The FAMAS dropped in Hansel's limp hand as the girl lurched forwards, gore remaining where there once was unkempt grass, the gun swinging downwards as he watched the blood pool and sink into the individual blades of green, darkening the lightened, dry soil. He stared as she stilled, body freezing in death.
Something about the way she didn't twitch, move, do anything other than become the very personification of dead
, had his stomach lurching, rolling against his ribcage, filling his throat with bile. He let it come forth, turned to the side, allowed his energy bars, lasagna, and water come rolling up and out in a vague, tan blob.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, looked back at his handiwork, left shoulder giving a reminder throb.
She was number six.
Miles ago - days ago - he'd only killed animals, only hurt feelings and only harmed reputations. Now he was a six time murderer on an island where surviving was a day to day question, a constant thrumming in the back of his skull, an ongoing, incomplete sentence that hadn't decided on punctuation.
As he made his way back towards the original house, where Logan now lay dead, familiar words formed, words that made him pause to glance up at a camera, focused intently upon him, a stark reminder of who he was now, where he was now, what he'd done.
Why he'd done it.
You could be wrong.
He hadn't murdered Logan because he was gay. He hadn't killed Theo because he was bi-sexual. He hadn't held Garrett vulnerable because he'd disagreed.
You could be wrong.
He hadn't shot Rebecca because she was a non-believer. He hadn't ended Daniel's life because he'd devalued the bible. He hadn't punched Kyle's ticket because of theology.
You are wrong.
Hansel had removed them because they had all posed a threat. A threat to his supplies, a threat to his survival, a threat to his chances at escape. He'd removed them, not for morality or personality or ideology, but because in order to move forward, he had to.
The second they had boarded the plane, they had already died. Everyone had. They were all just wasting time until someone made it official.
And what was God to a corpse? What was sexuality, or opinion, theology, scripture? What was anything to everyone left, waiting to die so that one person could walk away?
Why would anyone want to?
A sense of peace stole over Hansel as he stared into the lens, adjusting his FAMAS over his shoulder as he envisioned everyone he was looking at - Dad, Mom, Uncles, Aunts, Teachers - staring back at him, judging him, taking stock of what he'd done. One by one, he envisioned them slowly disappearing, until it was just him and the lens, him and the island.
Him and the goal.
Because, he thought, as he tipped his hat towards the camera and turned to go collect his bags, that was all that mattered.
After all, corpses didn't worry about judgement.
((Hansel Williams, The Faster The Treadmill