, it was rapidly approaching the end. He left himself open. She swung down with a mighty blow, and sundered her opponent's weapon.

The animal within her screamed to press her advantage. "Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL!"

What little, vile shred of humanity within her wanted to gloat instead. "Heh, heh heh. It's over loser. I WIN!" But a simple declaration wasn't enough. She had to humiliate him, show everyone just why attacking Jennifer Steinman was a bad idea.

And what better way to do that than to decapitate poor Nick?

She gripped with both hands, pulled back her swing, and then released the widest swing she could muster. She'd cleave his head clean off his shoulders, save for one problem. Just one tiny surge of pain swept across her, threw off her swing, made it come down to the ground long before she even came close to her target. "Guh. Not now, not now!"

She was wide open, if only for a moment. But that moment was all anyone would need. She looked straight at Nick, and there was only one thing in her eyes: fear. The fear that comes with knowing that no matter what, you are going to die in the very next moment.

One last thought came into her head before the inevitable. "You just had to rub it in."
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Rattlesnake
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I used to be a player-hunter just like you, 'til I took a shotgun to the knee.
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There was a silver lining to the cloud of having the tip sheared off his sword; a brief respite, a break in the relentless action while Jennifer took the time to rub her victory in his face. Maybe it would have served him to taunt right back, goad her into carelessness or an overcommitted swing, but he wasn't going to dignify her with a single word from his lips, not even to tell her she was beneath all notice. His breath was coming in ragged gasps besides, the paltry rest he'd taken restoring only a shred of stamina after he'd run himself raw.

He watched his opponent moving in slow motion. She wound up, stepped in, contorted her body to bring the haymaker home. There was a pervading feeling of finality in the air, something that went beyond the physical. It didn't matter that he was tired, his sword broken and unbalanced, Jennifer's blade flying in a whistling arc towards his neck. It did matter, actually, but it all took backseat to the knowledge that whoever came out on top, the final gambit was in play. The knowledge that one of them was going to die, and that he sure as hell wasn't going to let himself amount to nothing more than meat for the grinder.

He reacted.

Jennifer's swing went screaming over his head as he ducked and she faltered. It was just the opening he'd been looking for. Wasting not an instant of that glorious opportunity, he stepped in, slashing upwards, slicing her arm down to the bone. He readied himself as the machete tumbled from her grasp. Before it had even hit the ground he was coiling himself again, preparing the second strike of his deadly figure-eight. He mustered all his waning strength, called in every scrap of muscle memory to help him execute the perfect swing. The sword soared outwards and upwards, following the slant of Jennifer's ribs, angled to slip between the gap or simply smash right through. It didn't matter which, as long as he connected, and that was no longer in doubt.

The broken blade bit deep.
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Lord_Shadow
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Predictably, her mistake cost her dearly. Nick easily ducked and countered her swing, cleaving through her right arm down to bone with next to no effort. She screamed in the short interlude between his attacks. Her mind went ballistic. This couldn't be happening, not to her, not now. She had conviction, had the will to live. So why was everything spitting in her face and inching closer to her death anyway?

Nick's next slash tore along her ribs and into her body. The blade went in deep, far too deep. It was the killing blow, and she knew it. She reached for his face with her left hand, tried to glide it across his cheek , get a feel for the kill. Her arm fell limply to her side, all her strength gone. All she could muster was a single sentence.

"I... regret nothing." Reformation cast aside, Jennifer faced her death with the same conviction she had in life. She did what she had done in order for her to live. There was no taking it back so there was no point in feeling sorry for it all. But that didn't stop every last person she killed from standing there staring at her. She could still see them, even with the light fading from her eyes.

She expired standing pitifully with a sword in her chest, face downcast with the crazy smile she had worn for almost her entire time on the island finally faded from her lips.

The ground around her was red with her blood. It was her favorite color, and now it would be all around her final resting place.

G13 - JENNIFER STEINMAN: ELIMINATED

((FINAL SCENE CONCLUDED.))
Edited by Lord_Shadow, Oct 1 2012, 07:56 AM.
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Rattlesnake
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So.

What now?

