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Indigena 2.0



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Thu Aug 18, 2016 12:49 am
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passenger says...



Chris


The new thing around here was mime basketball.

That's because authentic, home-made basketball was no longer a possibility. Turns out, papayas didn't bounce worth shit.

Mime b-ball was a little game Lou and I used to play in the school hallways; at the dinner table; wherever we didn't have access to a real ball. It was more fun banter than competitive play, obviously, and when Lou claimed to have blocked my chicly side-layup, I could call goal-tending, argue like a red card recipient, and then wiggle my way out of a technical.

It was all good fun. That is, until Lou had this Class A idea that half-assed sports were to be used as a pastime in the background of trivial conversation.

"How d'you know her?" Lou asked curiously, miming a crossover and taking the ball to the hoop (a woven basket we'd hung from the roof of our hut). I played shadow-defense, stepping in and stealing the ball. "Not fair," he whined.

"Know who?" I asked.

Eddie approached our makeshift court, and his face contorted in confusion. "What're you guys doing?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"It's called having fun," I said. "Try it sometime."

Eddie pressed his lips together and shook his head of curly hair, getting that feigned look of adult-like sincerity. I wanted to laugh. "You blind, Mahoney? You're not even holding anything."

A grin curled up my face. Looking up towards the hoop, I let the ball fly, suspending my shooting arm in the air. Swish. "Use your imagination, Ed."

Ed's hands shifted to his hips, and he spat at the ground, releasing a ball of saliva onto the stone. "Well hopefully you don't think I'm pretending when I say your girlfriend's getting better."

That caught me off-guard, and my eyes snapped to Eddie's parental stance, his hip cocked out to one side. "Huh?" I asked, mouth agape as Lou plowed me over from behind. We both stumbled, and Lou broke away with a "and Emerson's on the run...", desperate to keep my attention.

I didn't follow. "What'd you say?" I asked Eddie, intently meeting his eye.

"Alaska's fever's going down," he said.

I tousled the back of my hair, face changing at the mention of Laska's name. "Going down? I mean--" I scrunched my nose. "--how much down exactly?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, methodically rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know, a few degrees," he relented, and suddenly I realized how tired he looked. Sleep lines were written across his weary-eyed expression. I took the neck of my shirt and wiped the sweat from my face.

"Well--" I started, but couldn't find a way to finish, brown eyes flitting around dumbly. I rubbed my neck, palm feeling like it'd been set to flame. "That's good," I stated, breaths heavy and not just because I'd played forty-five minutes of a basketball game. The thought of her being better was overwhelming for some reason; and in the best possible way. My heart felt flighty and I stuttered with anticipation when I talked. "Can I go see her?" I took one look at Eddie, who looked appalled at my question. "Christ!" I exclaimed, eyebrows arching, "I don't need your permission. Yo, Gehrig! I gotta--"

"See your girlfriend?" Lou asked, looking pissed, muscled forearms crossed over his chest. His lips were all pursed like my mom's used to be when I came home late at night.

"Yeah," I told him, and knocked him on his bare shoulder with an open fist. "Sorry. See you later, loser."

Then I jogged away with long-legged strides, Lou calling after me, "You never answered my question, jackass!" I had no clue what he was going on about. I ignored him as I ducked into the Med Tent, shadows immediately drawing a curtain over the world.

I entered out of breath and with a goofy smile. Laska was sitting up on her cot, back propped against the wall. Her knees were curled to her chest; I could make out the soft curve of her kneecap. Her eyes were less pale, and she'd changed into a different outfit. Her cheeks were still flushed and overheated, but she greeted me with an endearing grin. "Special delivery," I announced, knocking on the doorframe.

"Hm," Laska mumbled, as if in thought, "What did I order?"

"Well, let's see what we have." I trailed off and pretended to read the front of my shirt. "The label says 'hot basketball burnout with nice hair'? That yours?"

She bit her lip to hold back a giggle. "Gorgeous hair," she corrected.

I shrugged without expression, letting go of my shirt. "Someone must've got it wrong. Anyway, ETA's about..." I glanced down at my watch-less wrist. "Five seconds from now?"

"Can I get him faster?" she asked playfully, eyes getting big.

I walked to her bedside and rested my hands on the edge of her cot. "Only if you sign here," I told her, putting a finger to my lips. She rose her hand and toyed with the back of my hair. Then she kissed me, smiling into my lips. She pulled away quicker than I would've liked.

She looked into my eyes. "Hey cutie," she said, her nose brushing against mine.

"Hi," I replied, tracing the bow of her lips.

"You're funny," she said.

"Funny-looking?"

"Just funny," she said. "Your nose is bumpy, though."

My eyebrows jumped at the opportunity to tell a story about a bone I'd broken. "I broke it twice," I told her. "Once was in this football game against St. Ives, and there was this burly defensive tackle named Rosenberg who--" I recounted the experience--one I'd recounted so many times before--in detail with the support of necessary hand gestures.

When I was finished, Laska broke out in laughter. "What?" I asked her. "It was an illegal tackle."

"You already told me the whole story," she said. At this, my cheek crinkled in resentment, flashing my dimple.

"Well, it's good every time," I argued weakly.

"C'mere," she prodded, so I settled down next to her on the cot, the right side of my body plastered to the left side of hers. She rose her hands above her head and stretched, shirt coming up to expose her stomach as she raked a hand through her curls. Her legs unfurled until her toes reached the end of the bed.

"Ed told me you were better," I said, laying my head back against the wall as I stared at her.

"I'm feeling a little better," she admitted. She took my hand in hers, running her finger over the contours of my palm. "But still hot." She grimaced, holding her hair off of her neck.

"Uh-huh," I replied, eyes on her. I pushed my tongue into my cheek.

She shoved me with surprising strength. "So I heard there's this guy who pretends to objectify women but is actually really sweet," she joked. "What was his name?" She put a hand to her chin, thinking. "Bologna or something?"

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Okay, Dalbert."

Her mouth fell open, and she smacked me gently on the chest. "You heard that conversation?"

"It's a good name," I said, nodding, holding back a smile. "For a linebacker, maybe. Dalbert Buttkiss Mendenhall Jr."

"Dalbert Faleb Rein, you idiot." I covered my mouth to hide my laughter, and she pinched my bicep until I muttered a quiet ouch and wrenched my arm away. "Stop teasing me, will you?" She was giggling.

"I can tease you all I want," I asserted, quirking an eyebrow.

"That so?" she asked, and I ducked in for a kiss. She kissed me back, mouth heating up on mine. Soon she was on my lap, and her hands were tugging at the hem of my shirt. Just then, the tent flap was pulled away, light flooding into the room. Standing at the entrance was a girl--a girl who I quickly recognized to be Blue.

When she saw us, the blood rose in her cheeks, blue eyes widening. I regretfully pulled back from Laska and cleared my throat. There was an awkward silence during which Blue collected herself and Laska assumed a different position. I caught her sending a quick glare in Blue's direction. "What's up?" I asked Blue. Too impatiently.

She stammered a little. "Um, you're Chris, aren't you?" Her accent startled me; I had forgotten it.

"Yeah," I said. What the hell happened to her memory?

"Lou sent me to get you," she said, a little bit desperately, as if there was some kind of dire situation at hand. I could feel a tinge of worry rise inside of me.

"What for?" I asked.

"There're people here," she told me, brown hair tangled behind her ears. She swallowed. "And they told us they needed to talk to our leader."

My brow furrowed. "People? What people?"

"I don't know," she stressed. "I don't know who they are." She ran a hand through her hair, avoiding my eyes. "But it seems dangerous, and kind of time-sensitive...?"

I stood up, and was about to go with her.

"Chris," Laska spoke up from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder; her lips were full and her cheeks were dark, eyes pleading for me to stay. A hint of her fever squinted through her expression. She was still stick. She wanted me with her.

"I'll be right back," I told her. "Don't move a muscle, you hear me?" I pointed at her. Before she could respond, I stepped out of the tent. The sky was getting dark, and the torches we'd erected around the village had already been lit. The air around us was tense, and the village looked almost empty. I was confused. Where is everybody?

I was about to ask Blue, until I was led around the backside of Lou's and my house. Except for a man sitting patiently on the edge of the fire pit, the clearing was empty. The man sat straight-backed with his hands clasped together. He wore an off-white button down and khakis that, from the looks of them, hadn't been ironed."Who the hell is that?" I whispered to Blue. "Where's Lou?"

"He said he wanted to talk to you alone," Blue told me urgently.

"I don't care what he wants. Who is he?" I was rubbing my hand over my stomach, eyes darting between Blue and the lonely man perching stoically on the edge of the fire pit.

"You have to talk to him, Chris," she said. And with that, she left, scurrying away. I was completely bewildered, standing between my house and a strange guy with no apparent name or origin. But somehow, my legs carried me over to him.

Immediately, when I arrived, the man stood to his feet. "You must be Chris," he said, holding out his hand to shake. Up close, he had a more distinctive look; his features were dark and his skin had an olive tint to it. His eyes were almost shadow-like.

"That's me," I affirmed, shaking his hand briefly. "Where is everybody?"

"In their houses, Chris. I figured we'd be better off if we had some space to talk alone."

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"My name isn't important," he told me, shaking his head. "But I must warn you--there are gunmen stationed around your camp, ready to shoot at my command. So if you try anything dangerous, I'll be forced to alert them." He had a rational tone to his voice, and nodded at every word, like all that he said was something he hated to break to me.

"Bullshit," I tried, only after I took a glance around.

The man laughed softly. I heard something click in the distance, and a breeze swept over me. I didn't say anything else to challenge his honesty.

"I don't know if your friends told you, but we--my people and I--came to your camp about ten minutes ago. Our meeting has been a long time coming, I assure you." The man looked at me, searching my eyes. "They told us that you were their leader," he asserted. He kind of smiled, as if he wasn't sure that I knew what was going on. He was right; I was a confused mess. "Is that true?"

"Yeah," I said confidently, though I wasn't sure.

"Interesting," he mused, still looking into my eyes.

"How's that?" I questioned, frustrated. The man shook his head and waved his hand, like it was nothing. "Why're you here?" I asked, raising my voice. "Who the hell are you?"

"Lower your voice, Chris," he said. He already had an advantage over me; he knew my name and I didn't know his. "Your questions will be answered in due time. But first, I need something from you."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, not keen to meet any demands he might've had. "What's that?"

"See," the man began, "most of my people have lived on this island for their entire lives. I, myself, have spent my childhood on the island. You and your friends? You just got here. You've been living here for over a month. We've watched you. Observed you from afar. But finally we realize that your mere existence here threatens our way of life." The man strode to the other side of the fire pit, breaking eye contact for the first time. He prodded the wood with a stick. Indigenous people? I thought, head spinning with questions. People that live on the island? How haven't we found them yet? Does Blue's daddy know?

The man continued. "We aren't savages, Chris, regardless of what you may come to think of us. Our first objective isn't to kill you all." The man looked at me and laughed, exposing a set of plastic-looking teeth. "That, if anything, would be a measure of last resort." The man put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched; his hand was cold. "And we're going to let you stay here, Chris. All of you. But we're going to need something in return."

Stay here. A sardonic smirk grew on my face. I laughed, pinching the bridge of my nose. The last thing I want to do is stay here.

When the man didn't flinch, my mouth settled back into a frown, and my brow furrowed. "Something like what?"

"A person," the man said to me, nodding. "A sacrifice to my people."

A chill ran up my spine. My heart jumped into my throat. I put my hands on my hips, glancing around the seemingly vacant village. The torches flickered.

"And what if we don't comply?" I asked, the word comply sounding strange on my tongue. It was too fancy. Didn't belong in my mouth.

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then I'm afraid we'd have to fallback on our measure of last resort."

I suddenly felt the quiet night ticking around me, the crickets like the downwards winding heartbeat of someone who knew they were about to die. That's what the forest was; a fresh corpse laying in its island coffin. The darkness was black. The man's face was like a neon road sign illuminated by the nearest torch. Eyes wide, expression sympathetic. Like killing us wouldn't be his choice.

"Okay," I told him, sizing him up. "Take me, then."

The man laughed pompously. I wanted to punch him out.

"Oh, no," he said, "We won't be taking just anyone."

Bemusement passing over my face, I asked, "Well who do you want?"

The man loosened his fist and let the stick fall into the pile of firewood and char. A bad feeling stirred in my chest. He sat back down on the edge of the fire pit. Then he looked at me.

"Chris, we're going to have to take the baby."

Spoiler! :
apologies for the short/hastily-written post. really hope it was alright.

also, #plottwist #turnup
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Fri Aug 19, 2016 3:16 am
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Pan says...



Ez.

Little green eyes smiled up at me, cooing across the table from his father's lap.

Judas. My son. I had just put a dish of lasagna in the oven, and already, the smell of pasta and cheese and tomato sauce had my mouth watering. I was so, so hungry.

Elvis grinned at me, too, bouncing our son on his lap. I could feel the pure love and joy he had for the baby, and I knew that soon enough, the two of them were going to be inseparable. Elvis, no doubt, was going to teach Jude how to catch and clean and cook fish, about which fruits were good to eat, and which were rotten, which plants could be used as sustenance in a pinch. If anything remotely similar to what happened to us happened to him.

I prayed that he lived a normal life- that he never had to go through what we had to go through.

That day, on the beach with Elvis, and Alaska, and Chris, and Carlisle, who held dearly onto his daughter, near the graves of all of our friends, our colleagues, the people who had managed to survive with us, but hadn't managed to survive the whole year with us, waiting for that helicopter to land so that we could be brought back to safety; to civilization, next to the grave of my first child, was... liberating, to say the least.

We each had our scars from that place, that wretched island. Elvis had nearly lost his sight, and actually did lose an arm, and Chris had lost all that was dear to him. And Alaska.. She came back to the states to find both her father and brother deported, and then followed soon after. And then after she was gone, Chris lost himself. Drinking, spending all of the money donated to us by society on drugs and alcohol made him spiral downwards, until he was finally found with a bullet in his head and his finger still on the trigger.

And then there was us; Elvis and I, left with a government pension for his disability, and a hole in our hearts in the shape of a deceased daughter- lost before she was even born. After that incident- the plane going down- I was left with nothing. No daughter, no son, only my Elvis, with the one arm.

Carlisle and Saphire, they went back to Australia with Saphire's mother, and as far as I know, they're okay. I hope at least that they're okay.

That night, I put Jude to bed, laid in Elvis's embrace for fifteen minutes, and then fell into a deep sleep.

-------

I awoke with a start. None of that... was real, right? I looked at my tanned hands in the dim morning light, and chuckled. That depressing future- that's a possibility. Not guaranteed, but then again- was anything ever guaranteed?

One thing I knew 100% at this point, though, is that something was most definitely not right.

I knew as soon as the man came out of the trees. He requested to speak with our leader. Chris. Chris was the most charismatic and probably diplomatic of all of us, so of course he was the designated 'leader'. He could make the best decisions, keep the most amount of us survivors alive, until we were potentially saved from the forsaken island.

Shortly after he placed himself behind Chris's hut, as if he were a king from a rivaling tribe here to discuss treaty demands, we were all ushered to our respective homes. Elvis and I were surrounded by at least four men, and a blonde woman stood in front of me. She kept looking between Elvis and I, then down to my protruding stomach.

At this point, I was probably six months along; just far enough that my belly was already poking out. I wrapped my arms protectively around me. I did not like the way that she was eyeing my baby. Not one bit.

“Can I help you?” I bit out, as Elvis squeezed me tighter. Her funky brown eyes snapped up to my face.

“Not yet, darling. But you will.”

“Ominous,” I muttered, “But seriously, what does that dude want with Chris?”

She ignored me, the bitch. Sighing, I stood up, and the men jumped. “If you'll excuse me, I have patients I need to examine, it's sort of my job.”

“No,” She said, immediately shooting me down. As if I actually had to listen to this creepy lady who kept eyeballing my bump as if it were some kind of delicacy. “You'll stay here. The other one will care for the girls.”

Okay, obviously they had been watching us for long enough to know which patients we had. And they'd been doing a very good job if they hadn't been noticed yet.

“Tell me, Ezra,” I stiffened and looked up at the doorway. The first guy stood there with Chris, who looked rather angry, and actually slightly frightened. “Do you remember when that deranged boy nearly took your pride and your life from you?”

Flashbacks hit me hard. The boy, the knife, and how I was naked in front of him, almost to the point of begging for my life. For my baby's life. Then, the large jungle cat, and all of the blood and screaming, and then he was gone.

“The way I see it, darling, is that if I hadn't have released that Jaguar at the moment I did, both you and your unborn child would have died that day.”

Elvis shoved himself in front of me, and the four men looked as if they were preparing to tackle him to the ground if they needed to. If they could. Elvis is very, very strong.

“So? Thank you, creppy man, for saving my life, I guess.”

“Tsk, tsk. Ezzie, doll, you owe me. You owe me your life.”

What did he want?

“What do I want? Simple. We'll come back in a few months. When your baby is born. And then, you're going to trade us.”

“Trade?” I asked, my mouth going dry. They wanted to take my child; the human I was creating. They wanted to take him or her, and expected me to not go apeshit and kill them all.

“If you refuse, every single person here dies. And I do mean every.”

I glanced back at the woman, with her snaggly blonde hair and ill defined eyebrows. That explained why she kept looking at my stomach.

Before I knew what had happened, Elvis snapped- he bellowed and tackled the four men with pointy sticks to the ground, and proceeded to beat them with all of his might.

Chris punched the man in the face, and in the same moment, the woman lunged for me. Thinking quickly, I yanked the emergency knife from under my cot and pointed it at her.

"Don't you step one inch closer, saumensch." I spat, brandishing the knife. Sure, I didn't enjoy the idea of people getting hurt but this woman wants to potentially harm both me and my child.

