It was stupidity. No, it was merely desperation. One of those things definitely lead young Deidre Paul, talented athlete of Bayview Secondary School, to an early grave.
As Brock headed away from the group, Deidre immediately turned towards the others of her group. Nobodies. Just like most everyone else she's seen so far. If she was any less of a person, she'd bash their heads in right now, while Brock wasn't looking. The swampy gas would mask the smell of blood, and if she played it right, the only thing being bloodied would be her bat, which was easily replaceable. Hell, what's-his-face's sharp thing would've been a helluva lot better.
Thankfully, Deidre wasn't that kind of person. She was the kind of person to shy away from new faces. She was the kind of person who thought for moments, rather than periods. She was the kind of person who kept cookies her mom made her in her backpack. She'd get to those later.
"It looks more shallow this way," she remarked, looking away from Brock, and his magnificently sculpted ass.
She really wanted to get out of that swamp and away from what's-his-face and no-name-guy. So stupid, so desperate.
Sick of carrying her baseball bat of terror, she stuck it in her backpack, the top of it sticking up past her head. It felt sorta like having a horn, y'know, to intimidate predators? Only it grew out of her back and was made of wood and nail. A casual, apathetic "seeya" was her final spoken word.
Out of sight, out of mind. She was sure she could see either of those two boys anymore, which was good riddance to bad company, as far as she cared. As long as she could still catch up to Brock, she'd be completely fine.
The swamp somehow smelled worse without Brock.
The water was rising. 'More shallow this way' my ass! She never really trusted her judgement. It always made her do stupid things.
The mud was even goopier here than it was when she first entered. She could hardly walk without struggling each step. But she had been walking for so long; the way out had to be around here somewhere. She couldn't just turn around and say "Oh well," not when she was sure how close she was to leaving this damn swamp.
Her right leg sunk in the mud. Really far. And of course, a simple tug wouldn't do, as it did for some of her previous sinks. No, she jerked around like a madwoman.
Just, wriggling and writhing in the muddy deep.
So hard that her bat had clunked into her skull, nail first.
This was, of course, met with a look of utter shock, pain, and perplexity. Why didn't I stick the damn thing upside-down? Why is this happening to me of all people? I do good! I leave people alone!
Why is... why is everything spinning?
With that, she collapsed, head first, into the swamp she dreaded so much. She was definitely stuck - the muddy bindings grabbing both arms she used to catch herself. The worst part, she thought, was that she was just barely under; not that it mattered - under just a bit was still under. The smell was a lot worse when it drained through her nostrils and into her lungs, filling up with murky marsh water. She felt like puking, screaming, crying; all at the same time.
But she didn't do any of that.
She just simply died.
G054, Deidre Paul - DECEASED