Kris was backing up, but Kimberly just kept moving. It was simple. Kris wouldn't shoot her. Kimberly would get close, push the gun down, and then...
Kris' look changed, just slightly. Hardly noticeable, but it was enough. At that moment, clarity came crashing down. Kimberly realized it all. Realized she'd been deluding herself, playing games. This was real. They were on SOTF. They were all going to die, and she was going to be the first. No, not the first. The second. Reika... Fuck. Kris had really shot Reika. She was going to really shoot Kimberly.
She had just a split second to react. She lurched to the side. It was enough to save her life, but not her arm. Crack. A gunshot. Kimberly felt it impact her left shoulder, not as pain but as force, spinning her around and around, toppling to the ground. A scream rang out. Was it her own? She couldn't tell. She was disconnected from herself. All she could see was white. The second shot would be coming soon. How had it gone wrong? How had it ended like this? Was she really going to die here, bleeding out face down on the sand of some beach in the middle of nowhere, far away from her friends and family, nothing left to do but fade into cold oblivion?
No. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. It wasn't fair.
Pain, now. Flowing down her arm. Her arm. Pain. She tried to move it. Couldn't. She tried to move, but just couldn't. What had happened? How could it all have gone to pieces? She'd had it under control. She was going to stop Kris. Going to calm them all down. This was Bayview. Nobody would kill. Nobody would fight. Impossible. No. Lies. She'd known. The whole damn time, she'd known, just hid from it. Manufactured this belief, this faith that wasn't her, betrayed herself just for a few more minutes of sanity, of reality. And what had she gotten for it? What had it paid out? Pain, and soon, surely, death.
Anger, now, flashed through her. Sheer rage. Kris. The bitch. Fuck her. Who the hell was she to do this? She was dead too. She wasn't making it out of here, not if she was running and gunning already. What was the purpose, then? Just to spread pain and suffering? Some sort of fucked-up revenge against the world, externalizing the inner pain? Such beautiful ideas and turns of phrase those had seemed, when Kimberly had scribbled them into a notebook in her bedroom months ago. Her poetry, so much dark and depressing shit, now rendered meaningless and hollow by the sheer reality of what she faced. Pain wasn't stumbling home from the bus at five in the morning and not getting bitched out about it, not being acknowledged. Pain was lying on foreign soil, forced into some sick fight, shot and bleeding and not even really understanding why.
All the songs that had been her companions for years flashed up again, and she understood them in a way she never had before. And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for, Kris? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. Blackness. Edging in on her sight. No. Was she going into shock? Breaking down? Dying? Not yet. She was not dying yet. Had to pull herself together.
Had her grandparents even noticed she was gone? The thought was sudden, unbidden. Surely, though, they must have. Someone must have notified the guardians. But what about her parents? That was a shocker. They weren't so present in her life. She hardly saw them, but fuck, they were her parents. She loved them, and they loved her too, but they just weren't around. They might not even know. They'd been coming to her graduation. Would that be how they were greeted at the airport? The news that she'd died? How terrible. No, wait, her grandparents would call them, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they? They'd never paid so much attention. Never really cared. Fuck, they might just be glad to have Kimberly out of their hair.
Somehow, she managed to roll over, screaming (again? for the first time? Fuck if she knew). She flopped her head to the left. Blood. Staining the sand. Sand in the wound. Red rolling down her arm. Her fedora, lying on the ground, out of her reach. Must've fallen off as she toppled. Red on it too. Damn. Her favorite hat. Pain.
Where was Kris? When was the second shot coming? No, wait, she was gone. Gone, leaving Kimberly to die like this. Not even the decency for a mercy kill. Her thoughts were muddled. Unclear. Unreal. Bitch. Kris was a bitch. She'd seemed cool, but... no. No, just a poser. Fucking phony. How could she have... Reika. Someone Kimberly barely knew, but a nice enough girl. Gone now. Was that it? Was Kris going to go around, take everything Kimberly even remotely cared about and destroy it? Reika gone. Arm immobile. Hat covered in blood. Sure looked like it.
"Fuck! Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, my arm!" Screaming, shouting. Sure to draw attention, draw everyone nearby. Kimberly was so far beyond caring right now. She could make things out again, at least. Steve and Bridget... Were they alright? Only one shot, so they had to be.
"Help!" Oh, how she hated that. She was asking for help. Kris had even taken her independence, left her crippled and maybe dying (probably not, she realized, if they could stop the bleeding. Small fucking comfort). She'd always been able to skim by, forcing her way through situations, trusting her assertiveness, and now she'd been one-upped. The ultimate conversation stopper. Was Kris right? Had she figured out the secret here? All rules gone, the only authority or respect possible that which you command with violence? Heh. Well. Horror story, alright. As bad as it got.
Her thoughts were losing coherency. Pain and panic and, on some level, disbelief. Kimberly flailed with her right arm, though. She needed to be ready. Something. Anything. Large rock. That'll do. That would keep her safe.