She smirked, "You aren't going to hurt anyone, Kitten." And with that, she jumped towards me.

I blacked out. Maybe it was my motherly instincts telling me to protect, protect, protect- or maybe I'm just crazy and my inner demons came out, but when I focused back in, I was sitting on this woman's chest, pulling back the bloodied knife from where her face had been.

"CARLISLE!" I screamed, at the top of my lungs. He was the strongest man I knew. He knew how I felt, being a parent as well. He knew the dangers of the island- did that also mean that he knew these people were here?

Before I had the chance to scream for him again, screams rang out around the village.

"Don't play me like a fool, fool," I heard Chris say. "You don't have any guns, I'm stupid, but I'm not an idiot."

And then, the click of a trigger being pulled.
I AM THE PAN.
BEWARE MY KITCHEN UTENSIL-Y GLORY!
Formerly 'PenAndSword'





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Thu Sep 01, 2016 6:24 pm
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Ciblio says...



Spoiler! :
hi there. so idk if like this is ok? I tried to make it long. Just tell me what you think


Laska

Everything was quiet after Chris left me. I couldn’t even hear any crickets— actually, ever since our great entrance on this island, I hadn’t even seen any. I missed them, for some reason.

It was less than ten minutes later when I was suddenly interrupted by screaming. I glanced back at the unconscious Jackie, then rushed out of the tent, every instinct in my body telling me to “go back inside, go back inside, go back inside,” but I couldn’t.

As I ran out, I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. The sickness still hadn’t faded away, and just standing made me dizzy and nauseous. The night air was thick and muggy, but all I wanted to do was find out who screamed.

Soon, as I turned the corner of a hut, another scream erupted from the same direction of the previous one. Except, more followed immediately. The screams were desperate and angry, and I knew that someone was fighting. People were fighting.

The strange people that showed up and made Head-Damaged-Aussie lead my Chris away from me? Surely not. This wasn’t Lost. The fact that there were even other people on this island with us made me think that some black cloud of smoke was going to come and drag me down a hole at any second.

I took another step forward, and immediately after a loud ‘bang!’ came from my right. Another followed, ‘bang!’, except this time closer. I flinched even after the sound died within the forest. ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ three in a row, and it just now registered to me that these were gunshots.

Was this a dream?

As I crept forward even more, people came into view. Some people I’d been living with, other people…I had never even seen before. Everyone was fighting. It took me precisely five seconds to find my Chris— and what I saw wasn’t pretty. He was holding a man down, pummeling his face with his fist. Yet— the man was grinning. He was smiling. I went to run forward, to stop this, to help in some kind of way when another shot rang out.

Right behind me. A dull pain rung up my leg— the leg that had been burned. I didn’t have much feeling in it, since the crash, but I still felt this. I think I screamed, and in thirty slow seconds, Chris turned, his eyes locked on mine as everything started to fade. His eyebrows were arched, his hair was matted, his nose was bloody— and he was screaming. His lips formed my name, and the last image I saw was of him being thrown to the ground by the man with the bloody smile.

*******************

I didn’t know how long I was out, and there was no way to tell. I didn’t even know where I was. But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was black. It took a second to register that I was being carried somewhere— I assumed I had some kind of bag over my head— and, as we (whoever was dragging me and myself) went over small hills of rocks and something else I couldn’t describe, the “bag” would lift a little bit and I could see my legs and feet.

But every time, the view got worse. My left leg, the burned one that, ever since “healing”, was permanently darker than the rest of my body was now tinted a purplish color around my thigh. My calves and feet were scratched up, bloodied and bruised— probably from being dragged through a forest.

It seemed to be hours before the person stopped walking. And, in a low, nasty male voice, they chanted words i didn't understand and clapped several times-- something creaked, and he was now walking again. Except he was walking downward, and minutes later the “something” creaked downward and the sound of water dripping off of something became my main focus.

Were we in a cave?

“Last night went as planned,” the person said loudly, and a couple of other unfamiliar voices laughed. “Although we were only able to borrow two of the children. Chris...well, he fought back pretty hard, understand?"

Two? Children? Chris? This was planned? The guy released my arms, and two seconds later I slammed into the ground. It was soft, and for a second I thought I was laying on carpet. Alas, it was dirt. Really soft dirt.

A voice came from in front of me.

"I thought we weren't going to take anyone-" they had started to say, but a sickening slap rung throughout the cave(?)

"Jackson," the nasty voice snarled, "You disobeyed my orders. You tried to save them, understand? That is why this happened."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" the guy, now Jackson cried, "They didn't do anything. I watched with them for weeks, Greg. I watched them and they're innocent. They don't know anything about-"

But his words were interrupted by a whimper and a 'crunch'.

"Eva, dear, take him to the pit for me," the nasty voice returned. "I'm sure he would like to suffer under mother nature, understand?"

I wanted to cry. What'd I just witness? I wanted this all to be a sick, sadistic joke, but every part of me knew it wasn't. My leg throbbed and I avoided moving, hoping that they wouldn't touch me or hurt me.

"Did ya knock her out, man?" a woman's voice asked, laughing, "And where's the other? Thought you said you got two."

'Greg' cleared his throat and nudged me with his foot, "Henry and Keamy were trailing close behind. Should be here soon."

"It takes one to carry a child," someone said quietly.

"It takes two to carry a child within a child."

No.

"You got her?"

Please.

"I did."

Fuck.

"Ezra is going to save us, understand?"

************

I was allowed to lay on the soft dirt for maybe an hour, before someone shoved me over with their foot and ripped the bag off of my head.

"Aha, Greg, you sly motherfucker," the person above me said. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting, but when it did I wished the bag was back over my head. The man with the bag in his hand had half a row of top teeth, and they were all black. His eyes were dark and cruel, his hair long and greasy with twigs in it, and his clothing probably helped him blend with the trees. "Must've remembered my connection with the 'Jamaican Princess'."

I had no shirt on, only the black lacy (slightly ripped) bra that Chris claimed to hate, and my shorts were basically non-existent. I wrenched away from the man, his putrid breath attacking my senses every time he spoke. It took everything in me not to cry.

"Don't be shy, 'Laska'," he hissed, causing me to gag, "Everything will be okay."

Above us, in the forest, soft clicking could be heard. Click. Click click. It continued for several minutes before everything went quiet, and the bag was shoved back over my head before the creaking from earlier roared louder this time-- something rusty, as if metal, was being lifted.

Minutes later a body was gently put next to me, and I struggled to sit up. The bag was ripped from my head again and I was facing an unconscious, very pregnant Ezzie. She had a black-eye and her lip was bleeding, but she was fully clothed.

Several other people crept out of the shadows, but they were dressed kind of nice. Nice, for people who lived underground on an unknown island. A couple of women wore tattered sundresses, some of the men wore t-shirts and either dirty jeans or shorts. One of the men had on a sundress.

They were all staring at one thing. One person. Ezzie. But they weren't looking at her face-- oh, no. They were looking at her stomach, their eyes hungry with desperation and their fingers tingling with anticipation. I was filled with disgust.

"Who..." my voice was weak, and the sickness continued to fog my mind up. "Who are you people?"

"Oh, dear," Greg said, "That is not important."

"Yes, it is," I say, my voice still weak, "It is important. You freaks can't just take teenagers randomly and expect them to be okay with it."

Greg looked hurt, as if the word 'freaks' did not describe his group of animals, "Honey, we're just borrowing you two, understand?"

"You're about to fucking understand the difference between 'borrowing' and 'kidnapping', Greg."

Some of the people laughed.

"I think you're misunderstanding," the guy with the sundress on said, "this gift you're receiving."

"Gift?" I looked at Ezzie, who moved her hand to her stomach and groaned, "Gift? This is disgusting. We don't know you people."

"But we know you, Alaska," Greg smiled at me, as if he were doing me a favor, "And we know how hard your Chris will try to find you...understand?"

Chris? What-

"All we want to do is put your group in it's place, understand?" Greg explained, leaning against one of the, what I assumed was, walls, "You crossed onto our territory and thought you could get away with it."

"We CRASHED into your territory," I growled, "We don't want to be on this god-forbidden island, okay? This is fucking crazy. You need to let us go."

Ezzie sat up quietly, her hair sticking up as she mumbled an innocent, "Elvis?"

I reached over to touch her hand, and said, "Don't scream."

She looked at me, her eyes wide now, then looked around the strange room, "Alaska-"

"Ezra, you look magnificent," Greg smiled at her, as if they were good friends, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm conf-"

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, as if she'd answered with 'amazing', "Now, your friends will not miss you, don't worry. We need to get you both cleaned-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I tried to stand, but fell back to the soft dirt. Pain arced through my body, and I looked at the back of my thigh. A deep, bloody wound sat there. I'd been shot. "I-"

"Oh, sorry about that," Greg laughed, "We didn't want to hurt you, but you left your tent, you see? After you promised you wouldn't, understand?"

My lips parted but no words escaped. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get Ezzie out of here, with my niece or nephew.

But that wasn't going to happen.

****************

They'd made us undress, making sure we didn't have any weapons on us before they left us to a small hole in the ground that had muddy water in it. One of the men stood at the opening to the area, and he was watching us. Staring-- mainly at Ezzie's stomach, though. As if the baby would pop out at any second and say, "what's crackin'?"

I dipped a toe into the brown water, and with a grimace, slid in. There was just enough room for Ezzie to sink in next to me. I bent my knees so my chest was submerged in the water, so the man watching us wouldn't perve out, and touched Ezzie's arm.

When she looked at me, the blood crusted on her lips let a fresh drop of blood escape the cut, and she mouthed 'Where are we?' but I couldn't respond before the man cleared his throat and said, "You have three minutes."

"You have blood on your lip," I mumble, then mouth 'Underground', and she frowned at that.

"You bastards will never lay a hand on my child," Ezzie said, her accent heavy as she held onto her stomach protectively, "You'll be dead before you can reach a finger out."

The man laughed, as if she'd told a joke, then said, "You are simply the islands surrogate. The child belongs to us. Even your leader agreed."

Chris? He would never. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He would've told them to "fuck off." He would never agree to give the baby away. Why would he, anyways?

"You're lying," I spit, pulling myself out of the water. I pulled on my clothes quickly, my cheeks burning from both embarrassment and fever. "My-- Chris, he's not like that."

"We must not be talking about the same person then, because him? Chris? He was more than happy to offer us the miracle."

Miracle?

"Shut your fucking mouth," Ezzie was boiling as she attempted to get out of the hole. I ended up pulling her out, then crossing my arms back over my chest, "You weren't there last night. You don't know what happened. Shut up before I rip your tongue out."

I glanced at her, scared of her sudden violent outburst, "Ezzie please, just..."

"Act like this is okay? That these freaks kidnapped us and are now trying to take my child?" She cries, pulling on her clothes before stomping toward the man. "You're all sick, sadistic freaks and I want to go back to my fiance."

Greg appeared behind the man, his expression sad, "Dear, we only want to help you, understand?"

I was about to shove the word 'understand' up his white ass.

"No, no, no," she took another step closer, "We just want to leave this island. We didn't want to come here."

"Already told them," I mumble, too tired and in shock of everything that'd happened to feel anything real.

"We just-"

Greg put a hand up, and smiled at her, "It's too late to leave. Once you come to this island, you never leave, understand?"

Then, with a fuming Ezzie and a zombie me, Greg turned and started walking, motioning for us to follow. We slowly did, and every other minute he would turn his head and smile encouragingly, and beckon us with his hand.

I couldn't stop thinking of Chris-- if he was okay, if he was already looking for me, and just...I missed him. I wanted to feel his touch, I wanted to lay with him, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted-

"Aha!" Greg exclaimed, "Here we are. Ladies, sit. My group has prepared dinner."

Spoiler! :
heyooo @Savvy @Pan
idk if this is ok so like...tell me if it's ok, ok? all right bye
'we have lingered in the chambers of the sea /
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown /
till human voices wake us, and we drown'



previously:
GuyFieri





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Wed Sep 28, 2016 5:41 pm
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passenger says...



Chris


I muscled the jackass into the dirt, fists flying, sweating through my shirt. It wasn't a boxing match, but a messy brawl; no calculated movements or feinting eyes, and instead no space and claws in the throat when you could reach his neck. It was the worst kind of fight. The kind where you always felt like you were at the bottom, no matter which side you were on. Every upchuck was a half-armed, strengthless throw while you flailed for your life and wrestled with his shirt. I grappled for handholds on his body. For some kind of way I could toss him around. But never was it to any avail.

There was a second where I got him where he couldn't get me; I was sitting on his stomach and bloodying his nose, one knock after another into his disaster of a face. The gunshots were deafening; they'd been going on for minutes now. They hadn't been bluffing. They'd had manpower and weapons and Christ, were they not afraid to use them.

Then a scream exploded from my right, someone who'd been shot down. I threw a sidelong glance and saw a head of curly hair tumbling to the ground. "Shit," I said, and my heart was being tackled into my ribcage. I clambered off of the guy I'd been fighting and yelled her name.

Without warning, I was hammered from behind and my knees buckled. A blow landed in the pocket of my gut, and for a moment the world went fuzzy, pain jolting through my abdomen, ribs aching. I couldn't breathe. I gulped for air, wheezing raggedly as someone fell atop me, fists swinging.

I was ready to surrender to unconsciousness when a gust of wind seemed to pick up the weight from my stomach and hurl it into the nearest tree. Then I squinted closer. It wasn't the wind; it was Lou. "Gehrig," I murmured, as he kneed my attacker in the groin.

"Think I'd let you die?" Lou asked, kneeling beside me and propping my head. I grunted in return, eyes fluttering closed. I was so tired. "Hey," Lou prodded, "don't pass out on me." He sounded panicked, and he was talking real fast like he did when he got nervous.

"You gotta get me outa here," I said, meaning it to be loud. But it came out as a whisper and faded into nothing as I reached the end of the sentence.

"You hear those gunshots, brother? They ain't letting up."

I tried to move, and the mere twitch of my shoulder sent waves of searing pain through my chest. I gritted my teeth, and felt hot tears accumulate behind my eyes. An agonized groan escaped my lips. Lou stared at me with wide and searching eyes, groping for a sense of what to do. The noise around us had settled down. I hadn't heard gunfire in awhile, but my ears felt so funny I couldn't tell if I could hear at all.

"Chris," I heard, but it sounded like it was coming from a football field away. "Yo Chris, don't quit on me." I heard a string of curses before I winked out.

--

"Just stopped shooting and left, like they ran straight outta bullets."

It was the first thing I heard when I came to. My eyes flew open and I shifted in my place against the wall--a fucking wall, for Chrissake--before an ocean of agony and nausea swept over me. I almost puked.

"You aright QB?" The sound of Lou's familiar voice graced my ears, and he bent at the waist, landing a kiss in my hair. As he went to stand back up, I got a handful of his T-shirt in my hand, yanking him back to where I could look him in the eye. I couldn't catch my breath.

"What happened?" I asked groggily. "Where is she?" All I could think about was her. Issheokayissheokayissheokay.

"Huh?" Lou asked, a look of concern creasing by his mouth. "You just woke up. Got a few broken ribs, from the looks of it. Take it easy." And then, as if on second thought, "Where's who?"

"Laska," I breathed, head clearing a little. "She got shot. I saw it."

"She did?" Lou asked, eyebrow arching. For the first time since I'd woken, I realized that there were other people in the hut. Ed, Blue, and Ro all took their places against the wall, cowering with their knees to their chest. They all looked afraid, but otherwise unharmed. We were in the Med Tent. Jackie was laying in one of the beds, and two other people claimed the remaining two. Some guy was laying on the floor; there was a ripped T-shirt messily tied like a tourniquet around his thigh.

"Yeah," I said eagerly, "where is she?" Whereisshewhereisshewhereisshewhereisshe.

"Ain't seen her," Lou told me. I exhaled, leaning my head back. There were so many things going on. I could hardly keep my head on straight.

"I gotta find her," I said, mustering up my strength and trying to stand. Pain screamed through my body. I inhaled sharply and slid back down.

"Sit your stubborn ass down for two seconds," Lou barked at me. "I don't wanna to have to breathe your air through a straw or somethin' after you puncture a lung, just 'cause you couldn't sit still."

"Don't think that's how it works," I replied, referring to what he said about the straw. Lou sent a punch to my shoulder, which shut me up. Mostly because my sternum hurt too bad to think.

We were all quiet for a moment. You could hear the shuffle of the wind against the door. You could hear the confused muffle of voices outside the hut. The sound of people freaking out and breaking down. Probably wondering where their leader was. I'm it, I sat thinking. The guy hiding inside like a damned coward. That would've usually gotten me up and running, but I just stayed where I was for a moment. Lou was staring at me like I was a dog he feared would run off at any second.

"Bad news," some man standing by the altar said, sporting a wrinkled black button down and work boots. Business casual, he'd claimed to my mother. He might've been my uncle. "That's the most we're ever blessed with in this family."

I was sixteen. I was bent over in the left pew, elbows propped on my knees. My hair was still sticking up from my morning shower, and my eyes were cast down at the ground. I was the circus event of the afternoon. Guys from school and the sports team came by with the sole intention of giving me a hard clap to the shoulder, mumbling an apology and saying they hoped everything was alright. I knew some of them. Others, I'd never seen in my life. Girls dressed in black stockings touched me softly on the hand or kissed my cheek, claiming they'd be there if I needed somebody. Never specifying what I might need them for. Maybe because they knew I wouldn't remember them after the ceremony. Maybe because they wanted their offers to be ambiguous.

I smiled and thanked all of them. That's what Mom had told me to do. I didn't use to listen to Mom, but nowadays I felt like I could hardly make a decision on my own. It had been going on for a few days now. I didn't know how to get rid of the slump.