He was watching Jennifer die in front of him, drawing gasping breath as the rush of adrenaline slowly drained away. A few minutes and the manic vigor he felt would be replaced with a lethargy even more powerful than before. He didn't know quite what to do, and suspected that he wouldn't until it all drained away. He was still in ebbing fight-or-flight mode, and he was done fighting, but now that there was no need for flight, his mental faculties were tangled in confusion. He considered at last giving Jennifer her final mercy, but she was already past that point. And, the thought arose, maybe she didn't deserve one in the first place. She regretted nothing. He didn't even know where to begin with that. It was exhausting even to contemplate. A feeling like a lead weight dropped into his stomach. At once he felt simply drained, mind, body, and soul. He sighed, rolled his head skyward, popped his jaw and tried to shake the ringing from his ears. He'd think on it later. For now, he just needed to tidy up and get lost.

He grasped the handle of the sword, giving it a mighty tug to wrench it free of Jennifer's still chest. Goosebumps sprung up along his arm as each sawtoothed notch caught some tendon or artery, some miscellaneous bit of viscera. It emerged with a sickening noise, the sound of shearing muscle with wet, sucking undertones. He felt his gorge rising but held onto his lunch without trouble; he was simply too tired to vomit now. Just didn't want to deal with it. And his body, in turn, wasn't going to spend a single bit more energy that what was required of it. With that issue squared away, he held the sword out in front of himself to survey the damage. Jennifer had really done a number on it. Not only were the last six or seven inches gone, but the smooth, graceful curve of the cutting edge was now a jagged mess. A collection of notches ran along the length of it, each in evidence of some wild swing he'd intercepted without time to turn his blade away. A thick smear of gore obscured the upper half, but doubtless each dripping node marked another hidden crack. All in all, it looked nearly as ragged as he felt.

He walked wearily along the poolside, skirting the still-growing puddle of blood around Jennifer's body though his shoes were already soaked in it. As grim as the situation was, as terrible the carnage, as unwilling as his legs were to take another single step, there was still practicality to consider. There were weapons strewn about, food and medicine lying unused, maybe even ammunition laying ownerless before him. Maybe a few days ago he'd have found the prospect distasteful, something akin to light grave robbery, but that was long past. It would take considerable depredation now to make him blink, and he was, after all, already carrying around Adam's gun and crackers. The fact of the matter was that he had looted supplies from the dead before and had no particular qualms about doing it again.

The first thing he picked up, bending down as his forehead flushed with embarrassment, was the revolver that had so helpfully allowed him to shoot the pavement. Less-than-stellar aim wasn't the prime source of embarrassment, though. He popped out the cylinder, almost hoping the unspent rounds had magically disappeared, but there they were: three dimpled cartridges, three fresh. The thing was, and this was very important, a crucial fact of gun ownership in fact, cocking back the hammer wasn't just something you did because it was cool or fun. Sometimes you had to cock it back for every shot, and the gun in his hand was a prime example of that fact. He sighed, figuring there was a silver lining to it all - at least he wouldn't forget in his panic next time - and tossed it at his pack, where judging by the noise it made, it either smashed a considerable few crackers or crushed his assigned box of condoms. Which, now that he was on the subject, he wasn't quite sure why he still carried. The only use he could come up with - well, the only likely use - was simply to cause no small amount of posthumous embarrassment if he was killed by some similarly practical looter. On the other hand, that was quite a potent motivator to stay alive. The condoms, he decided, could stay.

Moving on, he came next to a bowie knife that lay on the ground not far from where Jennifer had charged him from. It had a nice, friendly heft to it and an unsullied blade to boot, but he was already amply supplied in the melee weapon department. He decided to keep it anyways, mostly because why not. Not far away was Jennifer's pack, with accompanying gun and pool of blood. The gun was empty as he feared, but there was still food and a medkit in the bag. He dumped out everything including the medkit, which he didn't need three of, and tossed his new knife inside. As he stood up with the bag dangling from his arm like a basket, the thought struck him that the whole business felt unnervingly like some sort of perverse shopping trip. Bowie knives on aisle 3, next to the produce and all that jazz. Or, if he wanted to bury the needle on the absurdity meter, a nice, friendly Easter egg hunt. He chuckled because sometimes you had to laugh or else you'd cry, but the next thing he saw brought him soberingly back down to earth.

