Joined: August 9th, 2010, 3:28 am

September 28th, 2010, 5:10 am #16

"You're not going anywhere! Not while I'm still fucking breathing!" Alex P. White brandished his torch. "Drop the fucking knife!"

You're being stupid. I'm not going to listen to you.

Liz considered her options. Her feet hurt. Her backpack was weighing heavy on her back. She had her knife out. She was going to cut him to pieces.

Only she wasn't, because she was small, exhausted and bruised, and he was a 173-pound wrestler, taller than her, with muscle on his frame. She had been in this fight before. It had left her with bruises on her neck. She was not going to be able to take him, even with a knife.


Her other option was fleeing, and fleeing meant the fire swamp.

She backed up. The mud was giving away behind her. She snuck a glance.

Fire was burring on the surface of the water. The oil was burning. Yes.

If she got under the water, she would be safe. And Alex P. White seemed too stupid to immediately realize that the oil was only burning on the surface.

She backed up. He approached. She slipped off her backpack, quietly. Threw it in his face. Then fled.

Keep a dry grip on the Zippo lighter. Dive into the water. She thought she remembered it being deep enough to sink her. She remembered correctly. She was not dead.

The water was murky around her. She swam breaststroke, trying not to break the surface. Trying not to break her grip around the lighter. The fire was flickering and iridescent on the skin of the water. She had to breathe. Adrenaline had depleted her lungs. But there was fire. Too much fire. The air up there would be too hot to breathe.

Not if she got high enough above the fire.

She swam down until her feet hit the mud, head spinning. Then she pushed off the bottom, breaststroking, pushed the oil away with her hands, erupted from the water, breathed, and sunk again.

The air was warm, but not too hot. She was not dead.

She swam until she couldn't see the fire anymore.

She broke the surface, finally, again, tasting mud, gasping, sucking in water, coughing. She could feel her head falter sickeningly. Her legs were singed. Her feet hurt. Her hands stung. There was water in her boots.

She had thrown her supplies at Alex P. White. That wasn't wise.

She looked behind her. Alex and Milo were no longer visible. She pulled herself out of the water, sat in the mud. Unclenched her Zippo lighter. Her hand was burned, swelling and blistering. She dipped it in the swamp water to try and clean the dirt out.

Then she sat back. Her throat was bruised. Her hands and feet were burned. Her backpack was gone. Apparently plan pretend-to-be-a-psycho wasn't working out.

She would have to think of a better plan.

She dipped her hands in the swamp, began scrubbing the dirt and blood off her face. Her inventory was now one pair of combat boots, dark fishnets, cargo pants (singed), pocketed skirt, black turtleneck, t-shirt with writing on the breasts, a stick of black lipstick, a Zippo lighter, a search-and-rescue knife, a netgun, and a makeshift cosh. The swamp water was warm, like taking a bath. The fire, far away, cast an eerie glow. She reapplied black lipstick to her swamp-lit reflection.

Skin was coming off her hands, her feet, her legs, her neck. She was coming to pieces in the middle of a swamp. She hurt. Adrenaline was fading. The pain was coming hard now.

Pain is just a message. You can ignore that message.

She wanted to scream. Instead she sat very, very still.

She needed a new plan. She fingered her collar. She needed to survive.

Curled over herself, she lit the Zippo lighter. It flickered and ignited.

(Liz Polanski continued in The Man-slut, the Cocktease, and the Lover)

Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?

Dr. Nic
Dr. Nic
Joined: October 27th, 2009, 3:45 am

October 6th, 2010, 10:43 pm #17

[Skipping to remove Alex from the thread before the 10th.]

"Not a chance."

With an ever tightening grip upon the torch, Alex moved closer to Liz and watched as he backed away, as she looked to the swamp behind her and weighed her options; It was obvious what her choice would be, and he wasn't going to let her get away. Not while he still had the strength to stop her. He pushed forward and moved past Milo, charged towards Liz as she backed up further. He was going to stop her, he wasn't going to let her get away, not like Nick, he wasn't going to let that happen again. He had to stop her, no matter what. But she was determined to get away, to take care of her wounds and get as far away from Alex as she possibly could; So much so that she threw her pack at him to stop his charge, to slow him down as she turned and dove into the murky water. He was too late.


She got away.

He made another mistake.

"Damn it."

He wasn't about to risk going after her, not with the cut on his arm and the fire still raging, burning on the surface of the swamp; On one hand, he risked infection and further complications, on the other hand he risked serious burns or ruining his supplies, his belongings. No, he wouldn't follow her. Not this time. He couldn't. He knew she'd have burns, that she was now without supplies or extra clothes and was left with nothing more than the clothes on her back and whatever she had in her pockets. He couldn't help wondering what she still had though, what she had managed to grab and keep beside that knife of hers, but he could worry about that later; It was getting too hot there as the fire continued to burn nearby, as the smoke and the heat began to permeate the air and hamper his breathing. He covered his mouth with his arm, leaving the torch in one hand as the other sought to protect him from something he caused.