By the time I'd been kissed by near everybody, I'd found out that the man in the work boots was my Uncle Bryan on my mother's side. He was loitering on the lawn, not able to go three minutes without a smoke. I couldn't go three minutes without a break from sitting in the heat of the parlor and getting randomized condolences. I guess we both ended up standing together. "Want a smoke?" he asked me.

"Nah."

"Aren't much like your dad, are you?" he asked me.

I was hardly interested in him, but he was the first one all night who'd started a conversation with me about Dad. So I played with dialogue. "How's that?" I asked him.

"Don't got bad habits like smoking. Seem like a smart kid."

I shrugged. I knew I wasn't smart, but he didn't need to know that.

He spit at the ground, before inspecting the cigarette at his fingertips. "You got a brave face, too. Can't be easy, whether your old man was a jackass or not."

I could've walked away right then, but I found I agreed more than I didn't. I swallowed. "I guess it's easy if you don't think about it." I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head. "Not thinking's one thing I'm good at."

"One way to do it," he said, blowing puffs of smoke through his lips.

I left him a minute afterwards, heading back inside to the party before Mom realized I'd been gone. Later, all the guests left. I cleaned up their mess--dumping the half-filled vases Mom claimed were "decorative" and folding fifty table cloths. It wasn't that much to handle, but there was a stone in my chest, and it felt like it weighed a million pounds. Afterwards, I headed up to my bedroom. I put my pillow over my head, swallowed words that weren't there, and realized that at some point, nothing can stop the tears.


After my breather, I pushed past Gehrig and jogged to the nearest tent. I started asking around. "I haven't seen her," everybody kept telling me. I paraded around camp, panting like I'd jogged ten laps around the football field. My limp must have looked pretty bad, because they kept cajoling me to take a rest. My anxiety was amped; all this talk about Laska being gone was starting to get to my head. She had to be somewhere, was what I kept telling myself, but I couldn't stomach the thought that maybe she wasn't anywhere at all.

The worst thing about it was that it was just like her. It was just like her to run off without telling no one. Just like her not to listen to a word I said just because she was the only one who knew what was right for her. Just because she wanted to experience some illusion of independence.

Lou caught me on my last go-around, grabbing me by the elbow. "Chris," he urged. I was about to tell him to fuck off; I didn't want to sit down. But instead he looked me in the eye. "She ain't here," he said. "Neither is the pregnant lady. They musta been taken."

"Taken?" I asked. "What the hell's that mean?"

"Kidnapped," Lou clarified. "By the strangers."

"Fuck," I said. Hearing him confirm what had been floating around in my head for the past hour only made my blood escalate from a simmer to a boil. "Fuck," I said again, ruffling a hand through my hair.

Lou licked his lips, hands planted firmly on his hips. He didn't say a word. I hardly thought at all before my mouth started talking. "Grab Ed and the redhead. Harold's his name, I think. Eddie's in the Med Tent, Harold's Christ knows where. While you're rounding them up, I'll spread the word around and scrounge up enough volunteers for three search parties."

It was like habit now, as mindless as playing an instrument or brushing my teeth. It'd become a subconscious process; the routine of counting the number of search parties and making sure you had enough provisions for the next day, and being able to quickly figure in your head how many people who might die collaterally each time somebody got taken. I sounded like some kind of event planner. It made me sick. I think it made us both sick.

He blinked and nodded, rubbing a dark hand over his sweating face. "Wait," he said, turning to me, "three? Three search parties?" He was counting the people I'd mentioned on his fingers. "You, me, Eddie, Harry--man, you really are bad at mental math."

"I'm staying here," I told him, ignoring the jab at my intellect. Lou looked almost as appalled as I was at my decision.

"Somebody's got to," I told him.

"It's your girlfriend, though. I figured you'd want to--I mean, more than anybody else---"

I cut him off. "How much help am I gonna be? I have a few broken ribs and a hot head. You know what's gonna happen if I go? I'm gonna either get myself killed or kill somebody else." He was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. My face was on fire. Sweat pooled at my temple. When I wiped it away, the wetness of my hair rubbed off on my palm. "I'm stupid," I told him, "but not that stupid."

"No," he mumbled, "that's the smartest damn thing I ever heard you say."

For a moment, he was silent. I was silent.

"This island's all twisted up," I said. I shook my head, a sardonic laugh escaping my lips. "Somehow we've all ended up conceited and thinking we can change how the world works."

You couldn't hear much at all now; the noise of the village had faded to a manageable volume. Lou's lips parted, brown eyes averting. I grinned ridiculously, voice raising. "I can't go one day without hurting myself, and my girlfriend's head's so thick she went out and got herself shot and kidnapped." I started rubbing my hand over my face roughly, convinced for a moment that if I rubbed hard enough, I'd just wither away. "And for what, to impress me? For her damn ego? I don't know. Might not ever know."

It occurred to me that I was yelling. I paused, and then asked him earnestly, "Why the hell doesn't she listen to me, Louis? Doesn't she know I care about her?"

He didn't note either of the things I thought were obvious; the fact that I'd just called Laska's head thick or the fact that I was a damn hypocrite. Lou's eyes were locked on me, but he didn't say anything. Christ, can't he say something?

My knees bent, and I sat against the oak tree nearest to us. The bark was cool on the back of my neck, and calmed the tension in my shoulders. I closed my eyes, whispering, "This is fucking ridiculous." I gripped my knees with my palms, trying to breathe.

Lou strode to my side and sat beside me. His arm was pressed against mine. I could feel shaky breaths racking through his shoulders. "What's that you used to say?" he asked me. "'It'll all work out in the end'?"

This elicited no response. We sat there next to each other till it wasn't good for either of our consciences to sit any longer. Then we fought leg cramps and stumbled to our feet, marching off to lead our army into battle.

--

Everybody decided that it was too late in the day to set out, especially with possible gunmen lurking in the bushes. It took me ages to get to sleep. But Lou had to kick me awake the next morning. My throat was hoarse and the sun was absent from the sky. A thick mass of silver clouds rolled through the canopy. Lou was laughing through his nose. "Quiet down, would you?" he asked me, shoving my head away from him. I was sleeping on the cot next to him.

"Huh?" I asked, words slurred with sleep.

"You're makin' sounds in your sleep," he smirked. "Like you're dreaming about sex or something." He turned over, yanking the blanket up to his shoulder. "If this's how it's gonna be till Alaska gets back, I'm gonna have to find another tent."

"Shut up," I told him. She was gone, and I wasn't in the mood for his humor.

"There was a time when you woulda found that joke hilarious," Lou grumbled with disappointment.

"You should get your ass up," I said bitterly. "Search parties're leaving in an hour."

"Aright, Deputy," Lou saluted with surprise, and rolled out of bed. "On your command."

"Don't be a dick right now, Emerson. Just get your damned troops in line." I cleared my throat and sat up. Added, "Or else I'll kick your ass."

"You need a good breakfast," Lou mentioned before snagging his sweatshirt on the way out. He was about to leave.

"Gehrig," I called out to him. He glanced over his shoulder. I braved the pain of my ribs and pulled him roughly into a hug. By the end of it, he was practically holding me up. I took a step back. "Get her back for me, alright?" I said. His eyes flickered between the both of mine. An earthy smell was emanating from his shirt. "And don't die, alright?"

"You always got high expectations of me, Mahoney," Lou said, shaking his head with a smile. "And you neither."

I watched him pass through the doorway and out of sight.

Spoiler! :
soooo anybody wanna lend Chris a paper bag? :) bc he needs to breathe

-->> the post is short and kinda bland. I promise to do better next time; I just didn't want to hold anybody else up from posting.
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Sun Oct 02, 2016 8:06 am
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Ciblio says...



laska the great


28800, 28801, 28802, 28803

it'd been eight hours since i'd stepped out of that hole that was these peoples 'bath'. i couldn't think, i couldn't speak, yet chris was the only thing that i wanted to think and talk about. but he wasn't here. i wasn't there.

i needed him. i never realized how much i depended on his touch, his voice, his presence. i never realized how much i loved and appreciated him just being there. he was literally everything in my world.

28807, 28808, 28809, 28810

every second, every minute, every hour i was held captive in this cave the desire to have my other half became even more unbearable.

"you can' just fall for sum'un, baby," mama would say, "ya have to see 'em. you have ta see all of em. an' they gotta see ya too."

28814, 28815, 28816, 28817

and he saw me. god, he saw me. i hated this island, but i loved that it brought us together. because without him, i couldn't have done it. i couldn't have stayed on this unknown island in the middle of fucking nowhere.

but all i had right now was a bag over my head and a head full of stones. plus a sleeping ezzie on my lap.

28818, 28819, 28820, 28821

although in the midst of my counting, in the middle of my thoughts, in the crossroad of the train that is my brain, i think about how alice, in burlesque, never backs down. she fights for what she wants, she forces nikki to pay attention to her and notice her talent, and she never let's someone else stand in her way.

but what was i doing now? was i forcing these people to get out of my way? was i letting these crazy assholes tell me that i was going to lay on the ground until it was time to get up?

28888888888888888

yes. because i am weak and i am tired and i am not strong without the love of my life by my side.

you thought this was going to be some inspirational part, right? you thought i was going to get up and march up to one of these strangers and tell them that i wasn't going to take their shit anymore?

well. you were wrong.

i am nothing.

****************

"Annette never had a chance. Inside a season, she went from delicate to whopping, and the Duke never glanced in her direction without sad bewilderment clouding his eyes." (the princess bride; chapter 1, page 4)

i was annette and jordan was never the duke and all i've ever wanted was a westley. all i've ever wanted was an "as you wish" and a promise from someone that they will love me forevermore.

instead i got a sweaty hunk that had earned the reputation of an ex-player.

good enough.

i cracked an eye open to burning sunlight and the chirping of birds. ezzie was nowhere to be seen, and i was alone. i imagined that i'd escaped somehow and didn't remember, but that was doubtful.

the trees above me gave off a false sense of calmness, and where was i?

"heyoo?" i call out, sitting up. my leg burned worse than when westley was electrocuted. "okay let's stop playing hide n' seek."

nobody popped out and said, "you found me! ha ha good job", but instead, a bird chirped and a cricket hopped on my foot and literally where the fuck am i.

twigs crunched and my lips were sore and cracked from lack of hydration and for once, i just wanted someone. anyone. anything. chris.

only chris.

not anyone. not anything.

i wanted my chris to hold me and tell me he loved me and whisper sweet nothings and tell me about how he cracked his ankle or sprained his wrist or got a concussion from tripping over his helmet.

"There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection." (t.p.b. chap 1, pg 148)

can you see that i'm bound in chains? can you see that i am incapable of breaking myself out of this prison that i built for myself?

because i can't see it. i am blind. i am lost and confused and i need a rock to break me from this trance.

it was only now that i realized that the entire half of my body ached and i was sore and, for once in my entire life, i felt as if i were cramping so bad i was going to die. like don't get me wrong, my cramps got bad, but this time...it was horrible. unbearable.

my non-shirt revealed my non-bra, and my almost-non-shorts showed off my underwear.

or, they would. if i had underwear on. which i did before i'd gone to sleep, on the soft dirt in the mysterious cave with a pregnant ezzie on my lap.

every second i was conscious i was feeling more and more and what i was feeling wasn't pleasant. it was terrible. horrible. unimaginable pain.

i sat up completely, and felt around my body for no real reason. blood was crusted on my almost-non-shorts. a reason created itself when something crunched in my pocket. i slid my hand in the small slit and pulled out a piece of paper that had chicken scratch handwriting on it, which read:

    'had r fun. only need ezra now. thank'

the cracks in my lips were bleeding slightly or maybe that was drool but either way i was disgusted and in pain. my uterus felt like it was being cut out with a chainsaw and you know that feeling you get when someones staring at you? or how you feel when you suddenly remember something you'd previously forgotten?

i had that feeling that i knew. something was wrong. something wasn't right. i wasn't right.

i was raped.

was i raped?

i was raped.

*************

"Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches." (t.p.b. chap 1, pg 184)

i walked. i ran. i screamed christopher frickin' mahoney's name until my voice was raw and i could no longer speak without sounding like a bullfrog.

and nobody came. nobody came and i was alone and i was raped by a greasy old man with only four teeth intact and i was disgusting and disgusted and i had nobody except for the crickets and trees.

i was alone, as buttercup was when she and westley were apart.

i was isolated, as allie was when her and jack broke up when she found out natalie was back in town and under the impression that they were still engaged.

i did not have my chris and i needed him because i was touched by another man. i was touched by another man and my skin was gross and i was gross and i needed the touch of my soul mate to ease my aching hips.

but he was not here and i was not there or here and there was no turning back from the path that spread out in front of me.

i walked. i ran. i screamed until a bullfrog would be scared me of.

because i was alone.

**********

"Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else." (tuesdays with morrie, the classroom, page 40)

i was bound to do nothing. i was bound to die on an island in the middle of nowhere, away from everyone i loved. i was bound to fall in love so i could fall in a hole and never be found. i was bound to be disgraced and distraught by a man with stringy hair and pointy finger nails.

    i had scratch marks on my arms. they were either from twigs or pointy finger nails.

i was not bound to have a happily ever after or be pregnant or live with my lover for the rest of my amazing life because i was not graced, i was disgraced, and i was not allowed to be happy.

nobody truly was. except an old man with als and a former student who dedicated all of the time and energy and compassion he could into creating a book of his last lessons with his teacher to the last. i was not an old man and i was not a student who could be so determined.

i was nobody. i was a lifeless child with so much life and energy that you could call me oxymoron and i'd answer immediately. i couldn't sew for my own good and i was never good enough to play sports with any of the kids in jamaica.

i was motherless and fatherless and brotherless and boyfriendless and virginityless, but that last one had been there longer than the others, because jordan clay was a player like and unlike my boyfriend who was an ex-player.

i just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up but i knew that if i did that, i'd wake up in another random place, since that seems to happen nowadays.

i walked. i ran. i screamed even though nothing came out. i repeated christopher mahoney's name in my head until i couldn't repeat it anymore because even my brain lost it's voice.

i was hopelessly and helplessly in love and lost and so far gone that i wasn't even sure i existed.

my feet hurt and the trees weren't as fake-calm as they had been earlier, and the birds were singing a terrible song, but the crickets were gone just like my virginity and boyfriend and brother and father and mother. although that last one had been gone way before my virginity was taken.

i sat down, hoping that if i fell asleep against the tree with the pink flowers, i'd wake up in cahoney mhristopher's arms and this would all be a bad dream.

it took me 36251, 36252, 363700 until my mind shut off and i was suddenly dreaming about cheeseburgers and burglars and burglar cheeseburgers that committed several burglary's in all of the cheeseburger joints in the entire world.

good night.

*************

good morning.

no it wasn't. i had a crick in my neck and my arms itched, and the sun wasn't even up, and i was hungry. i was so hungry. for both food and affection. i was alone and the crickets weren't chirping. i regretted falling asleep, because now i didn't know where i was at number wise.

1, 2, 3, 4

“Maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or someone you're afraid to love, or somewhere you're afraid to go. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters.” (will grayson, will grayson)

nothing matters. i am not real. i am not alive. i am nothing. i am floating in space yet space doesn't exist where i am because i have never existed and my life was all a dream, even though i can't have dreams because i am not real and am not capable of dreaming.

yet i was dreaming.

i dreamt of white christmas' and burglar cheeseburgers and ahoneyc hristopher's and i needed a rock to break me from this trance that was not real.

i was a sad excuse for a human. and that was okay.

until it wasn't.

there was metal in my thigh from when i was shot and sometimes, like now, i wished that metal had ended up in my brain because right now i would prefer death over spending another second, another minute, another hour, another day without onyehca toerphrsih's arm over my shoulder and lips on my own.

i needed food yet i lacked the energy or want to go and get it myself. i stood up and started on the path.

96, 97, 98, 99

100.

i walked. i ran. i had no voice to scream but i opened my mouth and acted like i was just so i could have the feeling.

i was so alone and lost and i couldn't stop thinking about the love of my life and westley's 'as you wish's and alice's headstrong attitude and the old man that used to love dancing and teaching and his student that was there until the end.

yet nothing was on my mind and i was running so fast that i wasn't going fast at all because crickets had suddenly reappeared and were racing past me.

i was so desperately alone.

i was raped.

i was lost.

i was motherfatherbrotherboyfriendless.

but all of this was old news.

goodbye.

Spoiler! :
Hi. I wanted to try something out, so if this is a little crazy then, well, yeah I know it is. Thank you for noticing. I know somethings are a little confusing, and i hope i didn't lose you guys, but i really really like this post for some reason, even though half of it is just me repeating shit. but that was kinda the point bc you know how alaska gets when she's alone with herself for too long.

anyways, basically the strangers took her way on the other side of the island in this super secluded area where they believed she'd die the quickest and be the hardest to find because, duh, they only want ezzie bc of the baby. my plan is that carlisle, in some miracle, will find her and they'll eventually find their way back to the others. eventually. idk how long that'll take.

i know this is a little (really) crazy but we need more things happening (enough's happening, i'm just a lunatic who enjoys drama too much) and yeah. if you have any questions just message me.

OH also yes, the creepy old guy who thanked greg for bringing alaska in my previous post in the one who raped her. bc she was raped. gross, right? y am i a drama queen omg

sorry, i'm done now. thanks : ))))))))
'we have lingered in the chambers of the sea /
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown /
till human voices wake us, and we drown'



previously:
GuyFieri





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Tue Oct 18, 2016 12:24 am
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passenger says...



Lou


I found Ro sitting on one of the cots in our cabin. He was applying generous pressure to his arm. He prodded irritably at his makeshift sling. "The hell're you doing?" I asked. I could still feel Chris's sweat dampening on my cheek; his uneven ribcage swelling against my chest.