Charlie's body lay stretched out before him, darkening red blood trickling over the skimpy blue swimsuit she'd donned during some carefree moment in the past. Competing strains of she never deserved this and one less to worry about rose up in his head, and he was too weary to throw on the brakes to either train of thought. The incongruity on display in front of him was heart-wrenching, disturbing. Yet even as his eyes traced the rivulets of her life's blood flowing on the wrong side of her skin, a conflict of thought arose that was dangerous, terrifying, far more relevant to his goal.

To be completely honest with himself, he simply couldn't ignore a worming sense of satisfaction. The day had been a success by nearly any measure, after all. He'd decided to remove the most unsavory elements, made a list with four names and before the sun had set killed two of them. And not just any two: Adam, the most dangerous, the most brutal; and Jennifer, the most prolific. But more than that, more than the knowledge of a job well done was an undeniable sense of pride lurking amongst the shame, the guilt, the horror of the situation. It was a reaffirmation of his own brilliance and strength. He'd just succeeded where half a dozen or more of his classmates had failed, even when their very lives depended on it. Was that not something he could be proud of? After all, he wasn't doing it just for himself. He wouldn't be running so eagerly into danger if that were true. He was doing it for everyone who deserved life, those who weren't glorifying in the ending of it.

And there I was, thinking I was being honest with myself.

He continued his methodical sweep around the pool, trying to keep his mind away from what he knew lurked just around the corner. Charlie's gun was empty, but her bag wasn't. He scooped up her food and ammunition and moved on to Keira's rations. He had to have a backup plan, didn't he? Today he'd done his share of work, far more than just his share. Surely he'd earned some small recognition. He was certainly prepared for plan B. At that point, he reasoned, everything really was his to give away. And even if Megan saw the next sunrise, was she really ready to receive it? How much did she want to live? Did she want it so badly she'd kill for it? And would she be able to live with herself if she did? Nick was alive because he could handle it all. He had the means and the motive to end it all if he so chose, but he didn't. But Megan, well, she still had to prove herself. Nobody was getting off the island without killing someone else to do it, not according to a man whose bluff he was not about to call. So what happened when she balked, or if she went sailing unsullied towards a trial she likely wouldn't even survive?

He'd give his life all the same, he thought desperately, but there was no convincing himself. He'd known what lay at the end, had even fantasized about it, but now that the time for his ultimate decision was drawing so near... four people had died in front of him today. Four of fourteen. And the free space left on the island was getting smaller and smaller to keep up with the dwindling population. How many others had died elsewhere? There were still two people left with multiple kills on the island. Two people left, he corrected himself, who weren't him who had multiple kills on the island, people who were going around killing people who didn't deserve it. He looked up at Jennifer's body as he completed his circuit of the pool, gathering everything together, cleaning off the sword and the machete. Just a teenage girl lying dead and forsaken, a collection of bullet holes and a gash halfway through her chest. To say that anyone deserved to die so painfully, so lonely, so far away from home -

Tomorrow, he forced himself to think loudly, clearly, unambiguously, for that was endgame for that quickly-derailing train of thought.

Tomorrow is the day that I die, or the day that I get to live.

The thought struck him to his core, a declaration so clear and powerful and heavy that it forced tears from his eyes for the second time that day. He felt the sky stretching over him, so big and vast, the same sky that blanketed his home, his school, every other point on the entire earth. People climbed Everest under that same sky, if a considerable amount less of it. The Olympics were coming up - the very best in the world were training under it, in the hopes that the same sun he saw now would glimmer off some medallion around their necks. The sky was something constantly swirling around him, but if he could climb to the top of it and look down, he'd see the whole world underneath it. From exotic, faroff countries, places no man had ever stepped, to the familiar buildings that housed his home, his school, his own warm bed. There was an entire world under that sky, and there was no part of it he couldn't see or touch, not if he really wanted to, because the future was boundless. He had decades stretching out ahead of him, an entire world to see. All he needed was to get off one little island. And to do that, he just had to live for one day. One more day. Just one single day and he was free to experience it all.

I want to live.

I want to live so bad.


((Nick Reid continued in The Eye of the Storm))
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