"I really did it this time, didn't I..."
There was no coming back from what he had done, no way he could make up for it and no way he could apologize. He made a mistake, a big one, and there was nothing he could do to fix it, not this time; Sure, he'd made mistakes in the past, but this was the worst yet. He'd tried to kill Nick just now, with his so called weapon high above his head, rage and fury burning in his veins, all telling him to bring that hammer down, to kill Nick then and there; There was no good intent behind that, he just wanted him dead in that moment, for everything he had done and everything he would do. But something wasn't right.
What had he done?
He couldn't answer that, not honestly at least; He could speculate and guess and worry and panic over what Nick would do, but there was no answer to the question of what he had already done. He hadn't done anything besides carry a bad attitude, and Alex attacked him for it. He hadn't done anything to deserve such reaction, and yet Alex tried to beat him, tried to kill him, tried to end his life with brutal attacks. He had no answer for his actions, no explanations, no excuses.
No excuses huh?
He had to take responsibility for what he had done, for his choice; It was his choice and his alone, and no one forced him to do it. Not Andrea or Nick or anyone he wanted to protect, none of them forced him to take action or make that choice; He didn't even know if the people he tried to preemptively were still alive or in the same situation. No, that's not right. He knew they were. This was Survival of the Fittest, that horrible show that everyone couldn't help but watch or take note of; The premise was always the same, the class was always taken in whole, and no one ever escaped capture. No, he knew they were there, he knew who he wanted to protect, but he didn't know if they were still alive and safe, if his actions were even justified in the slightest.
No! They're still alive, I just know it!
He lied to himself.
He knew it was a lie, that it was a desperate grasp at the strings, that he just wanted justification for his actions; He wanted his choice to be the right one, and to forget it was a mistake. But he couldn't. No, he couldn't forget it or try to justify it. He had to step up and take the blame; No one else was to blame for what he had done, only him. He had to take responsibility for his choices, he had to bear the burden of the mistakes he had made and would continue to make, and it the only one to blame was him. Only him.
He didn't feel like moving; For a long time, he didn't do anything, barely realizing that he was alone in the woods, that no one was around. When he finally came to, it wasn't because he had come to a conclusion, that he had ended his train of thought; No, the reason for him to snap back to reality was the searing pain in his arm, that cut from the glass and the biting breeze against the stinging wound. He had to do something about that. But what could he do besides... Wait, no, inside the bag. He lifted his daypack off his back, dropped it unto the ground, and tore it open as fast as he could; There, right there, was the first aid kit he had seen earlier. It would have what he needed for his arm.
"What was it she mentioned about pills?"
His arm cleaned, bandaged and out of mind, he had time to think back on what Andrea had said before she took off running; Why had she said anything to him after what he had tried to do? But the word she chose to use, what she told him about the pills, it got his interest piqued; He didn't have his pills, his personal stash, so those stolen from others would have to do. But did he really want that crutch now? The bottle was within reach, just there on the ground, surrounded by little white pieces of that ever present crutch in his life; There were still a few in the bottle. He outstretched his hand, grabbed the little plastic container, and picked it up.
But something shot into his mind, his memory, when he heard the rattle of the pills.
He had heard that noise before, earlier; When Andrea was digging through her bag, he could just barely make out the rattle of pills in their container, the tell tale sound of his addiction. She sold the same ones he took, she had done so for a long time; Selling to his classmates, to the people she knew, but he had never taken the chance for an easier supply. But he knew she had them, the ones he wanted, the ones he needed. He looked down at his hand. The name on the bottle Nick had wasn't right, didn't match the names he pulled from his memory. No, these weren't the ones he needed.
Repeating Nick's action, he cast the bottle of pills from his sight, spilling the last of its contents onto the ground. The anger returned, the resentment and the contempt; She lied to him, kept it hidden from him. But she couldn't be far away now, he could chase after her, take the pills he knew she had; Retake the hold on his crutch and give in to his addiction, by hook or by crook. It would be easy, simple, and the choice was his to make. But there was something else; something in the air around him, something coming from the distance. He could smell it. He knew what it was.
He made a mistake.
"I shouldn't have let him go!"
He made his choice.
He grabbed his day pack, ready to close it, to put it on his back and be on his way from this place, to chase after his mistake; But he stopped. He spotted the item Nick had left behind, the intact bottle on the ground. He must had dropped it when Alex slammed him, and forgotten to take it with him when he ran. Moving closer, Alex took the cause for his mistake into his hand; He stared at the bottle with contempt in his eyes, tempted to throw it, to be rid of it, to cast it from his sight and make sure no one else could make use of it. But if that smoke meant what he knew it did, he might need this weapon; This, and the piece of glass he had taken from his fallen opponent. It was in his pocket, the blood stained edge wrapped in a torn piece of his jacket.
He made his choice.
Sliding the molotov into his day pack, Alex removed his jacket and tore the rest of the sleeve from it; He wouldn't wear it any longer, putting the rest into his pack. He knew what he was doing; Picking up each piece of glass from the ground with cautious fingers, he placed them into the sleeve, holding them in it until he gathered every last piece. The diesel soaked shards in his possession, he cast his focus upon the last thing that still sat nearby; The branch he had taken from the trees, the weapon he invested his strength and his trust in. He made a mistake in using it the first time, but it was still his weapon, one he had taken up by choice; He made a mistake the first time, but when he met Nick again, he wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't miss. With weapon in hand, with the diesel soaked shards resting carefully in his pocket, he swung his day pack unto his back.
He made his choice.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
He followed after Nick.
[Boy #14 - Alex White. Continued in Hideaway.
[End of Thread]