Ro ducked his head and averted his eyes, hastily wrenching his hand from the opposite arm. As if he knew he'd been caught. "Nothin'," he said, "just makin' sure it's still broken, that's all." His hair was getting long; black curls threatened to poke out from behind his ears. His giant brown eyes met mine, attempting to alleviate my anger.

"Don't touch that damn thing," I said. "You're gonna make it worse, and Ezzie ain't here to fix it no more."

A look of bemusement drew Ro's eyebrows together in the center of his forehead. His nose scrunched. "Where'd she go?"

"It don't matter," I said quickly, running a hand over my face.

"Well where is she?" he repeated, sounding concerned.

"None of your business," I insisted. I sat down next to him, cot creaking underneath me. I was looking down at my kneecaps, hugging Ro's shoulders with one arm. "You oughta get a haircut, man," I told him. "Before people start mistaking you for Bryce Harper."

A smile crept its way onto his lips. "I love Bryce Harper!"

I quirked an eyebrow, grinning back. "You like baseball, huh?"

He nodded vigorously, and started rambling off a monologue. "I used to play T-ball and Farm League, and my coach always said how good my arm was, and I liked bein' catcher 'cause I was the only one who could throw from home to second! Even though it was Farm League, so the runner ain't out, even if you throw it and the second base catches it and there's a force-out." He cleared his throat, scratching his scalp. "But I dunno. Coach P. liked to put me at short. Prolly 'cause I'm short." He shrugged at this, like this was the best explanation he could think of, and then continued. "Anyway, the Nationals are my favorite team!"

I was speechless and had lost my breath by the end of his spiel. His lungs were empty, but he gulped in some air and, bright-eyed, asked me if I played baseball.

When I got my bearings, my eyes grew and I replied, "Well, hell yeah I do. Bet I like it more than you."

He shook his head. "Nope. It's my favorite sport. Basketball's my favorite sport, too."

It was something Chris would say. As if a person could have two favorite sports.

I glanced at my watch. I should've gathered the rest of my search group and left by now. I'd said goodbye to Chris almost a half hour ago. People were probably wondering where I was.

Ro was trying to keep my attention, and swiveled his head around in an fierce attempt to make eye contact. "What position d'you play?" he was asking me intently.

"Only the best," I told him. "First base."

"That why Chris calls you Gehrig?" Ro asked me, as if he'd come to some existential realization.

"Yup." Then, not able to help it, "Chris plays short."

"Was he good?" he demanded. "Were you good?"

"Are good," I told him. "He's got an arm like Rivera and a glove like duct tape, I swear." I blew out some air, shaking my head with a hint of a smile. "All I got's the stretch." Then I reached over and squeezed his healthy arm with my right hand. "Listen, Ro." He glanced at me, almost indifferently, like nothing I could have said would have changed anything between us.

I paused, and then spoke all at once.

"While I'm gone, Chris is gonna look after you, aright?"

His brow furrowed in that innocent, urgent-searching and bewildered way. "Where you goin' off to?"

I looked in his eye, trying to explain without explaining. "Some people--some people've been taken. And I gotta go get 'em back."

"Taken?" he questioned, voice panicky. "Y'mean like, kidnapped?"

I nodded at him, and whispered, "Somethin' like that, yeah."

"What if you get hurt?" Ro asked insistently. "This ain't a good idea. It's too dangerous."

"Well, it don't matter. If Batman was too afraid to fight crime, how d'you think the people of Gotham would be safe?"

Ro contemplated this for awhile, and then seemed to be satisfied with the case I'd made, because he nodded dutifully. I reached up and ruffled his hair. Then I stood to my feet, straightening my baseball cap. "You be good," I told him. "Do what Chris tells you. He's a good guy, but you gotta watch for his self-mutilation spells, aright?"

"Huh?" Ro asked, face screwing up. "What's that?"

"I dunno," I told him, "he gets all in his head sometimes. Psychs himself out." Figuring he'd do better if he had a responsibility to tend to, I told him, "Take care of him. He'll do right by you. Don't disobey him, or I'll have somethin' to say about it when I get back. Hey." I bent down until the two of us were eye to eye. "I'm trustin' you," I told him. I jabbed him in the good shoulder and stood back to my feet.

He nodded, a bit sadly.

"Make sure to come back," he told me as I walked out of the tent. I gave him a salute before continuing on my way. Before I was gone, I heard him whisper to himself. "Please, make sure to come back," he murmured.

--

When I finally arrived at one of the cabins at the edge of the village, I was confronted immediately by Saph. The six people in my search crew were supposed to rendezvous there. Everybody was prepping for the journey, suiting up and tossing a few last-resort items into their backpacks. I hoped they didn't pack too heavy. I never packed heavy; I've always been used to carrying the bare necessities and nothing else. Not that I travelled much. Maybe that was why.

"I'm going too," Saph asserted, accent ringing in my ears. She was wearing torn jean shorts and a purple tank-top. I think I stared at her chest for too long, because she crossed her arms. She tossed a mango pit into the grass. "I dunno if they told you."

"It ain't up to me who's going and who's not," I told her. "But you ain't on the list. That guy. Eddie. He made up lists of who volunteered, and who was in whose group. You ain't in mine." I shrugged one shoulder.

"They must have forgot to put me on the list," she said. She looked at me earnestly. Those eyes were blue globes; I couldn't look deep enough. "I don't want to be in anyone else's group."

"Someone's gonna give me shit about this," I told her, grinning, "but okay." We were walking into the woods now; I was designated the leader as per Chris's request, but it sure wasn't going down that way. I didn't mind; I'd always been more used to being the sidekick, anyway. Sure, Chris and I had always been partners. But there could never be more than one mastermind; never more than one King; never more than one hero, and I had mostly come to accept that.

"Lou." I couldn't shake the dream I was having. I sank deeper into my pillow until I was up to my ears; it felt like I was underwater. "Lou," she repeated. The feel of her lips brushing my ear lobe startled me awake. I jolted up to my elbow.

There she was; in my bed.

The sheets were twisted around her torso; her lips were chapped and hair tousled; skin unblemished and naked next to me. She sucked in her lips until I could barely see them, brown eyes closing with a furtive sigh. I felt a twang of regret. It hurt me worse than anything.

She opened her eyes, staring into mine. "Are you awake?" she asked me.

"I dunno," I said. "Am I dreaming?"

A hint of a smile ghosted over her lips. "No, you're not."

I didn't know whether to feel relieved, or so sick I could throw up last night's dinner. She watched me as I sat up, bare-chested, and rubbed my eyes like my palms could erase what I'd seen and what I'd done. I was laying in bed with the girl I loved, and yet all I could think about was how I betrayed my best friend.

"We can't tell anybody," she told me earnestly, eyes unblinking and filled with emotion I couldn't place.

"I know," I told her, because I did. Then, quietly, "Do you love me?"

Her eyes flipped shut again. She exhaled and sank onto her back, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. She tangled her hands in her hair and then ran them over her cheeks. I could see that she suffered. I could see that she was in pain. I could see that she shared my guilt for what we'd done.

"I don't know," she told me. I tried to suppress the stomachache; the giant lump that had lodged itself in my throat. She asked me something after that; her voice was always soft and silky and beautiful. She almost sounded concerned when she looked me in the eye and asked, "Do you?"

I was inclined to lie for the sake of preventing further anguish, but I was never a good liar. "Yes."

She was a crier; I knew that and it was a detail you couldn't forget; the creases in her cheeks were meant for tears. There were valleys carved into her face where the rivers had run. The tears came now, scalding hot under my fingertips. "I love Chris," she told me.

If you love Chris, then why'd you sleep with me?

She started to cry harder. I couldn't bear it. My stomach turned like a windmill. I stood to my feet, fumbling in the dark for my pants.

"Me too," I told her, "but I love you more."

I went in to shower, and she watched me disappear behind the door. I wondered if she'd ever want to take back the words she'd said.

I wanted to take back everything.


Saph's cheeks were pink; I had no idea whether it was a blush or a sunburn. "So, I've been meaning to ask you," she started. "You said you'd ask Chris why he calls me Blue, and if he knew me before." She wrung her hands together. "Have you--?"

Damn. "I was meanin' to," I told her. "I even started to ask him. But y'know how he is with changing the subject. I'll try to catch him when we get back, aright?"

"No, that's fine," she said. "I just didn't know, that's all." She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. I realized then that we'd already hiked deep into the jungle. The trees quivered in the wind, and the underbrush ruffled eerily to the breeze. It was early morning, and yet the thick copses of vines and birch trunks made it seem eerie and dark.

"I guess this's where it starts to get interesting," I ruminated.

Spoiler! :
@Basil I finally wrote for Lou; hopefully this is okay & gives you something to write about. :)
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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passenger says...



Chris


I couldn't stop thinking about the day Laska and I kissed in the rain. The day after Ree died. I couldn't stop wondering whether or not my bubblegum was still in her shorts' pocket.

I couldn't think anymore. I was cold all the time, even when the sun was up and scorching at midday. I missed her more than I thought I could miss another person. I pretended like everything was fine without her. I was good at pretending. But God, I wanted to kiss her so bad I was beside myself.

I thought that if she suddenly appeared right then, I'd literally consume her until there was nothing of her left.

There was nothing else I wanted except her.

It was funny. Last week, all I wanted was for Lou to be alive. A month before that, I only wanted to protect Ree.

I guess we always wanted something.

"This one o' those spells?"

I turned my head halfway, seeing a small figure in my periphery. The little boy was leaning against the doorframe, right hand fidgeting with a leaf stem. I couldn't think of his name.

"What're you on about?" I asked. I didn't make eye contact, just stared straight ahead at the wall. Caked mud peeled and crumbled in withering flakes. I watched it fall to the floor.

"Lou says you got spells," he clarified, "where you get all in your head. That's what he said. Somethin' about cell mutations, and you being a psycho. I dunno." He shrugged a shoulder and seemed embarrassed to have mentioned it at all.

"I don't got spells," I told him stonily. I tossed a handful of clay passively to the floor. "I got ninety-nine problems, but spells ain't one." Then I laughed a little--more of a quick exhale through my nose--which seemed to puzzle him. It wasn't right for the mood. But he was unafraid, and cautiously stumbled closer. He stood about five feet from me. I was flexing and un-flexing the muscles in my forearm, eyes fixed downwards.

"I heard your sister's dead," he said. His eyes cast to the ground, and he wiped a hand over his nose. "My brother's dead, too."

"So we both got dead people," I told him, hardly amused and not in the mood for sympathy. "Glad we found something in common."

At this, he looked stunned, and began to retreat towards the door. An unspeakable look of pain distorted his expression. Guilt struck my chest.

"Look, RJ, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't know--" I shook my head. "Look, I'm just not too keen on sob stories right now, you get it?"

"My name's Ro," he snapped, and looked about to break out in tears. "And it don't matter. You ain't gotta be sorry for nothing." He hiccuped a little, and then spun around, fleeing from the tent. As he left, I heard him say something about me; how Lou said I'd care for him and that all he had to do was speak up and know when to listen.

Guess Lou didn't tell him I was a selfish bastard. Or that there were times when I could make Midas look like a saint.

--

I slept for fifteen hours that night, and woke in the same position I'd winked out in. I was laying flat on my back in the cabin, sleepy-eyed and warm all over. It was the longest I'd slept since we'd been on the island. There was a crick in my neck--I could feel the ache blossoming behind my shoulder blade. My face felt ashy.

I looked around; the sky was bright, brighter than I remembered it being. I didn't want to get up.

Suddenly, as if an apparition, a person was standing over me. I squinted in the sunlight. Dark curls spilled over her cheeks, and she smiled at me. Her eyes were wet. I couldn't quite see her, but my breath hitched in my throat, because the only person it could be was her.

"Tex?" I felt my mouth move with the words, but nothing came out.

"Hey, baby," she said.

"How--how did you--" I tried, but I couldn't speak right. My throat was raw. She lowered herself till she was above me, one knee straddled over each side of me. Her hands reached down to my chest. I could feel her on top of me, and my lips burned for hers. But I couldn't move. I tried, but I couldn't. My arms were stuck. I strained to raise my head, but it was too heavy. A distressed sound escaped my lips. The world was spinning. "Tex," I whispered.

I saw that she was crying; tears sticking to her wavering cheeks and then being shook loose. She leaned her head towards mine.

My eyes blinked open.

God, I must've been dreaming, was the first thing I thought to myself. I was laying on my back. I'd fallen asleep fifteen hours ago. It was the longest I'd slept since we'd been on the island.

I looked for her, eyes sweeping desperately, but I knew she had never been there in the first place. My cheeks were damp. My heart was broken.

It took me a second to realize that Ro had punched me awake, right in my kneecap. His head was blocking out the sunlight, his nose was pinched and brown eyes were like two dilating disks. "You were dreaming," he told me, as if I didn't know.

"No shit," I said.

Today, he seemed unfazed by my bluntness. "You were crying," he told me, and then stammered. "I mean, not much, but the only person I'd ever seen cry like that's my brother. Not that he cried much. Only after Aunt Kim died. I woke you up because I thought you were havin' one of those bad dreams."

"I wasn't crying," I argued, real low.

"Well," he said, shrugging as if he was going to drop it, "whatever." He scuffed his foot at the ground, lingering in the cabin. I sat up in bed, a jolt of pain pulsing in my neck. Barely felt my ribs today. I ruffled my hair.

"What was the dream about?" he asked. I could tell he really wanted to know.

"I dunno," I said. "A girl."

"Oh," he intoned, glancing awkwardly down at his sneakers. "Sorry I woke you up," he mumbled.

"It's alright."

"Who was the girl?" he asked. I'd forgotten that little kids had so much curiosity.

"The girl I'm in love with," I told him.

"Then why were you crying?"

"I wasn't cryin'."

Ro shrugged for the second time. I bent over and pulled my T-shirt over my head. I unzipped my duffel and rifled through my possessions. All I found was a baseball cap, my Packers jacket, and an extra pair of sneakers. I dug around a bit more before I realized that I had no more clothes. Ro suddenly looked over at me, cradling his bad arm. His eyes went wide. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "You got a lot of muscles."

I was just glad he let the dream thing be. "If you play football, you get muscles," I told him, like he was looking for a verbal cause-and-effect diagram.

"I've played football before," Ro piped up. "In the PeeWee league."

I laughed, cheek crinkling. "Not really the same as what I do," I told him. "But I started out in the PeeWee league, too, so no beef."

He was staring at my stomach. I strode past him and out the door, making my way towards the Supplies Tent. Ro's eyes moved with me before his feet remembered to follow. "Hey!" he called, catching up to me. "D'you think that maybe once we get back, you can come to a few of my games?"

Once we get back. I didn't want to suffocate his optimism, so I nodded and tousled his hair. "Sure," I said, winking, "You got it, Kaepernick."

I threw on a red flannel I found hanging on the clothesline, leaving it unbuttoned. I took a fresh pair of jeans back to the cabin and changed quickly. Ro plodded along at my heels, talking about his friends on the PeeWee team. He was the tight-end, but yes, of course he wanted to play quarterback, and no, there wasn't anybody he couldn't beat in a foot race, except for maybe Joel, who was QB1.

"Why're you gettin' dressed up?" he asked. I guess he'd seen me around everyday in the same white T and Adidas shorts.

"Because," I told him, "You and me are gonna go looking for my girl."

Spoiler! :
HI FRIENDS.
I WROTE, AND NOW YOU HAVE TO WRITE.
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Tue Dec 06, 2016 4:20 pm
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Ciblio says...



Alaska


i stumbled through the brush, knees weak palms are sweaty. there's no vomit on my sweater already (i'm not wearing a sweater), i wish i had spaghetti.

these woods were foreign and closed up, unlike the part of the woods the village was in. here i had no idea where i was. i couldn't make out shapes in the distance because, even with the sun in the sky, the canopy of treetops made it nighttime.

the crickets yelled at me to get moving.

i was so alone and distraught, and christopher atticus mahoney's name was still stuck in my head, but all i could see when i closed my eyes was black. which would be okay, if it wasn't shadowed by motherless dreams and toothless men nightmares.

"i'm a jamaican princess, starving and cold," i'm laughing, "here is my noodle arm and here is my hungry mouth."

i couldn't remember how the original song went, so i just made lyrics up to the tune. don't fucking judge me.

my mind traveled to this morning, when i woke up in these woods. this morning, to when i made the assumption that i was violated.

last night, when i fell asleep with ezra and my niece/nephew laying on my lap. how dare i go to sleep? how dare i not keep guard?

bad things happen when you close your eyes.

when i blinked, toothless would be drooling over me, his saliva bypassing 1/4 of his crooked teeth and going straight from his mouth to my face. his body would be gone seconds later, when i blinked again. every time i closed my eyes he would reappear, inching closer each time, until his hologram would reset and continue to loop.

i'd been wandering around for hours and i've yet to see a human. did the apocalypse start without me? where was i? what happened? i want some pizza really bad.

i was a miserable human being. i just wanted christopher atticus mahoney but he wasn't here and i had no way of getting to him. i was going to die in these woods. i could feel it in my bones. i could only hope that my time was near.

seconds later, a twig snapped. i jinxed myself. my imagination went crazy, concocting the image of a terrifying predator:

an alien, ten feet tall with fangs and purple ooze draining from between it's thick lips. it's ribs were showing through it's bluish-green skin, and four eyes stared at me with hunger and lonesomeness. i could already see the scene playing out.

another twig snapped. i sailed behind a bush, immediately regretting doing so after pain enveloped my right leg (mr. charred).

i howled quietly, shaking with adrenaline and fear. and also pain.

"ay, pricked my damn finger," the voice growled, almost animal-like. it was a familiar voice. i moved my foot, leaves crunching under my weight.

then everything was quiet. the only thing i could hear was my labored breathing. had the person gone? was i alone again? it was like this for several seconds.

"i can smell ya," the voice erupted again, near me. "yer hurt."