He turned to Milo.

The boy was unarmed now, had taken a blow to the face, was panicking as he faced the raging fire. Now, Milo was alone with Alex, alone with the man who'd thrown the molotov and brandished a weapon, the one who had threatened what little safety they had. Alex was left with the unarmed boy he'd threatened and endangered, someone who certainly didn't look to be much of a danger to anyone; Picking up the bag Liz had thrown at him, throwing it over his shoulder and returning his arm to covering his mouth, Alex turned and began walking. He stopped, only for a moment, to turn and face Milo once again before he left the boy; His words broken by brief fits of coughing.

"My advice? Run far from here and hide for as long as you can. Avoid everyone you can..."

He stopped speaking for a moment as he thought about what he was going to say to Milo, about the warning he was going to give; Could he really keep saying he only wanted to protect his friends, even after what he'd done? He'd done more this time than simply try to disarm someone he viewed as a threat, he listened to what he knew to be a lie and attacked someone without provocation and without real cause; Had he really done it simply because he could? He shook the thought away, tried not to think about it, pushed it to the back of his mind as he continued speaking.

"Avoid people like her. If she really was the one who did this-"

He motioned towards the bits of blood and chunks of flesh and bone that were strewn around the area, illuminated by the fire and the early morning sun.

"-then you don't want to be anywhere near someone like that."

Again, he thought about what he was saying, about how he could easily be seen as no better than Liz; After all, he was the aggressor in that situation, not her. He couldn't speak of what she may have done before he arrived or what she would go on to do, he could only speak of the assumptions he had made; Ones fueled by paranoia borne of fear and anxiety, for himself and for others, ones that he had to admit was baseless no matter how hard he tried to justify them. He had to accept what he'd done.

No. No, I did what I had to. If I don't prevent it from happening, who will?

"Find your friends and hide. Protect yourselves if you must. Just try to stay safe."

He ignored everything that told him he was a hypocrite, that he was contradicting his actions and his words; He just kept telling himself he was doing the right thing, that he was preventing the inevitable and protecting his friends as best as he could. No matter what, he had to believe that. He'd made too many mistakes to abandon that, to forget his goals and his intent. Too many.

He turned from Milo.

He walked away.

Away from his mistakes.

He had no choice.

[Boy #14 - Alex White. Continued in I Swear I Won't Shoot.]
Boy #??? - Joshua Edwards
Hanging out somewhere, playing his heart out.
Writer and local retail slave at the comic book store.

Girl #??? - Viktoriya "Vika" Starikova
Floating in the void, unfinished and half-formed.
Hot headed member of the soft ball team, secretly wishing she could fly.
[+] Spoiler
Boy #14 - Alex P. White
Where he started, and where he finished.
Tried his best and tried too hard, and fucked up royally at every turn.

Boy #61 - William M. Hearst
Where he began, and where he ended.
Did what he could and tried to do more, but ran out of time.

Girl #48 - Kaitlin Anderheim
Where she was, and where she went.
Found her strength and her will to live, and survived despite it all.

Girl #101 - Sofia I. Martelli
Where she rose, and where she fell.
Started out angry and alone, but died on her own terms, in love.

Joined: June 1st, 2010, 2:06 am

October 10th, 2010, 9:15 pm #18

((Oh shit. I really shouldn't have taken that little break from SOTF.))

Milo gulped a little.

"Find your friends and hide," the now-far-less-scary man had said.

This was a bit of a problem, as Milo didn't have very many friends. Hell, he couldn't think of any friends off the top of his head. However, he was surrounded by fire, gore, and pain, so getting the hell out of dodge would work in a pinch.

He briefly considered looking at his map, and then remembered the fire. He elected to run like hell instead.

((Milo Taylor continued elsewhere))
[+] Spoiler
B124 - Joe Rios - Nothing - Shot
G118 - Rose Codreanu - Nothing - Collarsploded
B048 - Milo Taylor - Nothing - Bled Out
[+] Spoiler
Mark Kent
Quoth Super Llama: wrote:One day, the fabled Ragnarok will come, and as the gods descend to earth and wage war while the world dies around them, WickedIcon will lead the charge, a 12-gauge shotgun in his right hand, and a bottle of Jack Daniels in his left as he rides a steed made of fire and pain.

And the masses will look upon him and weep at the beauty of it all.
wrote:[19:25] Hallucinogenic: it's not like i wanna put my anus on parade