"hurt isn't my favorite scent," i laughed, my heart slowly down rapidly. i just felt giddy now, not scared of who this person was. "would you happen to have any cologne?"

a split second later i was being lifted from my feet and held towards the sky. the man was tall, buff, dark, and fugly. granted, every guy was fugly to me now that i had the most handsome guy on the planet in love with me. yeah, that's right. matthew gray gubler's in love with me. get over it, bitch.

"fresh out," he scoffed, his eyebrows furrowing. "arizona?"

i rolled my eyes, "texas."

"your name starts with an 'a', i remember," he growled.

"jesus, are you an animal?"

"are you retarded?"

"i was dropped on my head a couple times."

"yeah that's not the problem here."

"who are you?"

"carlisle," he answered seconds later, his eyes glinted in the dark. "and you don't belong here."

************

"you don't belong here," was the last thing i heard before i was knocked out. or i passed out. or, i don't know. but when i came to, it was pitch black and i was laying against a hairy, sweaty chest and it was disgusting.

"who da fuck?" i scramble off of them and leap to my feet, "what kinda animal are you?"

there was a heavy sigh, as if the thing (or person, who knows-- not me) had been dealing with this type of behavior for awhile. after a moment a husky voice said, "a, please sit down. you're very hurt right now."

"bitch please," my entire body hurt, but i didn't want to admit it, "b-t-dubs, what kinda animal talks?"

"i'm a human," he scowled, "and you're an idiot. sit down before you pass out again."

i was going to continue standing, but the trees were spinning around me and i couldn't think straight, so i dropped to the forest floor instantly.

it felt like ten hours before the silence was broken:

"how in the bloody hell did you get out here, woman?" he spoke, his words soft but curious. he wasn't angry-- honestly, he sounded slightly confused.

"what do you mean? it's just a part of the forest. if you walk far enough you end up here." i lied through my leaf-brushed teeth.

the outline of his head shakes in the dark, "no. no, it's not that simple. there's only one way to get here, and you're nowhere near capable of taking that route."

i shrug, not wanting to continue this conversation. i was just going to play it off like i stumbled here after getting lost while scavenging, "i don't know."

"yes, you do," he pressed, "a, you were kidnapped, right?"

i looked at him, my expression dropping into a frown.

"so where's your kidnapper?"

my fingers trembled, my mind forcing a flashback to the murky place we were forced to sleep in.

"where's the doc-- ezra? the pregnant one?"

to when her head was laying on my lap, and the guard stared at us hungrily until we fell asleep.

"what happened, a? what happened there? how did you get here?"

"i don't know. please. i don't know, i don't know, i don't know," i shove my face into my bare knees, "please shut up, i can't hear my thoughts."

he was quiet for a moment, but then said, "we need to get back. chris is desperate to find you and her. they've had search parties out all day."

i shake my head. i couldn't face him-- chris-- after i was disgraced. i couldn't look him in the eyes and tell him i was okay, because i wasn't. i'm not. i couldn't tell him what happened.

"you have to go back."

"i can't," i cry, "and if you make me, i swear i will never forgive you. i'll...i'll run away."

"you need help, a," he said cautiously, standing up slowly from his perch, "help that i can't give you, okay?"

“i can’t tell him,” i whimper, “i can’t, okay?”

“what happened?” i couldn’t see his lips moving, “i won’t tell him. i promise.”

my head was shaking vigorously before i could even open my mouth. i shut my eyes tight, and as soon as i did the man’s face appeared. he was grinning that toothless grin, his greasy hair stuck to him forehead as if it’d grown into it. his body hovering over mine, somewhere a little farther away i could hear the screams of my best friend-- ezra dexter.

“please,” she’d been begging, “please leave her alone. she doesn’t deserve this. she doesn’t deserve this. take me. take me. please, oh my god no.”

“don’t worry,” his slimy voice laughed, “i’ll take care of all your problems.”

no. no. until now, it was just an assumption that i’d been-


my cheeks were wet when i opened my eyes back. carlisle was staring at me with wide eyes, his lips moving as if he were speaking. i couldn’t hear anything. i didn’t want to hear anything.

it seemed as if minutes turned into hours and alien’s lurked behind bushes, and just when i thought i’d tell carlisle what happened, things were blurry. my mind spun, and every time i blinked things got darker. i felt hot, as if i were sitting in front of a heater or a wood burning stove. i wish i was.

for some reason it felt hard to breathe, and i heard carlisle say something like, “sure doing up the stock,” which didn’t make sense but i nodded like it did so i wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Everything went pitch black after i blinked again.

**********

my body was sore. violated. ruined.

“you’d be a good keep,” toothless grinned down at me, as he yanked up his ragged jeans. They must’ve been older than him. “i had a good time, did you?”

“you disgust me,” i spit at his feet, curling myself up into a ball, “you're a pig."

he merely laughed, as if i'd told him a joke.

i was the joke.

"you have three minutes to say goodbye," he chuckled before leaving.

say goodbye? to who?

ezra stumbled in seconds later, tears running down her cheeks. she held her stomach as she ran towards me, and i simply held onto her as she stroked my hair and apologized a million times.

"are you okay?" she asked, her voice quivering. "alaska? i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i begging them not to touch you."

was i saying goodbye to ezra?

"they-they told me that i would never see you a-again," she cried. ezra was tough. i'd only seen her cry a couple of times. her tears were the only thing leading me to believe this wasn't a dream. "i-i don't know if-"

"times up," the man in the sundress burst in, his eyes wild and yellow teeth glinting in the dim lighting, "get the fuck away from each other."

"now, now," greg came in, his smile pleasant, "give them a second-- they at least deserve that, right?"

the wanna-be-tranny nodded reluctantly, and stepped back.

"now, hopefully if we just help you go to sleep, alaska, then you won't remember much of this. how nice of us, right?"

my body shook with anger. i was completely naked, and these bastards still wanted to believe that they were doing me- us a favor.

"we only want the best for you," greg clasped his hands together in front of him. "which is why we need to let you go, alaska. we fear you'll be a little too much work once our child comes along."

"your-" he was grinning. he was trying to get under my skin. and he was. "you're all fucking disgusting. do you really think you're going to get away with this? do you really think we won't find you-?"

"we?" greg laughed. "honey, where you're going...there will never be a 'we' again."


***********

"...told her she...in shock, yes," a voice was saying distantly, "...from the trauma...been out since she got...about four hours..."

my entire body hurt. i flicked my eyes open, and the familiar brown ceiling was above me.

no.

"go check on her, will you?" that was a familiar voice.

the leaf-door opened to reveal a tanned saph. her eyes lit up once they met my own, and she turned quickly to tell whoever was outside that i was awake.

"yes, yes, i'm sure," she pressed, shoving the tent flap back open, "see?"

eddie stared down at me, his eyes dark and sad. he got on his knees and began to ask how i was feeling and what all happened.

and i told him. i couldn't keep it in. of course, he made saph leave once i opened my mouth. she said she'd go and get fruits.

i told him about the night before last, when we were kidnapped. i told him what they made us do and how they talked to us. i told him about how i was raped and belittled and how they tried to kill me by taking me into the depths of the other side of the island. i even told him about waking up this morning, and about not remembering anything that had happened before they abandoned me.

"how do you know- you know- you were..." he didn't finish.

i closed my eyes, imagining the mans face, "it came back to me."

he nodded, then said, "i'm so sorry."

"why?" i sit up, even though every inch of my body begged me not to, "why? you couldn't do anything about it. you couldn't-"

the door opened suddenly, and saph's eyes were bright as she said, "they're back. the search parties-- and chris."

"no, wait," i grabbed eddie's arm as he stood, "please. please don't tell him."

his eyes were filled with sympathy as he nodded, then left the tent.

i didn't want to see chris. i didn't want to talk to him. i didn't want to disappoint him or disgust him by telling him i'd been violated.

i didn't want him to feel like i did. i was alone for another minute before the sound of footsteps approached very quickly, then the doors were open and he was there.

chris.

Spoiler! :
intro was pretty good right ??? ;)
probably should've made things go slower, but i was eager to post everything that was going on in my mind.
so here you go.
@passenger if there's anything wrong with it let me know, okay? sorry it took so long to get up!
'we have lingered in the chambers of the sea /
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown /
till human voices wake us, and we drown'



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Mon Dec 12, 2016 10:02 pm
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passenger says...



Chris


"Y'only got two days till tryouts, Burton," I panted, spreading my arms in a defensive stance. "Better step up that mess y'call your game." Lance Burton attempted a crossover and I slapped it away, leaping in long strides and taking the ball up to the hoop. I might as well have dunked it. Then I aired out the neck of my shirt, laughing.

Burton shook his head, mouth twisting in frustration. I clapped him between the shoulder blades, telling him he'd get me next time, and then I left the court. Gehrig was sitting at the lunch table, squeezing ketchup onto his chicken patty. I joined him.

"Hey," I said, "you been watchin' me kick ass?"

Lou didn't look at me, and then said, "'Bout to watch your ass get kicked."

"Why's that?" I asked, eyes alive, still trying to catch my breath.

"'Cause," he mumbled. "You know why."

I racked my brain for anything I might have done in the past few days to piss off any of my friends or teammates. I was about to blame my faulty memory when my eyebrow rose in realization. "Oh," I said, "You mean Sandy Curtis?"

With his mouth full, Lou said, "You bet your ass I mean Sandy Curtis."

I couldn't fight a smile, and I plucked a french fry from Lou's tray. Instead of laughing along with me, aggravation crept into his expression. "Maybe if you quit fuckin' around with other peoples' girls, I wouldn't have to play Robin when you got beat up in the parking lot."

I frowned. Something about his audacity to lecture me flipped a switch. "I can handle myself," I barked. "I'm not a damsel in distress."

"That black eye healed yet?" he asked. I felt my temple, where the skin was still a bit swollen. He was right; five against one never ended up well. I did much better when I had my brother fighting at my side.

I sat back in my seat, deflating, eyes finding the table. "Ain't my fault, y'know," I murmured. "Maybe I'd cut it out if everybody I loved wasn't taken away."

I meant Dad and Robbie. Lou said, "Don't be dramatic," but slid his whole plate of french fries across the table.


Ro had me believing he only had four toes on his right foot (a defect he'd been born with), before I insisted he take off his shoe and he collapsed into a fit of giggles. I called him a natural liar, just like me, and said that he should practice shooting at a dummy in his free time so someday he could become a secret agent. "That's always what I wanted to be," I told him. "James Bond."

It turns out, he'd watched one of the movies. I could rant for hours, but I let him spew off about his favorite action films as I led the way through the underbrush, lifting branches until he'd walked underneath my arm so the leaves wouldn't smack him in the face.

I was just glad he had his mind off the task at hand.

I must've been quiet for too long, because he said, "We're not gonna be out too long, right? It's not gonna get dark while we're out here, is it?"

"Nah," I said. My confidence must have assured him. He picked up a stick and prodded at the ground.

Suddenly, we heard a rustle coming from the trees. My heart sped up, and I took the stick from Ro's hand, wielding it like a sword. "Come out and I'll rip y'all a new one!" I hollered.

"Yeah," Ro screamed, tearing a small branch from the dead tree to his left, "Show yourself, you motherfuckers!"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

Just then, we heard "Ro?" accompanied by more rustling before Louis came from behind the trees. He maintained a look of momentary confusion before his gaze landed on me. His face turned hard. Trailing him was a group of people; his search crew. Blue was standing behind him, staring at me over his shoulder. Lou gestured to the rest of his group that everything was fine, and then he made his way over to us.

"Lou!" Ro exclaimed, sheepishly wrapping his arm around his waist. Lou hugged back.

"Watch that mouth o' yours," Lou told him, to which Ro stuck out his tongue, which elicited a knee in the butt from Lou. After Lou had finished reprimanding Ro, he turned to me, yanking me in by the neck of my shirt. Not one to be pulled around, I grabbed him back. "What are you doing?" he hissed in my ear. "I thought you were staying put."

"I thought so too," I mumbled. "Guess I can't control myself."

Lou shook me off, almost unsurprised, mouth settling in a frown. He shook his head disappointedly and marched away towards the rest of his group. "Don't act like you call the shots," I added to his back, feeling my stomach turn. After I said it, I almost couldn't believe I had. I saw Lou's shoulders tense.

Then he turned around, muttering, "Then don't act like you can take care of a kid," he said, fire flicking in his eyes, before he snapped his head back around, telling his group that they should finish heading back to camp before the sun set.

I was still in shock, jaw locked, mouth slightly agape. He'd never acted that way towards me before. Things were just fine. Ro was okay. All I wanted was to find my girl. What was wrong with that?

Lou suggested that Blue take Ro back to camp so the rest of us could retrace the long route in case there was any evidence we'd missed. Some guy whose name was Rufus or Ryan loudly agreed, taking off in a stomp through the jungle. My eyes wandered to where Ro was now rambling off to Blue, undeterred by the change in plans. Blue had her hand resting on his shoulder. She said something about the constellations.

Lou was waiting up for me. "C'mon," he said finally. I spit at the ground and then strode briskly past him. Lacking any invigoration, I took a place at the front beside Ryan or Rufus, asking him whether or not they'd found anything.

--

We got back late; Lou's watch read 9 o'clock. The group of us trudged into camp, exhausted. The houses almost seemed to wear in shadows, purple sky hanging over the trees whose branches warped in the heavy breeze. The wind was cold on my neck, and I shivered, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

I was thinking about buttoning my shirt to keep the chill out, but no sooner had my hand rose to my collar than a figure ran towards me, as if unsure whether he really wanted to approach me. It was a boy, and as he got closer, I caught sight of his shaggy dark hair. "Ed," I deadpanned. I was tired, and wasn't up for listening to Eddie's qualms about the food count.

"Chris," he said, panting a little. I ruffled my hair; it was getting a little long on top. We met each other halfway down the cobblestone walkway. He caught his breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He hesitated, then admitted, "She's back. Alaska. She's back."

What?

I froze, stone-cold, heart hammering. "Huh?" I stammered, "What--who--?" I couldn't control myself, blood rushing to my head so quickly I thought I'd pass out. My hand rose to my chest, clutching at my shirt like I could slow the beating of my heart.

"Carlisle found her in the forest," Eddie relayed. He refused to look me in the eye. "He brought her back a few hours ago. She just woke up." My legs felt like they had never walked before, and my knees almost locked up as I took off in a jog towards the Med Tent. "She doesn't want to see you," Eddie called after me.

There was a hitch in my step, but the idea of her not wanting to see me seemed ridiculous, so I continued down the path. I shouldered through the open door, eyes searching for her. Searching, searching, searching.

Then I saw Laska. Curled up in the corner, dressed in nothing but her underwear, shivering with cold or with her sobs or with both, and God, it broke my heart.

She wouldn't glance up when I came in, and kept her eyes shielded in the crook of her elbow. There were bruises on her legs, between her thighs, up and down her arms. At the thought of the people who must have humiliated her--may have hurt her--anger coursed through my veins. I hurriedly took a few steps towards the corner of the room, where she must have left the Packers sweatshirt I'd lent her before she'd come down with a fever. I handed it to her.

After a long moment of hesitation, she took it and turned away from me, like she didn't want me to see her. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head; slowly and weakly. A whimper escaped her lips. When she'd finished, she stood still, facing the wall in front of her. She had her hands up near to her face, but I couldn't tell if it was because she was covering her mouth or what.

"Aw, baby," I said, "Jesus, Tex." I didn't even know what what coming out of my mouth. I took a step towards her. "I missed you like hell." She flinched away from me, but I wrapped her up anyway. For some reason she panicked at my touch, shrugging out of my arms. "What's wrong?" I asked her, but I was confused. I hugged her tighter, and she tried desperately to jerk away from my grip. "Tex," I said. She kept struggling. The back of her head smacked against my chin. "Alaska!"

I let her go, and in her efforts to escape she elbowed me in the gut. I recoiled. She broke down, sobbing into her hands. Her eyes blinked out from the film of dirt that coated her face, and her curls were wild. I stared at her, ribs aching something awful, at loss for what to do.

Just then, Eddie barreled through the open doorway, eyes flicking between us. "I heard yelling," he said in our silence. Then he turned to me. "What did you do?"

I turned to face him, squaring my shoulders. We were nose to nose. "What the hell happened to her?" I asked him, voice low.

Gently, Eddie took my arm and led me out of the tent. He let the makeshift door flop shut behind him. The breeze had gotten stronger. It stung my cheeks. I clenched and unclenched my fists.

"It's not my place to tell you what happened, Chris."

I stared at him, clenching and unclenching my fists.

"I'm gonna go get her some blankets," I said flatly. I walked away, biting my tongue so hard I could taste blood; so hard I worried that I'd bitten it in two. My throat burned, flames licking up my esophagus; chest clogged like someone was sticking their fist down through my mouth.

I walked purposefully into the Supplies Tent, shoulders trembling. Once inside, I got so many blankets I could barely hold them all at once.

Then I walked back towards the Med tent, hoping to God I'd make it there without breaking.

Spoiler! :
will he hold it together??? next on indigena 2.0
@Ciblio I figured laska would be having some ptsd of sorts
if not just lemme know and I'll rewrite :)
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Ciblio says...



christopher atticus friggin' mahoney's soulmate (a.k.a. tex)

when chris left the tent i collapsed onto the cot next to me, sobbing because he didn't know. he didn't know and that is why he was in here. he didn't know and that was why he touched me and that is why i pushed him away...because if he can't protect himself, i'll have to do it.

my entire body ached as i laid there. i sobbed but no tears came out, because i already cried all i could. all that was left was the hollow feeling inside of my chest. even though my cheeks stayed dry and my eyes only squeezed shut to keep the darkness in, i had the same feeling I usually got when I was in pain. when I was releasing my frustrations through emotions.

i was mourning myself with chapped lips.

"baby-" his voice had returned. i curled into myself, my hollow sobs echoing throughout the entire galaxy. he sounded broken-- he didn't even know the half of it. "baby-- tex, i brought you some-some blankets."

i did this to him. he was already hurt and he didn't even know what happened yet. he can't know. i couldn't imagine what would happen if he found out.

"please...please talk to me, alaska," he was whispering but his voice screamed in my ears. "please tell me what happened."

nothing. nothing happened, yet everything happened. my entire world was ruined, destroyed, sabotaged by a man with four remaining teeth and a receding hairline.

it was only until now, that i paid attention to my body. everything was in pain. the side that i was laying on burned from the bruises and cuts i was putting pressure on. my thighs throbbed and my stomach churned unhappily.

i wish i was dying.

if my mother were alive she would be ashamed of me. touched by a man i was not in love with? how dare i? how dare i be raped? how dare i be forced to have sex with that old pig? how dare i not have a fucking choice? she would disown me.

his voice was gone but i felt his presence, on the bed. he was close to me and i didn't want him to be. i didn't want him near me because i knew...i knew he would be disgusted, if he knew what happened.

he was the love of my life but he wouldn't feel the same if i told him.

i just wanted acceptance. i just wanted it to go back to how it was a week ago. a month ago. a year ago.

i just wanted to watch fundamentals of caring and laugh as paul rudd pretended he lost trevor's medicine that kept him alive.

i just wanted to be in bed, with paynt curled up to my side at 2 am because he had a nightmare about losing mom.

i just wish i'd never met christopher atticus mahoney because all i did was fail him.

i squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists together, imagining what it would be like if i'd never gone on the trip. i would be home, happy. i would be with my father and brother and i'd be having nightmares every night, every single one the same.

every time i closed my eyes my mom would be there, laying on the floor, reaching out to me, gasping for help. and then she would be silent. limp. i would try to hug her, get her to stand up, make her open her eyes. and she wouldn't.

i had my chance to save her. i could've gotten help. but i sat there, staring at her, my fingers digging into my palm as death stole her last breaths of air.

then i would wake up.

i thought about how morrie died, his last breath and memories focused on his family. i thought about will grayson and will grayson and how they found who and what made then happy and free. thought about westley and buttercup, and how they finally got to be together.

i thought about alaska, from 'looking for alaska', and how she died. how she swerved into that truck, how her last breath reeked of booze and colgate tooth paste. i wondered what her last words were. who was on her mind. i thought about how she left miles behind and ruined his life by killing herself.

i thought about how miles blamed himself, because he knew she was drunk. he knew she was up to no good. he knew what had happened.

and he still lit the fireworks. he still let her go, because he loved her. he wanted her.

i thought about my last words, and what they would be. i thought about where i would be, who i would be with, what i would say. i thought-

my eyes snapped open as my body suddenly constricted. pain shot everywhere, and it felt like a hand cramp or foot cramp...but everywhere, and more painful. i couldn't just shake myself and make it go away.

i curled into myself, my fingers digging into my palm. i could've saved my mom.

everything hurt. i felt nothing, but i knew it. i knew i was in pain, mentally and physically. and what hurt even more is that the love on my life was right across from me, and knew nothing. did not know i was suffering-- although he would probably freak if i cried out.

but i didn't want to.

i didn't want him to touch me, to be near me, to speak to me. because i knew he would appreciate that in the future, when he found out what happened. i knew he wouldn't want anything to do with me when he found out i was a disappointment. that i'd given up.

that i'd fallen asleep that night and woken up in the woods, in pain.

raped. beaten. bruised. clawed. naked.

an embarrassment, honestly.

i knew he would hate me.

my body went limp, and i fell asleep in pain with the darkness as my blanket.

two seconds later, i opened my eyes and the sun was out. my mouth tasted of copper and something gross. i was facing the wall and there were voices from behind me.

"how you holding up?" it was eddie.

"i'm-" my soul mate. the man i had to protect. the person who would hate me soon. "i'm okay. she's been sleeping since..."

"yeah, i know," eddie sighed, "it was...she's been...it's tough right now.,"

"i just...i need to know what happened," chris whispered, his voice broken. why? why? why? why are you doing this? why can't you go find someone better than me? "eddie i know--"

"chris," ed stopped him, "please. i can't. i just-- good luck. tell me when she's awake."

i made a mental note to thank eddie later.

the tent flaps flapped shut, and there was a long, drawn out sigh, then, "fuck, this is ridiculous."

what's ridiculous is that you're still wasting your time on me.

what's ridiculous is that i was thinking about how i'd die again.

what if i'd died in the plane, while we were crashing?

i imagined going to heaven, with my mom sitting there waiting for me. god welcoming me with open arms. the angels applauding and greeting me.

all of these guardians smiling at me as a plane full of innocent children crashed to their deaths behind my obnoxious curls.

we didn't come to africa to die.

we didn't come on this trip to fall in love.

we didn't come to be on an episode of 'lost'.

we didn't come here to eat meat and kill our classmates.

we came to explore, go on adventures, expand our knowledge over the country, get in touch with ourselves, meet new characters, and find a new meaning to life.

and what did we get?

mud huts, crazed villagers, tarzan, poisonous berries, blood thirsty monkeys and panthers, starvation, dehydration, misery, rape, death.

"laska, you awake?"

my body clenched, and i knew he could see because the blankets had fallen off of me during the night and all i had on was the packers sweater.

"baby?"

i could've saved my mom. morrie was peaceful. will and will knew what they were doing. westley and buttercup were happy. trevor was alive. alaska was not.

alaska was not.

alaska was not.

alaska was

seizing in pain again. my body curled. my lips moved but i heard nothing except for my heartbeat and the blood rushing through my veins. i felt his hands on me. his warm hands on my arm and upper leg. everything hurt. i was in pain. i couldn't control the involuntary spasm, but i wanted to. i needed to.

i twitched from the pain, my face contorting. through my blurred vision, chris was calling for someone, his eyes red. his lips trembling. he was scared.

alaska just wanted to be with her mom again. so did i.

but his warm hand held me in place until i could hear again.

"i have you," he was saying, "i got you, baby. it's okay, alaska. it's okay. you're okay."

i twitched again, my body relaxing slowly.

"say something, tex," his voice was killing me. "please. anything."

anything?

my eyes rolled in my head, my fingers tingled, my palms were sore, my body destroyed. i was nothing. i was an embarrassment and nothing special but here he was, on his knees, holding me to his chest, begging me to speak to him

pleading for a single word.

asking me.

touching me.

his warm hands--

they were the only solace i had.

"please," i whispered, my hand moving to touch his, "please forgive me. please make it stop. please."

Spoiler! :
hi. i would've had this up awhile ago but laptop messed up and deleted previous post, so...hopefully this one is as good as the first try. idk.

i know there's A LOT of fragments and run-on sentences, but honestly i do not care. kinda just have to get used to it. plus it's 3 am and i don't care to correct anything. i'm also sorry this took so long to post.
if you guys think i should change something, just let me know and i'll take a week to check my notifs and another week to reply to you and then another three years to come and correct my post.

totally kidding. i get distracted in my life very easily. i am so sorry. please forgive me, father, for i have sinned.

goodnight.
'we have lingered in the chambers of the sea /
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown /
till human voices wake us, and we drown'



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Persistence says...



Cello Machiavelli


"Boss?" Joe Robber uttered reluctantly as he entered Cello's cabin. "Hey, boss? Boss?"

Cello stopped tracing the paper with his pencil. He sat at a large wooden desk covered with maps and brochures and travel guidebooks. On one wall rested a taxidermy primate, and on another hung a dead crocodile. A third wall was riddled with weapons: several rifles, two pistols, a crossbow and a slingshot. "What am I doing, Robber?" Cello asked.

Joe raised his brows. "Draw… you're drawing, boss."

"And what is drawing?" Cello asked without lifting up his gaze to meet Joe's.

"It's doing something."

"And what did I say about that?"

"You are not to be disturbed when you are doing something."

Cello smiled and looked up at Joe. "Very good, Robber." He nodded. "See? This is why we get along so well!" His smile faded away in half a second. "Now, if you will close the door from the other side..."

"But boss…"

The tip of Cello's pencil broke under his hand, smudging the newly-started drawing. "Now look what you've made me do. All I want is some privacy, Robber. Can't a man have privacy? Haven't I been nice to you today, Robber? Maybe you don't like it when I'm nice. Maybe I should play a little more rough from now on."

"I'm sorry, boss."

Cello ground his teeth and sighed. "Did you feed her?" he asked and tore the page off to start the drawing anew.

"I did."

"Did you give her enough?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because if I remember correctly, the deal was if she's still hungry, I feed her a part of you. Do you remember our deal?"

"I do, boss."

"Good boy! Now, why did you come and make me break my pencil?"

Joe's hands began to shake. "We have tourists again, boss."

"Well, why didn't ya say so!?" Cello leapt from his seat and threw the pencil on the desk. The broken-tipped pencil bounced off and fell on the wooden floor, but Cello did not care to pay much attention to it. "This is great news! Who are they? Are they new?"

"Yeah, boss. They came by plane."

Cello shook his head. "I was hoping for a boat this time." He scratched his head in silence for a few moments. "Let's go greet them," he finally said. He paced to the wall and picked up a crossbow.

***

He woke up in his New York apartment, but his wife wasn't next to him. Another one of those all-nighters she pulled at work.

Yawning, he got up and made himself some cereal. He turned on the TV and listened to the news anchor report about some crazy guy snowboarding in the middle of New York. It was early in the morning, the clock about to strike four-thirty. The night's sky was dying out. It was a brand new day.
***

"Please, no! I have a wife! I have a kid!" yelled a tall man with a moustache. Snot ran down his nose from all the crying. He was sprawled on his back in the jungle, a bear trap biting on his right foot.

Cello winced. "Caspar. Caspar, look at yourself. You're pathetic. You're a fucking mess. You disappoint me, Caspar." He aimed his crossbow at the man. "I thought you were cool. I really thought we could be friends." He unleashed a bolt into the man's forehead. It pierced through skull and brain and came out the other side. The body thumped to the ground.

"Nice shot, boss," Joe Robber said.

"Thank you, Robber. That's very kind of you."

***

"The Statue of Liberty was in fact made in France, and it was a gift for…" His phone vibrated inside his pocket. "It was a gift from…" He knew it was her. He had left her too many messages for it to not be her. "It was a… gift…" He reached inside, took it out and glanced at the screen. It was her. "Excuse me," he said and left the group of tourists who did not pay attention to him anyway. "Hello?" he spoke. "Sarah? Where are you? It's been four days. The whole weekend. Are you okay?"

The voice on the phone replied bluntly, but it still sounded pleasant to him. It was as soft to his ears as a valley of flowers would be easy on his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Sorry, I was stuck at work, and my charger died, and then we had to go on a business trip to Germany, and I had no way to call you."

"Oh, that's fine. I'm just glad you're okay. I was really worried."

"Yeah. Thanks."

A silence ensued. She didn't say anything and he didn't feel like she had explained her absence fully. "Are we still up for that play you wanted to see?" He asked, trying to normalize things.

"Oh, I'm not sure. I might be working tomorrow as well. I'm just really busy lately."

"That's okay." She appeared to be distracted, so he continued talking. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"The trip."

"Oh, it was great."

He waited her to say something more. "Meet any interesting people?" he asked when she didn't say anything.

"No. We just stayed in the hotel."

He was annoyed that he had to ask her things for her to even speak to him. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll see you when you get home."

***

"You see, I don't think you're being serious," Cello said and scratched his chin. "I don't think you're really meaning what you're saying." Joe passed him a golf club as two muscular men grabbed a short old man and held him down before Cello's feet. The old man's face landed in the mud. He attempted to raise it away, but the men held him tightly in place.

"I swear! I swear I meant it!"

"For some reason, Derek, I don't believe you." Cello said and bent over Derek a small bit. He gently slapped the old man's cheek with the tip of his club, then pulled the club as high up over himself as he could. He swung into the old man's skull. "Do you think he meant it, Robber?"

"I don't think he meant it," Joe replied.

"You're right. He didn't." Cello swung again.

He threw the golf club next to the corpse. The men grabbed their automatic rifles and followed Cello into the trees. After a minute or two of walking, they reached a small encampment of half a dozen tents set up around a small fire. About ten roughed-up people emerged from the tents and stood in fear at the sight of the men with guns.

"Hello, friends!" Cello exclaimed. "Welcome to our beautiful, beautiful island!"

"Who are you?" a woman with curly hair asked.

"You can call me Cello. I'm here to show you around."

***

"Mister Blake? Hello? Are you there, Mister Blake?" the female voice on the other end of the phone demanded. "Ian?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'm here. Sorry. And you say she is definitely not at work today?"

"She said she was seeing a play. Anyway, would you please tell her that SheelaCorp is backing out? She needs to call me ASAP."

"You got it."

"Bye, Mister Blake. Have a great evening."

But he hung up without saying anything more. His eyes fixated on the power socket on the other side of the room: in it was plugged in a charger – the same charger Sarah had before her trip to Germany. He got up and walked over to it. It even had the same scratch at the same place from when she dropped it on the staircase.

He grabbed his coat and forgot to lock the door on the way out.

***

Cello waved his shiny revolver around. "This is a really good island. A big island. It has everything you could ever need. Why would you want to run away?"

"I don't want to run away; I want to leave," the man with one eye explained. His empty socket was black with rotting flesh. He had a long scar on his cheek that hadn't healed properly, and looked like someone had drawn on his face with a pink crayon. He had another, smaller scar on his forehead, and his left leg had been cut off. "What kind of life is this?" he asked. "Talking to the same people, eating the same food, going to the same places, doing the same things? Every day feels like eternity. It's torture to live this way, Ian."

"I really thought we could be friends. I need a friend here."

"You have Joe."

Cello looked at Joe Robber and pursed his lips. "Oh… I wouldn't say he's my friend. I wouldn't say that at all."

The one-eyed man's voice trembled. "I want to go back to my girlfriend."

"You can't. Do you think she'd even want you back? Do you think she'd want you like this? You're a cripple now. She would be disgusted to even look at you."

The one-eyed man began to cry. He sobbed without regard for how loud it was. His lips twitched and his face contracted. He ran his hands through his dark hair and kept them there, as if he was getting ready to pull at it at any moment.

"I know," he finally said, tears still dripping from his eye. "But I still want to try."

"Alright," Cello said. "Alright. Have it your way." He shot the one-eyed man in the chest four times. The recoil of the gun did little to impair his aim.

"Nice shot, boss."

"Thanks, Robber. That's very kind of you." He sighed. He stared at the dead body, and watched it as the red puddle beneath it grew larger and soaked into the wooden floor of his cabin. It slowly expanded, the blood reaching the broken-tipped pencil that was still on the floor, and steadily flooding it from all sides. Joe Robber flinched as Cello shot the body again, the force of the bullet causing ripples in the puddle. One last bullet in the gun. "Did you feed her today?"

"I did, boss."

"Good," he said and shot Joe in the thigh. The man shrieked and sat on the ground. He pressed on the wound as he moaned and grunted and hyperventilated. Cello tossed his empty gun on the desk, and walked over to Joe. He knelt over him, one leg on either side of Joe's body. Cello started punching his face, his chest, his stomach, and any body part he could. He did not pull back: Joe's nose broke; his temple and lips began to bleed. He could barely lift his head from the pain. Cello then got up sat in his chair, and waited for Joe to get his bearings. "What do we say?" he asked the bleeding man.

"Th-thank you. Thank you, boss."

"You're welcome."

***

Ian entered the theater using the tickets he had bought for him and Sarah. He entered as the play was coming to an end. He sat in the back and began to browse the audience. It didn't take him long to spot Sarah, even in the darkness. She was sticking out in the thin crowd: she was somewhere between a sitting and a standing position in her seat. She was leaned over towards the seat next to her. She was kissing a male silhouette. She was smiling, in a way in which she didn't smile at Ian anymore.

And she was all over the man: she kissed his lips, his cheeks, his neck… His hands were on her body. She finally sat in his lap.

Ian stormed out, but couldn't even exit the theatre before his body felt so weak that he collapsed and lay down on the polished wooden floor, breathing heavily.

After a few minutes he caught his breath. Nobody had seen him, and if they did, they did not care. People had only just started to come out and walk towards the exit. He quickly leapt to his feet and ran to his car. He hopped in and drove away, going just over the speed limit.

He drove, and as he drove, the minutes seemed like days. He waited for a day and a half for each stoplight to turn green. A whole year to get out of a traffic jam.

It was dark when he went to get a pizza. He picked up the phone, face turning red.

Yo what up, this is DJ PJ. Leave it at the tone.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

"Hey, who is this?" a female voice finally said.

"I need a friend," Ian uttered.

"Ian? Hey, man, it's three in the morning. Can't it wait?"

"I don't know."

"Go to sleep, man." And then a beep and then nothing.

He bought another pizza and then he bought cologne. He put some on and he waited. He wanted to come back late and for her to smell him and think he was with someone.

When the sun rose, he returned home. But Sarah still hadn't come back. His wife had spent the night with that man, doing… things while Ian drove around like an idiot and stuffed his face with pizza. He cried. He cried because he loved her.

***

"We have tourists, boss," Joe said, limping into the cabin.

Without looking up, Cello continued to draw with his pencil. The drawing still hadn't taken shape.

"Is it someone new?" he asked.

"Yeah, boss. They flew here."

Cello rolled his eyes. "Another plane? I really wanted a boat."

"And they sailed."

"A boat too!?" Cello exclaimed excitedly. "Why didn't ya say so?" He skipped over to the weapon's wall and picked up the bow. "Let's go and say hello. They're new around here; someone's gotta show them around."

"Where do we go first?" Joe asked.

"The boat, of course!" Cello replied as he put his hand on the doorknob. "Okay. Tell a few of our guys to head out to the plane. Whoever volunteers. I wanna deal with the boat."

"You got it, boss."


***

Ian then tried to be excessively nice to Sarah. He bought her presents which she brushed off. He gave her compliments which she didn't acknowledge. He tried to make love to her but she used that as an excuse to get mad at him and send him to sleep on the couch.

"I'm going on a trip next week," she casually said one morning as she passed by Ian to go to the bathroom.

He scratched his head, but he wasn't confused. "A trip? Where to?" he asked after she came out.

"I don't know yet."

"How long will it be?" He pretended to read something on his phone, but secretly looked at her with the corner of his eye.

"I don't know. A month, maybe."

Ian's heart started to beat fast and hard. "A month? That's… a long time." He tried to calm his breath, but he just made his palms produce sweat. "And who… who are you going with?"

"Someone from work."

"So, I can't come, then."

She chuckled, like him going with her was something that should never even be considered. "No."

He wanted to ask her if it was a man. He wanted to tell her that he knew. He wanted to ask her why, and what was wrong with him. But he knew that would officially end things. He didn't want it to end. "Okay," he said. "How are you going to travel?"

"Boat."

"I hope you have a great time, honey."

"Thanks." She smiled at him for some reason. Her eyes melted his heart. "I hope you have a great time, too." She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

His breath trembled.

***

Cello held his breath as he drew his bow. He unleashed an arrow into a woman's back as she tried to run away from him. She fell over, tumbling, the arrow breaking as she rolled and hit her head on a rock, falling unconscious.

"No!" A man yelled and came at him from the side with a knife. He tackled Cello to the ground, bow flying away. Cello punched the man's face and threw him aside. He pounced on top of him and watched the man's life drain away as he strangled him with his bare hands.

***

He had less than a week to impress her. But nothing worked: he tried to be funny, but he failed miserably. He tried to cook for her, but she ate out. He tried to get her to watch a movie with him, but she was too tired. She always stayed out late, except for on the last night, when she went to bed early.

On the last day, Ian went through her purse. It was the only time he had ever done that. He stumbled onto some birth control pills, but he had already seen them sticking out a few days earlier. He found the tickets: they were to a cruise.

He didn't have time to buy a ticket or wait for it to come. They were probably sold-out anyway. He took his wallet and his phone and his coat and headed out.

***

"Hey, boss," Joe said. "There's a bit of a problem."

Cello got up and panted. "Spit it out, Robber."

"Our guys… they took some people."

"They what, now?"

"They took some people, boss. From the plane. And then… one of them got away."

Cello took a deep breath. "Alright," he said. "I'll deal with it. Maybe it'll be interesting. But first we have to finish up here."

"The one that got away, boss. Some of them had their way with her."

***

He followed Sarah, but he kept his distance. She was with some man, just as he thought. The back of the man's head resembled that of the silhouette from the theatre.

Ian tried to sneak on board, but he was thrown out. He then offered one of the guests – an old woman with dyed hair – twenty thousand dollars to have her ticket. The old lady eagerly accepted, and after the transaction was done he received his ticket.

The people on the ship who threw him out recognized him immediately and were going to throw him out again, but he showed them the ticket and he was finally let on board.

Ian looked for her, but he couldn't find her before the ship departed. He still kept looking well in the afternoon, and located her alone near the pool, at the very back of the ship. There were many women in their swimsuits there, but he only had eyes for Sarah.

"Ian!" she shouted in both surprise and annoyance at the sight of him. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you. I…"

"Jesus! What is wrong with you? Go home, Ian. I'm with someone."

Ian's face turned red and pale at the same time. "I know. Who is he?" he asked.

"He's a good man. A kind man." Implying that Ian wasn't.

"What's his name?"

"It's Joseph Rodger. You've met him."

Ian's stomach turned over. He started to breathe heavily as he felt the weakness take over his body all over again. "Joe Rodger?" he asked.

"Yeah." Sarah nodded. "My boss."

"The boss," a male voice spoke behind Ian. He turned around and faced the man who had robbed him of Sarah's love.
Deep thoughts remind me of unfinished





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passenger says...



Chris


"Please," she whispered to me, hand skirting the blanket to brush mine. "Please forgive me. Please make it stop." Her voice shook, making my stomach rock, and she swallowed. Her eye finally met mine, hers honey-golden wide identical question curls and mine empty, waiting to be filled or maybe content with staying empty; I didn't know; I was a dumb jock; I didn't know anything. "Please," she said.

"Sweetie," I told her, real low, "I don't blame you for anything, alright?"

She was trembling in my arms. She said nothing.

"Remember what I said?" I asked her, real low, pulling her into my lap.

She was trembling in my arms. She said nothing.

"You probably don't," I told her, "if your memory's anything like mine, but I said I loved you. And loving someone means you understand and trust them, and they understand and trust you back, and you'll stand by them no matter what." I shifted my legs. Our knees and thighs were touching in at least three separate places. Continuing, I said, "I know that's true because there's an article online about it, and I know there's an article online because even studs like me gotta check the webs to make sure they're doing shit right sometimes. Given, the article was on a dot-com site, which means that it's probably unreliable, but it looked pretty no-bullshit to me. Anyway, they don't have any dot-gov or dot-EDU sites on love. I checked."

She stopped shaking. I kept talking.

"Anyway, I asked Ezzie about it to double-check." I struggled. I was sounding insecure. I was rambling.

"Anyways," I said, "I don't need a fucking website to know that I'm in love with you." I wiped my cheek, staring at the ceiling of the cabin, feeling Laska's body heat against my chest. "And I know you love me too. So let's quit fucking around, alright?" I was whispering, gently. "You tell me what happened, and I promise I won't get upset. Because we trust each other, and because I don't give a damn about anyone else but you right now." I exhaled. "And if you don't tell me, you might as well physically assault that heart I gave you, since I'm too curious for my own good." I'd been talking nonstop, but I kept on, because that meant she wouldn't be pressured to say anything, and people felt more comfortable when all they had to do was listen.

"You ain't gotta tell me right now," I told her. "Just some time soon, because I hate worrying about you."

Her head swiveled for the first time in minutes, and I saw tears drying up on her cheeks. Her fingers were quivering as she reached up to touch my face. When she touched me, it was like something shook loose inside her, and a look of relief swept her face. Her fingers reached the hair at the nape of my neck, and she said, "I don't want you to hate me."

I laughed, unable to help it. "I'm not gonna hate you. Christ."

"Don't laugh at me," she said, her personality kicking in a bit. She relaxed at my easy smile. Then she told me, "I'm afraid of losing you."

"And I'm afraid of being tortured by Mckenas Cole with the Needles of Fire. Don't mean it's gonna happen, Tex."

"Chris," she breathed, and I realized she was crying.

"What, baby."

"Kiss me." Desperation clouded her eyes. "Please," she begged. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but I wanted her, too. God, I wanted her so bad. She nuzzled her nose against mine. I touched her lips with mine, and then leaned in for more, locking my mouth on hers. I couldn't get close enough, even when I held her flush against me. It was the first night all over again, with us making out on the cabin floor and Ezzie in the next room, except Ezzie wasn't in the next room.

I came up for air, and her hands lowered to my chest. Her lips trailed my neck and jawline. She shifted in my lap, and I could feel my whole body rush with warmth and hormones. I got up on my knees, and she followed suit. Our hands and lips were all over each other, under each other's shirts and across our faces. Panting, I reached a hand down to undo my zipper.

Almost simultaneously, Laska suddenly tore away from me, leaving me confused, and mere seconds later, the tent flap was flung open.

It was Lou, face shrouded in shadows. I hardly payed him any mind; I was staring at Laska, everything beneath my belt on fire, chest burning.

I couldn't see her face in the dark.

"Yo," Lou said, frowning at me, "I gotta steal C-man for a sec."

Laska said nothing. She had moved out of arm's length.

"Uh, okay," I mumbled, standing up, stomach feeling a little tight. Lou led me back to our tent. We walked in silence, me dumbly and him with purpose, adjusting his hat every step or so. We arrived in a matter of a minute, and I sat down on the bed. Lou had his hands on his hips. He eyed my crumpled shirt, and his gaze fell below my waist.

I stood up and turned around. "Shit," Lou said. "Did I just, like, interrupt something?"

"Nah," I said, voice tight.

There was an awkward pause.

"Should I like, leave for a sec?" Lou asked after a minute.

"I think I'm good," I said.

"You sure?" he asked. We were facing in opposite directions, him towards the door and me towards the wall.

"Uh-huh," I managed.

Neither of us spoke.

Then he said, exhaling a laugh, "Wow, man--" and I interrupted.

"What'd you need me for?"

"Right," he said, sobering up. "I wanted to talk to you 'bout Ro." I was staring at my sneakers. He was still off-kilter from our awkward exchange, and was trying to regain his temperament. "That was a shit-move, what you did bringin' him into the woods after you said you'd stay put. I trusted you."

"Yeah," I said, unable to put forth any bitterness, "Guess I forgot he's just a kid."

"Yer not allowed to forget," he said, doe-brown eyes widened at the sight of my face. "You promised me you'd take good care of him and that you'd stay put."

"I was gonna stay put," I snapped back, emotion stirring in my chest suddenly. He was challenging my authority; something he'd never done to me before. "But you know how I am. I can't sit still!"

"You can't just go risking his life because you can't sit still."

"I didn't risk his life," I countered. "I would have protected him, should anything have happened."

Rage coursed through Lou's veins, blood rushing to his cheeks. He had never been angry at me like this before. "He's not your kid, Gehrig," I told him.

"Fuck, Mahoney, it's not about him bein' anyone's kid," he spat. "It's about me trusting you, and you betraying me. What's worse, you act like it's no big deal."

"Maybe you oughta not trust me," I said, then, raising my voice, "Maybe I should make a public announcement that people should just stop trusting Chris for awhile because he's a fucking dipshit. Would that make you happy, Emerson?"

"Shut it," he told me, suddenly fuming. His face was red, and his hand was twitching by his side. For a second, he looked about to back down, a look of meek surrender passing over his face. But his anger won out. He took a step closer to me. "Stop pretending you're stupid," he said. "You're just an impulsive dick with no self-control." For the first time since we'd met, he turned his back to me, shaking his head like it was a tick he couldn't cease.

My jaw was working. I was incredulous. I couldn't form words.

"And you suck ass at making decisions," he added.

Suddenly, an unspeakable fury raced through my blood. A voice whispered, he's right, and it was upon that sentence that I sprung from my place, grabbing his shoulder. He spun to face me, and I socked him in the jaw. He stumbled backwards into the wall, stunned.

"I suck ass at making decisions?" I asked him, full of rage, eyes stinging. "What about when your ma left in handcuffs?" I asked, fists clenched. "You think I shoulda just let you chase after her till you found her and got your heart broken?" I took another swing, catching him off-guard. My fist slammed him between the eyes. Blood gushed from his nose. "Maybe visited her in jail everyday and then killed yourself because you were too damn sorry for her own mistakes? Am I the one with no self-control? Was that a bad d--"

He rushed at me, roaring, hands grabbing onto the collar of my shirt. My back was thrown into the wall, and he jumped on top of me, hitting me for all I was worth. We wrestled on the dirt floor, grabbing at each other's clothing and throwing fists whenever possible. He started to sob, swearing at me through slurred words, punches getting feebler over time.

I knew he'd been right; I couldn't think of another good decision I'd made since that night when we were twelve.

I fought harder, kicking him off of me and socking him in the gut.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I punched him for insulting me. I punched him for telling me the truth. I punched him for being a better best friend.

His face was quivering in pain and stricken with tears, blood clinging to his upper lip. His eye was blackened. So was mine. I could feel it starting to swell up. Through mucous and blood, Lou said, "I did it."

I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "I'm sorry," he told me, and he was crying, tears streaming from his eyes. His expression pleaded for forgiveness. He was sorry for everything, and it made me sick. "Robbie--" he started.

"Robbie?" I cut in, and suddenly, the cabin became quiet.

He stared at me, eyes reduced to slow-blinking slits. I had paused, hand falling to my side. We were both shaking.

"She two-timed you," he groaned through a split lip, "with me. She loved you more, but she wanted to get you jealous. I guess she thought I'd tell--" He stammered and struggled, barely able to use his voice. "--because I loved you more, too."

My heart dropped. For a second, I couldn't feel anything. And then my brain caught up with my emotions. My shoulders trembled, and my jaw went taut, face stony.

"What?" I finally asked, disbelieving.

It had been over with Robbie for awhile, but I couldn't believe Lou would be the one to betray me.

I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted the best for me. I thought he was the better friend. I didn't think he'd put a girl before me. And after everything, he would accuse me of betraying him?

"I meant to--I mean I shouldn't of--" He wiped his mouth, breathing in sharply through his nose. His whole body was tense, preparing for a beating that wouldn't commence. "I wasn't going to tell you," he cried, voice breaking. "But I couldn't bear it."

My lips had formed a straight line across my face. I wanted to tell him that it was alright; that we were buddies no matter what; that nothing could tear us apart. But we weren't in middle school anymore.

With a numbness that could be mistaken for apathy, I turned around.

"Please," Lou weakly called after me, voice torn and garbled. It occurred to me that he was begging me. "Please don't leave me."

I stood facing away, whole body in a silent tremor.

And then I left him.

--

I ended up sleeping in the Supplies Tent, laying an extra blanket against a pile of bags and drifting off in an uncomfortable slumber.

The next morning, I washed myself, dressed, and then walked, zombie-like, to Lou's and my cabin. He was awake when I opened the door. He sat on the ratty cot, staring at the wall. His whole face was swollen and cut up from the fight the night before. He looked up at me when I entered, eyes showing more than a hint of surprise.

"Robbie died in the jungle," I deadpanned. "I saw her here on the island, about a week ago. I saw her, dead. I think she killed herself."

"We need to do something about that," I said.

I watched him, his mouth agape. And then he whispered, voice strangely steady, "That's ridiculous."

"I'm gonna go tell Eddie," I droned in response to his disbelief, maintaining some kind of unintentional monotony.

Then I turned my shoulder, leaving the cabin for the second time. I felt the gap between us widening as I strode further from my friend. Slowly, I felt the worst realization dawn on me.

I had become another person in Louis Emerson's Missing Family.

Like everyone else, I had left him.

Spoiler! :
so um. yeah, I really have nothing to say here.
I hope you like it.
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Tue Jan 03, 2017 1:34 am
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Ciblio says...



Alaska Rein

We left.

We did not say: Don’t drive. You’re drunk.

We did not say: We aren’t letting you in that car when you are upset.

We did not say: We insist on going with you.

We did not say: This can wait until tomorrow. Anything—everything—can wait.

We walked to our bathroom, grabbed the three strings of leftover firecrackers from beneath the sink, and ran to the Eagle’s. We weren’t sure that it would work again.


and just like that, alaska young drove out of the boarding schools parking lot for the last time. she ended her life and ruined many more because of that.

but alaska rein? taken from her home and placed in a country she knew nothing about, surrounded by americans who only stared at her and asked odd questions, forced into schools that taught in no way similarly to her hometown schools back in jamaica. plane crash victim, rape victim, almost death victim.

hopeless love victim.

she ruined miles halter's life. jake's. the colonel's. broke the eagle's heart. all because of a forgotten anniversary.

who's to say i won't stoop as low as she did?

i thought the kiss would help. i thought chris and i would automatically be bonded back to each other, but then- then i saw the old man again.

yellow teeth. receding hairline. that's all i could remember about him, yet it was enough to make me want to curl into myself. it was enough to make me want to lay down and never think of it again. but i couldn't get his image from my head. it was burned into my brain.

have you ever been thrown to the ground like you're nothing, then wonder why? why continue to try and try in a world that does not care? why give effort to a pointless project? why talk to people who, at the end of the day, give no shit about you or your well-being?

why be forced to live a life you never wanted in the first place?

as i lay here, cheeks still hot from the interaction that occurred less than an hour ago, entire left side burning from me laying on it, i imagine the peace. i imagine what it would be like to be in my own paradise; a place where no one can tell me what i need to do and who i need to be. somewhere that allows me to go any direction i would like without giving me consequences.

i flicked my eyes open, realizing how deprived of food i was. it hadn't been days, but it'd been long enough.

"eddie," i mumble, not sure if it's loud enough, "chris?"

the tent flap pushes open, and then, "what's up? are you okay?"

"yeah, ed," i flip over to face the other way, "fine. really hungry."

he nods, his dark curls spilling onto his forehead, "i'll go grab some fruits."

"and-" he stops in the middle of the doorway, and waits for me to finish, "thank you. for not saying anything to...chris."

he nods again, then leaves, the tent flaps stealing the sunlight back. i glance around the room, just now taking in my surroundings. everything was the same as before i'd been...

jackie lay unconscious on the same cot, the bruises on her cheeks barely visible. she was pale, but looked 10x better than when she first got here. i thought about chelsey. i thought about how terribly she went. i thought about how, if i were jackie, i would've reacted the same way.

death would've been my only solace.

the tent opened up again, and eddie held bananas out in front of him, "chris said they're your favorite."

i force a smile and allow him to put them next to me, then said, "thank you. really. for everything."

"yeah, it's what i do," and then, "just yell if you need anything."

and he was gone. i had the sinking feeling that i was making his life even more difficult.

throughout the rest of the day, eddie checked on me until i had to tell him i was fine and didn't need anything. i didn't see chris. it made me feel both relieved...and worried. concerned. sad. lonely. i didn't want him near me but i wanted him as close as he had been earlier.

i closed my eyes and i was asleep.

********

when i woke up, there was talking outside of the tent. it was loud but i couldn't make out any of the words being said. seconds later two people walked in-- eddie and chris.

"christopher atticus mahoney," i gasped, forgetting my pain, forgetting what was going on inside of my head, and only focusing on his bruised eye and busted lip. "what the fuck happened?"

i almost stood up, but the dull throb echoing throughout my body reminded me that i was injured.

"don't worry about me, tex," he did that charming smile, "how you feelin'?"

i wanted to press it further, see who'd beat him up, but he'd probably just keep denying it. his eyes glanced over me, and i felt the urge to tell him everything. i wanted to tell him about that night, when i was shot in the leg and left the hut for two seconds before i was taken. about how they made us sleep in dirt and spoke of Ezra like she was an oven and they were waiting for their food to pop out.

i wanted him to know everything they did and said and i wanted him to make the old man pay for touching me and i think he could see the desperation and uncertainty in my eyes because he sat down on my cot and smiled at me.

he didn't even say anything. he touched my lower calf with his bandaged hand and nodded his head once, as if telling me he was ready. as if telling me, mentally, that i was strong enough to overcome what had happened and he would be there every step of the way.

"i'm fine," i whisper, "i'm doing great"

no i'm not. i don't know why i said that.

he sat there, knowing that i wasn't, knowing that i was struggling and suffering, but he grinned and nodded and said, "that's great."

and when eddie left, i sat back against the cool mud wall and he followed, only a couple inches away. i felt like i couldn't breathe with this on my chest. i felt like he deserved to know. but i also still felt like i would drive him away if i told him.

we sat for a long time, talking. not even about anything important. at some point, he'd taken my hand, and he was now drawing lines and circles on my skin as he told me stories i'd heard a million times and also stories i'd never heard before.

he talked about his family, his sister before she died, and the one thing i was waiting for him to talk about was his bruised cheeks and busted up hands. but he said nothing, and i didn't ask. he would talk when he felt comfortable to. i would talk when i got over how disappointed he would be in me.

he was nothing like the boy i used to see in the halls. he was a ghost of christopher mahoney, the jock, the player, the drop dead gorgeous tough guy that could make girls fall in love with him just by smiling at them. now, as i traced the outline of his stern jaw, i noticed the smaller things. scars, old wounds, the recent ones, the stress creases, the heavy bags under his eyes, the slight tremor in his lips when he wasn't speaking, the too-long-on-top hair, the part of his right eyebrow that was just slightly shaved at the end from some accident here on the island, the wild look in his eyes.

this was the christopher mahoney that i loved and adored and owed every single truth to.

we sat until the sun lowered, and then i laid my head on his chest and i listened to him breathe until i felt words on my lips.

"chris?" i inhaled deeply, then exhaled, "you awake?"

"yeah baby," he mumbled, "yeah, i'm here."

my muscles tensed up, my heart beat a mile a second, and i was going to tell him. i was going to tell him. he was going to hate me. he deserved to know.

"chris, i-i-" he sat forward quickly and rubbed my shoulders. "im ready to talk about it."

Spoiler! :
sorry, distracting life. tell me if i need to change anything @passenger
'we have lingered in the chambers of the sea /
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown /
till human voices wake us, and we drown'



previously:
GuyFieri





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Sat Jan 07, 2017 4:39 pm
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passenger says...



Chris


"I'm ready to talk about it," she told me.

"I'm ready to talk about it," I told her. Mom sat upright in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her posture lacked the frailty it'd had in the past weeks. Maybe it was because she felt like she had to hold herself together for me. Stress lined her face. Her hand reached out to touch me.

"Ready to talk about what, honey?"

I let her touch my knee like she was trying to console me. Maybe it will help, I thought. Maybe I don't have to console myself.

"About what I did."

I shifted in my chair, knee bouncing up and down. Dinner had just ended. Like usual, Mom and I were alone. Ree was off with Dad somewhere. There was a pile of mushy potatoes on my plate. I never left food uneaten, but tonight, my mouth had been too busy clenching shut at the thought of confessing to my deed that it could hardly digest the prospect of eating.

Every pause lasted for a lifetime. The room ticked.


"Okay," I whispered.

Mom's brow furrowed. Her hand moved up to my shoulder. She cocked her head to the side. Bemusement clouded her eyes.

"What do you mean, 'what you did'?" Then she asked, concern sweeping her expression, "What's wrong?"

I cleared my throat. I was numb. But I was never one to beat around the bush. "It was my fault, Mom."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. In the span of a moment, her features softened with a knowing sympathy. "Oh, honey." She exhaled, in the same way a person would say
no-no-no as they watched a puppy mess the floor. "Please, don't."

My lips parted, but her voice impeded my attempt to speak.

"It just became unfair for your father and me to stay together. The truth's that it's been over for a long time. It's not your fault that your dad made the assumptions he did, and it's certainly not your fault that he left."

I stared ahead at the gravy dish, heartbeat slowing to an interminable ache.

"Except it is," I insisted.

"What in God's name are you on about, Chris?" she asked me. Her shoulders slumped. Even in my periphery, I could catch the look in her eye.
You're sixteen, Chris. You can't possibly be naïve enough to blame yourself for your parents' divorce. You're reenacting a child's inner turmoil. Do you want attention? Don't you realize that you're hurting me? I could spot the look from a mile away. I had seen too many movies.

As much as I wanted to pass it off, I couldn't keep lying to her.


"The people who kidnapped Ezzie and me--they were really awful." She spoke softly, voice wavering with her words. "They made us sleep on dirt in this…cave, of some kind." She swallowed. Kept swallowing, in between words, like she was trying to keep them from reaching her lips.

"There was a bunch of 'em. Mostly guys. Ugly guys, old and toothless; one was wearing a sundress. There were a few women, too, but they weren't any less nasty. This one guy, Greg--he kept saying how Ezzie was gonna save everyone. I think he meant that they were gonna cut the baby out."

Laska shut her eyes, breath catching in her throat. I had my arms wrapped around her shoulders. I smelled fire in her hair. She was trembling.

"I don't really know what they wanted exactly," Laska admitted. "But they made it sound like the kidnapping was planned. They said you agreed. To give them Ezzie's baby." There was a hitch in her voice, and she wiped her nose.

My blood rushed. I started to shake my head.

"I know," Laska protested meekly, brushing a hand over her cheeks and then touching the same hand to my chest. "I know you didn't."

She began to cry. I didn't know what had triggered the meltdown. I held her tight as she stammered, as if her will to speak was uncontrollable. "They made us undress so they could make sure we didn't have any weapons. Which we didn't. And then they had us bathe in this hole. Full of muddy water. After I woke up the next day, I--"

She ended abruptly mid-sentence. I thought she'd seen something outside, or maybe words had unknowingly left my mouth and I'd interrupted her.

I waited for her to continue, but was met with silence.

Her eyes were glazed over.

"Laska?" I asked.

I was distant for a second. My mind drifted. I was briefly reminded of the way Dad called me 'Sport' whenever he wanted me to do something for him. Claiming, "How bout we hit the hoops and you can show me what you're made of, Sport?" What I thought was an attempt at father-son time provided Dad with an opportunity to get me away from Mom and discuss my next 'mission'.

Dad's missions started off small. The first was to go to the Red Apple with him for Chinese instead of eating Mom's homemade lasagna. The second entailed that I drive him home from the bar after his eighth drink, an assignation I was unaware of until he called me up at 12 A.M., cussing at me to get my ass out of bed and slurring incoherent pleas for help.

Soon after, he began to crave a say in the most trivial of my life's decisions. Dating the blonde over the brunette; choosing this car over that one; going with him to the Syracuse game instead of heeding Mom's request of attending the local basketball camp. My choice always determined another one of his victories over Mom. It was a tennis match. I started keeping score in my head.
Rian attends the spring formal against Dad's better judgement. And that puts Dolores Mahoney ahead at 5 to 4! A minute later, But she wears the dress Dad picked out for her birthday. Bill Tyler ties the score at 5 even!

The score was confused now; I didn't know who was ahead or behind. By the end of the fight, both sides had ended up butchered in a putrid pool of their own blood. Dad was dead and Mom hated herself for things she hadn't even done.

Nobody won.

Both Mom and I fidgeted in our seats. I brought the conversation back to life.

"Remember that day at the hotel, Mom? Our last vacation. You and Rian were sitting on the bench in the lobby, and Dad was in the bathroom, and I told you I was gonna get some air. And when I came back--"

"I remember," she cut in quietly.


"I remember waking up in the middle of the forest."

She was holding back sobs. It was pitch-dark in the tent. I was clutching to her hands, but she'd stopped holding me back.

"I was all alone," she told me. "I was confused, and in pain all over my body, and I had no idea why they left me or what they had done to me. I felt like I was running, and yet I wasn't going anywhere at all, and I kept calling out your name--"

I closed my eyes. It felt like something stabbed me in the heart.

"--but then I remembered," she intoned, almost inaudibly.

She swallowed. "I remembered what they done to me."

"It wasn't a coincidence when that man--Kevin--walked in and pretended to drop his magazine at your feet, or that he started a conversation with you about the Tigers."

"What do you mean?" she demanded quizzically. But I could see it in her eyes. She was beginning to understand the reason for my explanation. The ceiling fan whirred overhead. Mom's chair creaked. The potatoes were cold.

I sucked in my breath. Then I let it out. "When I left for air, I was talking to a man I found sitting outside. He was wearing a Tigers hat, and you were wearing that Cincinnati V-neck I got you for Christmas. He was about your age. Looked like he could be my dad.

"I pretended I didn't know you, and told him that maybe two Tigers fans staying in the same hotel was meant to be. Then I said I'd call him chicken if he didn't go in and start a conversation." I thought back to Kevin's immature grin and the obsessive fixing of his hair. The kind of guy who wanted to be friends with everybody, and was willing to do anything to sit at the cool table. Then I said, "He took the bait."

Mom was shaking her head.

"When Dad came out of the bathroom and blew up at Kevin, I knew what I was gonna do."

"No," Mom protested.

"Later than night, I called Dad on the phone from the hotel room. He was at the bar while you were out shopping with Ree, remember?"

"Chris, no," Mom pleaded, voice taking a plummet. She covered her cheeks with her palms. Her face went gaunt. Her throat emitted a guttural noise. She was horrified at my gall.

"I was the one who pretended to be Kevin," I told her. "I was the one who apologized for being the one you'd been cheating on Dad with for months, since I knew Dad'd believe anyone who broke down crying over the phone to a man he didn't know. Even if you never cheated."

There were tears in Mom's eyes. "No!" she screamed.


"I remembered what he did to me. How he touched me."

I went stiff.

"How he raped me."

My heart was suddenly empty. Rage coursed through my veins. I felt hollow.

Images of my girlfriend--naked and alone--flashed before my eyes, and my chest wasn't afire, but cramped with a crippling ache; my stomach upended and my body unmovable with unspeakable fury. And she was crying suddenly, chest seizing with sobs. I was shaking. I didn't mean to, and yet I couldn't stop. I had dropped her hands, and she was clutching them back as if she would never let go again. My knuckles stung.

"He only had four teeth," she was saying. "Barely any hair at all." Her eyes were marred with tears. She was crying so hard she could barely talk. "God, please. Chris, I'm so sorry. I didn't like it, I swear. I hated it, and I don't even know how to live with myself. I can't stand being without you and it hurts so bad. I'm hurting so bad." She had turned to face me, and was grasping my shirt. I went from numb to so furious I could explode--to numb again.

My eyes burned.

"I'm sorry," I told her. "Mom, I'm sorry. Jesus, I just didn't know how else to do it, okay? I didn't know how else to break you up. I didn't know how else to end the fighting. I couldn't take it anymore."

I'd betrayed every promise I made to myself when I sat down at the table. I'd failed the I-will-not-cry-I-will-not-cry-I-will-not-cry that I'd silently recited; the cross of my heart when Mom had left the room to get the wine.

I was crying. I was hugging her, and for some reason she was not hugging me back. I couldn't bear it. The thought of my own mother refusing to hug me made me feel the most alone I'd ever felt. It was all my fault. I could no longer talk. I could no longer tell her how I literally couldn't have stood another night listening to Ree cry herself to sleep. There comes a point when you run out of words to make a person understand.


"I don't want you to hate me," she hiccuped. She was still talking in a hoarse whisper. "I'm violated and worthless, and I might as well be dead to you, but I'm sorry. Please," she begged, as if I was running from her. "please don't leave me." Her words were near nonsense, and my shirt was soaked with her tears. She had the fabric twisted in her fist.

I calmed down, reasserting my control. I returned to my chair and smoothed my shirt. My mom was stoic. Her manner depicted that of a mannequin. Her eyes were glossed with tears. The tears I had caused her to shed.

"Mom?"


My shoulders stopped shaking. Any tension in my muscles was released.

I took a deep breath.

"Chris? God, please say something."

"Please say something."

Her head was tucked beneath my chin. It was pitch-dark in the tent. I could barely distinguish her silhouette, but I felt her shifting in my arms. She was sweating. She was terrified. I wondered if she knew that I was terrified, too. I was so goddamn terrified that she would be hurt by some absent maniac looking for someone to blame. Like the girl in Lou's group had been. But I was more afraid that I'd lose her to herself.

"We're gonna fucking die here," I deadpanned. By some miracle, my voice was steady. "But till then," I told her, "nobody's gonna touch you but me."

"Mom?"

"Or else I'll cut their fucking hands off," I croaked.

"Mom?"

"But for now, you stay with me, baby," I consoled. "Just stay with me, and I won't let you go till you ask, okay?"

Her shoulders stopped shaking. Any tension in her muscles was released. She melted into my arms, finally allowing herself to be helped. For a moment, I thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Mom?"

"Okay," she whispered.
"We accept the love we think we deserve." -Stephen Chbosky's Perks of Being a Wallflower





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Sun Jan 08, 2017 9:34 am
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Persistence says...



Warren Crassus


"You're a one-off, Warren," she says to me. Her graceful black hair falls on her shoulders, shiny gold dolphin earrings peeking from beneath. They match the dolphin bracelet on her wrist, just as her brown eyes don't match her blue shirt. "A one-hit wonder. You get one line in a blockbuster and you think you own the world."

I clear my throat. "It was two. Two lines," I correct her timidly. These people need to get their facts straight. "And one of them became an internet meme."

"Oh, so it was two lines, then?" the director raises her brows and glances at her watch: she is expecting someone and has time to kill. Maybe the only reason I'm here is so she can amuse herself till a front-cover actor requires her attention. "Let me just pull your Oscar out of my ass and hand it to you. You see, if it was just one line, it would have been a shitty performance. But now? It's two lines! How will the thousands of guys with better looks and talents than you ever compete?"

My head sinks between my shoulders. "Yeah, I get it." I'm just a nobody. Just a face to fill the background while everyone stares at the star of the movie and admires him as he steals a car and shoots twelve people as he drives. Just a thing to move behind the handsome A-lister as he struggles to decide which of the four attractive females who are fighting over him is right for him. Background noise as he tells cool one-liners and dodges a thousand bullets while being accurate every time without a need to reload. A generic face so forgettable, that I can get killed seven times in the same movie and nobody will even notice it was the same guy.

She sighs and brushes her dark hair behind her ear. "Listen, Warner…"

"Warren." At this point I don't even care.

"Warren. I normally wouldn't even see you, but I did out of professional courtesy for those three seconds we spent working together. Look. I'm sorry, but your character is dead. I cannot have you in the sequel. That being said, I know your struggles. I've been there myself, trust me. I wasn't always Jenna Scorealis. Mainly because my first husband made me change my name and then I became famous and I couldn't change it back because it's how everybody came to know me."

I sulk. "Thanks."

"Warren, it's okay to be an extra. We've all been there. We've all been in the background, praying to our balls that our five frames don't get cut out. It's okay to be in somebody's shadow and to be overlooked and ignored and forgotten. You won't be forever."

I do not expect to hear that that from Jenna Scorealis. She's the hottest movie director in the business. I think I'll remember her when I'm rich and famous. When I'm on Conan or on Jimmy Fallon I'll mention how the great Jenna Scorealis comforted me by calling me a loser. It would make a great story, funny enough to justify the laugh track. "Thank you," I say and mean it.

"Good. Now get out of my office."

And so I do: Gleefully, I get up from my seat and walk towards the door, shoe sinking into her pillow-soft carpet and…

"Wait!" she yells and stops me as I reach for the doorknob. I turn around, afraid of what this powerful woman might do to me. "I have this friend. George Lucas. Yes, the guy that created Star Wars. We have this thing where we send each other terrible actors to be in each other's movies. It's a running joke we have, whoever sends the worse actor gets the better seat at the BAFTAs. It's how he got Hayden Christensen. So, if you'd like, he's shooting this movie about gangsters stealing hair dryers. I could set you up for the main part or something?"

"Oh my god!" I can't believe it. "Are you for real? You would do that for me?" This is the best day of my life. I will be on Conan. I will drive a Bugatti. I will have Louis Vuitton handlebars on my jet ski.

"Is that a yes?" she asks with a smile.

"Yes! Of course that's a yes!" My life is finally going to take a turn for the better. I'll have a house on a tropical island. I'll go there on vacation whenever I want. Hell, I'll own an island of my own!

"It's in Africa, though." Just as soon as I get to Africa.

"What?" I ask. Perhaps I didn't hear it right?

"Africa," she repeats. "George Lucas is shooting the movie in Africa. You'll have to fly there."

So, Africa, then. I'll have an island as soon as I fly over to Africa. "I'm your guy. His guy. What I'm saying is: count me in."


Spoiler! :
This is Warren, the guy who made demands to Chris. He is most likely a one-off, like the director said, so this is just a post to get him some backstory. If you don't like it, go reread passenger's post. It's some really good stuff.

@passenger I posted before the character got approved, but it's to surprise you. Hope that's okay.
Deep thoughts remind me of unfinished








Being a hero doesn't mean you're invincible. It just means that you're brave enough to stand up and do what's needed.
— Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena