[the next bit is the sniper's visit to the CK's house.There are two of them. They are meant to be viewed next to each other, but I don't know how to do that with BBC, if you can, tell me. Otherwise I'm going to put it in word and screenie it, but that won't be up for a few hours. So ONLY READ ONE. First one is CK's account, second is sniper's. This, we know, is far too long. It took us 6 hours. we have a TL;DR for a reason]
Damned. He’s finally coming to my house. Great. I didn’t clean. I start immediately, and just as he rings the doorbell I’m at cleaning the hallway, so I answer immediately. Only after I opened I realised I still had the knife lying on the table, so the fitting exclamation was in order.
"Oh dear God."
“I figured anyone I saw would be fair game, so the cloak is okay?”
He is wearing his trademark coat which looks just the way I pictured it, and he’s carrying his rifle on his back. Underneath it... He’s green. Why the hell is he green? Meh, ******** it.
“Yeah, why not.”
I laugh. I mean, we hadn't seen each other since high school! I want to hug him, but I think he wants to keep his distance so that's what I do.
I chuckle half-heartedly, say "Come in then!" and turn to walk into the house.
He throws me a lopsided smile and says:
“You should paint your door. You REALLY, REALLY should paint your door.”
“I know, I hadn't gotten around to that yet. I will though, but I'm thinking of the colour because I can't have my whole house red can I? I mean I could, but people will think that's strange. If we haven't killed them all and I'm rambling again aren't I?” Maybe this is the wrong moment, but I really just noticed just how much I ramble. Wrendraith must be bored out of his brains. I look at him uncertainly, and he says:
“You should stop doing that. Unlike in letters, I can't just come back and read later. I just sort of stop listening. But yeah, if there was anyone we hadn't killed, an all red house would be weird. You could paint it green?”
I’m not paying attention, I’m just absolutely horrified at how green he is. I give an answer that goes with almost every question;
“Mm, maybe.”
I think this situation is really really awkward, but he knows I am the King of Awkward and think everything is awkward.
“What lengths did you go through to clash with my walls? I really want to know.”
He gives me the look. The look that says “I am great, worship me or die a non-horrible death”. And then the (un)expected answer.
“I've decided to become Christmas. I was going to to purple but that looks good with red, and then blue, but that's to little-boy-bedroom, and so it had to be green, and I was going to wear a nasty puke green that looks bad with everything, but that incldues looking bad one me, and besides I don't OWN any puke green clothes, and don't want to make my clothes that color. So I'm normal green, making me Christmas. Which I like, because that means I am 3 letters away from Christ, which is a form of God. So basically, I am God.”
I can’t believe it. He’s actually gotten to the point where he think he’s God. I voice my opinion.
“You're even more egotistical than Ego herself.”
And I lose my concentration again. He says something, God knows what, so I steer the conversation to the direction I want it to go.
“Toastie's still mine.” I say. The Sniper rolls his eyes and I know I did something wrong.
“Thanks for being polite and offering me a DRINK or a PLACE TO SIT, or to SHOW ME AROUND before starting to take what is RIGHTFULLY MINE.”
I open my mouth to say something witty, and close it again when I realize I can’t think of anything. An awkward silence falls. Wrendraith decides to break it by insulting me.
“You are a terrible host. No wonder you never have people over.”
That comment brings back unwanted memories and I want vengeance, so I threaten him sneakily.
“I had someone over once and now she's dead.
See? I do have people over.”
The Sniper winces.
“You're doing a good job making me feel comfortable, too.”
This is great, I’m winning the conversation for once!
“I am the King of Awkward. You gave me that title.” I say. I should have seen it coming. He gives me the “Oh man now you’re screwed and we’re going to talk about me again” look.
“What am I the king of?”
I knew it.
“You are the King of Egos.”
“No I'm not. Well, yes I am. But don't I get anything else?”
My mind wanders again; I can’t think of anything.
“Well... You're also the King of...
Um...
Toastie is MINE.”
“BROKEN RECORD.”
I have no idea why he said that. Oh well, it’s a Wrendraith thing, I guess.
“You know, red kitchens are so cliche.”
Oh my god. He is a woman. I knew it.
“So are guns.”
“No, guns are effective.”
Girl, girl, you are a girl! Oh man, it goes ON! He just keeps being a girl!
“Red kitchens are just cliche. If you did have anyone over you don't plan on killing, they will look at your kitchen and think that you are in no way original or creative. Do you know what colour MY kitchen is?”
It is most probably black.
“Black?”
“Purpley-black.”
Close enough.
“I'm half-right. I win!”
“But what colour isn't it? RED! So WHO wins at interior decorating? I DO!”
You also win at being a total, and unbeatable woman. How the hell does he do it? I want to stick apples down his shirt.
“Anyway. Why do YOU get to kill Toastie?”
Finally! The relevant matter!
“Because she voted for ME and I want vengeance. Why would YOU get to kill Toastie?”
I seriously don’t get it. Why is he so intent on killing Toastie? It just doesn’t make sense.
“It's not like you're going to be jailed, and I CALLED HER.”
Oh please, that’s just childish. We both know you’re childish but that is ridiculous.
“Why does it matter? If you kill Zanaroo you'll do the exact same thing you do to Toastie, except IN TOASTIE'S CASE SHE WAS MINE FIRST”
He just gave me exactly what I wanted.
“Oh, OH. I see what this is. You want to PROTECT her? What happened to I-don't-care-about-anyone-but-you-mushmushMUSH Sniper? At least I get job satisfaction.”
I don’t mean it. I just hope to God that he’ll deny it.
“I care about me too.”
Deny it, b*****d!
“And I never said I don't care about anyone but you.”
...No.
“Did I?”
No.
“I don't recall. I remember saying I kill people I DON'T CARE ABOUT. I don't remember saying EVERYONE BUT YOU DESERVES A HORRIBLE DEATH.”
I can’t believe it.
“You're twisting my words.”
He isn’t.
Am not
God, I’m angry.
“Gah! Why are you so INFURIATING?”
“Are you infuriated?”
YES. YES I AM. CAN YOU TELL?
“Just kill Zanaroo. I'll tell her to vote for you so it's the same thing.”
That’s IT.
“What the hell? After what you just told me it is NOT the same thing and you know it. What are you going to do? Tell Toastie to run? You know I'll find her.”
“I'm not going to tell her to run. I'm going to shoot her.”
Do you think it’s that ******** easy? Oh please. I don’t want you to hate yourself like I did. I’d rather you hate me.
“I thought you only killed people you didn't care about?”
“Except LIKE YOU SAID YOU WILL FIND HER ANYWAY.”
STOP BEING BETTER AT ARGUING THAN ME.
“Get out of my house. Kill Toastie for all I care, just get out.”
Get out of the front door, so I can get out of the back door and take a shortcut to Toastie’s house.
“Why are you so mad?”
I’m surprised. Why AM I so mad? I’m not just feeling protective, I actually feel enraged! I just want to punch him within an inch of his life! But why? And then I know why. I know why I have felt this angry throughout the whole game: I really didn’t want to do all this. I explode.
“Because you dragged me into this! YOU are the reason I turned out this way! All these people we've killed, the lives we've ruined, including mine! It was all because YOU were bored!”
“OKAY WHY DO I FEEL THIS IS NOT ABOUT WHETHER YOU CAN KILL TOASTIE OR NOT?”
That’s it. That’s IT! I don’t even know when, or where my fist connects with his body. All I feel is blind rage building up inside of me. I look at him, lying on the floor, and all I can do is yell.
“YOU EGOCENTRIC b*****d!”
He looks at me like I just proclaimed my undying love towards me and got naked.
“That was just BAD.”
His eyes meet mine. I look away, and bitterly say:
“Well we're criminals now, are we not?”
Criminals. Scum of the earth. Monsters.
Murderers.
“Come on, you did that JUST so you could have an excuse to try and kill me.”
What the hell? I just punched him! That’s not enough to kill him. And since when do we need excuses to kill?
“I don't want to kill you!”
Like that ever stopped me before.
“THEN WHY DID YOU PUNCH ME? Punching can draw BLOOD.”
I didn’t think about that. Well, I don’t smell anything so there’s no blood. He swears, and I don’t blame him.
“Punching doesn't draw blood, it draws URINE. FECES. EW!”
What? Huh? No it doesn’t. Does it?
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
“UNCLENLINESS! You should go shower. I might have peed on you.”
The worst part is that I actually check myself for any unwanted stains before I get what he’s doing. He’s laughing at my weaknesses, the b*****d. I look down on him.
“That was low. You're pathetic.”
I have never, EVER hated someone like I hate Wrendraith now.
“You should still shower. Can I be random? ish.”
“What?”
“Where's your/my knife?”
What? Why does he want to see his knife all of a sudden? Would he really be that stupid to try and stab me while he knows I have a lot of explosives and weapons in my house? He wouldn’t. I think he’s genuinely interested in seeing the bloody knife.
“What? That's not even relevant! Ugh, if you really want to know, it's right over there, why?”
“I just wanted to see it again? Nostalgia, you know”
Idiot. a*****e. Murderer. Shut up, mind.
“I just punched you and you want to see your knife again? You're strange.”
He goes toward the table, picks up the knife and winces. He had better not break my ******** table, that thing cost me a fortune.
“Hm? What's wrong?”
“What? ohh...nothingg.. Umm..hey, I'm going to go. You can kill who you want...”
Yep. He definitely broke my table. b*****d, he’s not going anywhere.
“You did something. Stay right there.”
There’s something wrong. He’s looking way too nervous. His eyes are flickering back and forth and he keeps looking at the door, like he really wants to run.
“Why?”
“Did you break my ta-“
It was then that I noticed a scent. A horrible, horrible scent. He didn’t break anything. He cut himself.
“oh god no. NO”
I don’t want to kill him. Jezus, Mary, God, anyone who I don’t really believe in, please make it not work, please, please, please!
“RIGHT I AM GOING NOW OKAY” the Sniper shouts, panicked.
And now I feel aware of the worst headache you can imagine. I scream, collapse on the floor and then everything goes black.
I’m back. I get up, and start laughing.
“Ha ha ha ha ha... You think you can escape me? Cute.”
I’m very close. I could just bend over and bite your nose. I think I will.
“OKAY WHAT THE HELL THAT WAS MY NOSE.”
I drew blood. Delicious.
“Phwoar. Indeed.”
He kicks me, which I think is not very polite.
“Ina...just...stay away from me. You don't want to do this. You aren't yourself. Let it go. Go kill someone else. Zanaroo, toastie. You don't need to do this.”
No, I don’t! Please, just stop it!
Shut up. You are annoying, Inasanemonkey.
“I am not sure I fully agree. I am myself as much as Inas is myself. But I am not Inas. Do you understand?
I would like to kill someone else too, but seeing as you're the one in my direct vicinity, ah... It's just rather a lot easier to start off with you. I suggest you run, boy. I feel like a good hunt.”
He mumbles something to himself. I wonder what it is.
Then he starts screaming. Wonderful.
“Really, if you you weren't all insane, you would laugh at this. GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON TO KILL ME, PLEASE”
Wow, what a hypocrite. What reason did you have to kill?
“I am...”
“Goddamn, you're going to tackle me, aren't you.”
Interrupting too! Rude bean.
“...Bored.”
He only has a moment to say
“I'm sorry, interrupting is rude.” before I tackle him. I try to wrestle the knife from his grip, but he is strong. Those guns must be heavy. He yells “SEE I WAS RIGHT” as we roll around the floor. And then, oh delightful! His own knife sinks into his shoulder and he lets out the loudest scream of agony. I use this to take the knife, now quite literally bloody.
“GOD DAMN IT, THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN”
He finally does what I want. He runs. And what can I do? I, as always, cackle loudly and run after him.
I heard screams. I stopped to see where they came from, which was a mistake as the distraction gave the Sniper a chance to get away. Oh well, I thought, I'll just kill them instead. One's as good as the other.
I stalked inside and spotted them immediately, as they were the only ones in the cafe. They were frozen in fear. I grabbed both of them by the collar, and pulled the rope I always had with me for cases like these out of my pocket.
I tied one of them, Heart Shaped Toastie, I think her name was, to a chair. I told her:
"Scream and die. Close your eyes and die. Avert your gaze and die. I want you to enjoy this as much as I do."
Both girls looked at me with eyes filled with complete terror, and I loved every second of it. "Now. Where do I start?" I asked myself out loud. I grinned. "Zan
"Zanaroo, isn't it?" I grabbed the fingers of her left hand. "Nice," Crack. "to," Crack. "meet," Crack. "you." Crack
She screamed at having all of her fingers, save her thumb, broken. Toastie sat in the chair, crying. This was teriffic. I grabbed my knife.
"Stick out your tongue." I ordered. Zanaroo obliged. This was the obedience I sought for! Slash. No more tongue. She screamed. Toastie bit her lip trying not to. I relished in their misery.
I grabbed the girl's hands again, but now only to raise her wrists. Slash, slash. I held her until her body went limp, after which I quickly threw away the body and undid Heart Shaped Toastie's binds. She stayed put, afraid of what I might do to her should she run away.
I stabbed her in the arm and she screamed. I laughed, but stopped after I heard a loud "No!"
[skip to end of sniper's to get rest of this part]
--
sniper PoV
I just got off the phone with Ina, and it was a bit WHAT THE HELL. Because I didn't expect him to lose ALL conversation skills he might have possessed in high school by this age (which is quite young and supple mind you). He couldn't carry a conversation all. He didn't laugh, or make jokes. Probably scared, what with his insanity and all. WHICH REMINDS ME - I MUST NOT CUT MYSELF ON ANYTHING. And I swear to God and Jesus and my rifle that I am a terrible person and WILL cut myself on something and there I am, dead. Great life.
Not one to be negative, I try and find a color that clashes the most with red, so as to stand out from his walls. I chose green. I am Christmas. I could take off the mas and just me Christ, but people might complain. Ego, for one. But now I can just take a picture of myself against his walls and I won't even have to spend money on Christmas photos. I am so practical.
I've decided before leaving it's okay to wear my cloak and rifle before 9 pm, because I have the right to shoot anyone I see. Toastie I called as my kill, and Ina wants me to kill Zanaroo anyway. And it makes me feel more like a sniper, which is good. Ina always wears normal clothes and doesn't bother with a cloak, and it seems kind of boring. But then, his kills are more than just waltzing into someone's house and shooting them in the head anyway. So maybe he doesn't need to feel interesting with a cloak. Holy s**t, I might have just insulted myself. Sniper I love you and you are the greatest sniper ever and amazing at killing people AMEN. Okay, I am safe from self-hatred.
OKAY SO after mistaking Ina's house for the one next door that looks the EXACT SAME, I am at his house and KNOCKING. And he is ANSWERING. I would hug him, but frankly, I want to keep my distance.
"Oh dear God," Ina says the second he lays eyes on me. Or rather, my cloak, being as it's covering me.
"I figure anyone I saw would be fair game, so the cloak is okay?" I say, defending myself. It is his rule, after all.
"Yeah, why not," he says, laughing. "Come on in!"
Inside, I see that when he said he painted the house red he meant RED. Not the darker red touched with burgundy that most people choose. This is bright, firetruck red.
And all the furniture is black, so it's a bit creepy.
"You should paint your door. You REALLY, REALLY should paint your door," I say, attempting to distance myself from the eerie feel of his house.Something just seems off. But then, something has always seemed a bit off with Ina, since I first met him. I learned to ignore it then, and I can ignore it now.
"I know, I hadn't gotten around to that yet. I will though, but I'm thinking of the colour, because I can't have my whole house red, can I? I mean I could, but people will think that's strange. If we haven't killed them all and I'm rambling again aren't I?" He says, standing there awkwardly, staring at my collarbone. He is terrible at eye contact. My way of knowing if he's not himself is if he's looking me in the eye. I've said it before, he is the most awkward person alive.
"You should stop doing that. Unlike in letters, I can't just come back and read later. I just sort of stop listening. But yeah, if there was anyone we hadn't killed, an all red house would be weird. You could paint the door green?" I suggest, hoping he catches my hint and directs the conversation to my clothes.
"Mm, maybe," he says, pausing to think. Damnit, notice my clothes! And then, "What lengths did you go through to clash with my walls? I really want to know." Ahh, good man.
"I've decided to become Christmas. I was going to be purple, but that looks good with red, and then I thought blue, but that's too little-boy-bedroom. And so it had to be green, and I was going to wear a nasty puke green taht looks bad with everything, but the problem with that is that it also looks bad on me. Besides, I don't even OWN any puke green clothes, andI don't want to make my clothes that color. So I'm normal green, making me Christmas. Which I like, because that means I am three letters away from Christ, which is a form of God. So basically, I am god," I recite.
"You're even more egotistical than Ego herself." He doesn't seem amused. Which is a bit disappointing, really. I worked HARD on clashing.
"No, I'm logical," I correct.
"Toastie's still mine." Okay, good thing we're on the subject. I look around, and realize we are still standing in his entry way, and he has progressed to staring at my chin.
"Thanks for being polite and offering me a DRINK or a PLACE TO SIT, or to SHOW ME AROUND before starting to take what is RIGHTFULLY MINE," I point out. He is not a hospitable person. "You are a terrible host. No wonder you never have people over," I add.
"I had someone over once and now she's dead. See? I do have people over," he pointed out.
Damnit, I'm an insensitive a*****e. I do a good job showing remorse, too.
"You're doing a good job making me feel comfortable, too." Goddamn, I'm going to go to hell. I'm a terrible friend.
"I am the King of Awkward. You gave me that title," he points out. And he's right. I haven't been in a social situation with him for so long, I'd forgotten. Poor bloke.
"What am I the king of?" I ask, always feeling the need to be sensitive.
"You are the King of Egos." Which is not true, EGO is the king of egos. Well, no, she would be the queen. Wait - if I'm the king....ew. Eww.
"No, I'm not," I firmly state. I am not letting this go.
"Well, yes I am." Or maybe I am. I doooo have a fairly large ego...still. Can't drop it without getting something in return.
"But don't I get anything else?"
"Well...you're also the King of....um. Toastie is MINE!" Apparently HE has no problem dropping it with nothing in return though. And so he can repeat something in almost the exact context, but slightly different, as this time he has sabotoged two perfectly fine conversations.
"BROKEN RECORD," I point out. He needs to know. "You know, red kitchens are so cliche," I add. Really, they are. And if he's supposed to be CREATIVE, he should KNOW that everyone and their mother has a red kitchen. SO ignorant.
"So are guns," he points out.
"No, guns are EFFECTIVE," I insist. They are. No mess, no screaming. Just quick and done. Doesn't mess up the rest of the day.
Not wanting to be stopped again, I quickly spit out, "Red kitchens are JUST cliche. If you had anyone over you don't lan on killing, they will look at your kitchen and think that you are in now way original or creative. Do you know what color MY kitchen is?"
"Black?" He guesses, a blank look on his face.
"Purpley-black," I state proudly.
"I'm half-right. I win!" Ina makes me laugh. He sometimes just doesn't understand things.
"But what colour isn't it? RED! So WHO wins at interior decorating? I DO!" I clarify, importantly.
"Anyway, why do YOU get to kill Toastie?"
"Because she voted for ME, and I want vengeance. Why would YOU get to kill Toastie?" He asks, as if he's looking for a certain answer.
"It's not like you're going to be jailed, and I CALLED HER. Why does it matter? If you kill Zanaroo, you'll do the exact same thing you do to Toastie, except IN TOASTIE'S CASE SHE WAS MINE FIRST" I said, ranging from normal speaking to a slightly louder, more angry tone. Slightly. Juuust slightly. He looks at me with a satisfied expression on his face, as if I gave him what he was looking for. Oh my god, my brain is a gay porno. If we were naked, it WOULD be a gay porno. ANYWAY, back to the present.
"Oh, OH. I see what this is. You want to PROTECT her? What happened to I-don't-care-about-anyone-but-you-musmushMUSH Sniper? At least I get JOB SATISFACTION" He shouts at me. Shouts? It's really bordering a scream, he has a very shrill voice when he's mad.
"I care about me too. And I never said I don't care about anyone but you. Did I? I don't recall. I remember saying I kill people I DON'T CARE ABOUT. I don't remember saying EVERYONE BUT YOU DESERVES A HORRIBLE DEATH," I scream back. We're actually walking now, almost circling each other. I think we're heading toward the kitchen. His eyes are flitting across mine, hovering there for a second before darting back around in a hurried way. Oh my god, there is no way that is not porn.
"You're twisting my words," Ina says in a very forced impression of calmness.
"Am not," I insist, matching his tone.
"Gaahh! Why are you so INFURIATING?" He screams at me, throwing his hands up.
"Are you infuriated?" I'm prodding at him, because I am in insensitive arse and want to get a reaction from him. Hello devil. Hello hell. I miss you too.
"Just kill Zanaroo. I'll tell her to vote for you so it's the same thing," I say in an offhand way. This is in some ways goading him and in some ways trying to lay off a bit. I've not quite made up my mind which way I want to go.
"What the hell? After what you just told me, it is NOT the same thing and you know it. What are you going to do? Tell Toastie to run? You know I'll find her," He says, a disgusted look on his face. His eyes are making contact for longer and longer periods now before dropping. I have a feeling I'm going to have to be leaving pretty soon, and not for any pleseant reason.
"I'm not going to tell her to run, I'm going to shoot her," I say, rolling my eyes at him. I'm have no desire to keep her alive, but she's not all bad. She doesn't deserve whatever horrid death Ina has prepared for her. I'd rather just kill her quickly, to get it over with.
"I thought you only killed people you didn't care about?" He pointed out.
"Except LIKE YOU SAID YOU WILL FIND HER ANYWAY," I shout at him. I'm getting bored of his games.
"Get out of my house. Kill Toastie for all I care, just get out," he said, in a deadly whisper. Anyone who's ever had someone really pissed at them knows that whispering is probably the scariest thing they can do. Of course, I have proved time and TIME again that I AM in fact a HUGE idiot, so instead of leaving and killing Toastie, I have to make sure everything is clear to me.
"Why are you so mad? I'm not mad," I say carefully. It's true, I'm not mad. A bit hurt, a bit scared, a lot stupid, but not mad.
"Because you dragged me into this! YOU are the reason I turned out this way! All these people we've killed, the lies we've ruined, including mine! It was all because YOU were bored!" He screams shrilly. I swear he has a v****a, and was lying on the phone earlier. Note to self - check his armpits. His gaze has dropped to my chin again, which is actually really scary. He's being SANE. And all of a sudden, a conversation I could properly follow turned into something I didn't understand at all. I paused for a minute, blinked. Cocked my head to the side and gave him a funny look. What happened to wanting to kill Toastie? Deranged, this man.
"Okay...why do I feel this is conversation is no longer about whether you can kill Toastie or not?" I ask, still puzzled.
All of a sudden, I feel a blow connect with the side of my head, and the next thing I know I'm knocked to the floor.
"YOU EGOCENTRIC b*****d!" He bellows, looking furious.
I struggle up, and stare him right in the eye. He's still not looking at mine, but that isn't the point. He has gone TOO FAR. He KNOWS how he gets around blood, there is a REALLY GOOD CHANCE I AM BLEEDING RIGHT NOW. I'd check, but I'm busy being pissed.
"That was just BAD," I spit out.
"Well, we're criminals now, are we not?" He says, as if it's not a big deal.
"Are you an idiot? Come on, you did that JUST so you could have an excuse to try and kill me."
"I don't want to kill you!" He yelps, and he meets my gaze for an instant.
"Then WHY did you PUNCH ME?" I yell at him. "Punching can draw BLOOD."
s**t. I said blood. What if I'm bleeding?
"s**t. Punching doesn't draw blood, it draws URINE. FECES. EW!" I say quickly, hoping to throw him off.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" He says, yelling at me like I'm insane.
Hey, whatever works.
"UNCLENLINESS!" I yelp, continuing on with it. "You should go shower. I might have peed on you."
He gave me a puzzled glance and quickly checked himself over.
"That was low. You're pathetic."
"You should still shower."
"Oh no."
I, being the SMART FELLOW I AM, think that maybe reminding him of my gift to him, the knife, will keep him on track. As long as he doesn't touch it.
"Can I be random...ish?" I say, trying to SEEM random and as if there was no reason for my behavior.
"What?" He asks, caught off guard.
"Where's your...my? Your knife?" I ask. I don't know what to call it.
"That's not relevant to th case at hand. Anyway, I think I put it somewhere, I don't really remember..." he trailed off, as if it wasn't that important. Which it probably isn't, but it could put him in a better mood. "Why?" He added, as an offhand thought.
"I just wanted to see it?" I say, trying to seem innocent. He is, fortunately, a worse actor than I am, so I - thank god - have little to worry about.
"What? That's not even relevant! Ugh, if you really want to know, it's right over there, why?" He says, as if I'm a child he needs to be happy to get his way.
"I just wanted to see it again. Nostalgia, you know?" I blurt out. The first thing that pops into my head is rarely that good.
"I just punched you and you want to see your knife again? You're strange." He says, puzzled. He looks at me as if he punch made me a bit stupid.
I pick up the knife and look at it fondly. I really could have been jailed the first day if this had stabbed the mailman, but I got lucky. And then yelled at for a week, but still. I probably wouldn't be right here without that luck. It really reminds me of what an idiot I can be. This knife almost got me caught two and a half weeks ago, it caused me to get mad at my only friend for some stupid pride, and now it's going to slip in my hand, cut me, and one of us will probably be dead in the next twenty minutes. Of course that last thought was JUST thought on the spot, as I held the knife. I'd thought it would calm him down, but I'd forgotten I AM CLUMSY. Good with guns, TERRIBLE with knives. I didn't have to pick up the damn thing. And - yup. There it is. Just cut my thumb while grazing the side of it. Pressed too hard. I swear lightly, and place the knife back down on the table quickly, trying to find a way to hide my hand. Ina, who had been watching me handle the knife, gave me a suspicious look and say,
"Hm? What's wrong?"
"What? Oohh, nothing...." I say, trying to sound offhand, knowing it's no good. "Um..hey, I'm going to go. You can kill who you want..."
"You did something. Stay right there. ." He says, eying me, trying to figure out exactly what happened.
"Did you break my ta-" he broke off, and sniffed. I shut my eyes, knowing he smelled it. "Oh god no. NO."
"RIGHT I AM GOING NOW OKAY?" I yell loudly, starting to back up. Ina grabs his head in his hands and shakes convulsively, almost as if he was having a seizure. I know I should go, but I'm frozen there, watching my friend change into something that will try to kill me. I an as good as dead.
And at that thought, I snap out of it. If he kills me, in a half hour he'll be sane again, and he'll come to his senses seeing his only friend lying there, killed by him. I can't let that happen if I can in any way stop it. I rush forward to grab the knife right as he stops shaking and looks up, strait into my eyes. I know now that this isn't time for games. This is time to protect a friend from himself.
I pull the first karate move I can remember from ninth grade PE, and he's knocked backwards. I take a second to thank that school for giving me one useful thing in my life, and then remember that I didn't knock him out, I knocked him over. I start to back up slowly, not wanting to turn away from him while he's still in the kitchen.
He slowly gets up, and laughs, never breaking eye contact. While his sanity made him nervous, uncertain of what was acceptable of him, his insanity made him as opposite as Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde, overconfident, sure that he is in control. I then see that killing makes him a monster. Killing takes away everything I like about him. His awkwardness is gone, replaced by an over-certainty. He no longer cares who he hurts, cares about lives or histories. He only desires the smell and feel of blood, the knowledge that he was causing someone more misery than they knew they could feel. I was wrong to make him like I am, and there is nothing that can take away the shame that causes. My only friend is trying to kill me because I wasn't happy with my life. No matter how either of us will get out of this, I will never forgive myself. The worst thing now is that I only notice this when I witness it for myself.
"You think you can escape me? Cute," he snarls, advancing toward me. I back up more, and before I know it he's jumped at me, and I feel teeth...
"OKAY WHAT THE HELL THAT WAS MY NOSE." I state loudly, kicking him as hard as I can. He falls back a bit, I continue to back toward the door.
" Ina...just...stay away from me. You don't want to do this. You aren't yourself. Let it go. Go kill someone else. Zanaroo, Toastie. You don't need to do this." I say as calmly as I can, trying to reach any shred of himself that might be hiding in there.
"I am not sure I fully agree. I am myself as much as Inas is myself. But I am not Inas. Do you understand?" He has stopped. It seems important for him to tell me this, so I stop, too. Who knows, there might be a shred of something I can cling to in something that I hear. He continues, "I would like to kill someone else too, but seeing as you're the one in my direct vicinity, ahh...It's just rather a lot easier to start off with you." He finishes. Smiles again, and then "I suggest you run, boy. I feel like a good hunt."
I continue to try and get to him. Try and remind him who I am, who he is.
"I want a tape recorder," I mumble to myself. "So you can hear yourself. Really, if you weren't all insane, you would laugh at this." I really doubt he would, but he found me funny before, didn't he? Maybe.
"Give me ONE GOOD REASON to kill me. PLEASE" I try, clinging to a last, desperate hope that he might falter for even a second, allowing me to escape.
"Hmm...I am... " he pauses, smiles.
I sigh, knowing what's coming. "You're going to tackle me, aren't you." I brace myself.
"Bored." He says, simply.
"I'm sorry, interrupting is rude," I add as an afterthought.
Suddenly, we're both rolling around on the floor, clawing and scratching at each other, him trying his hardest to get the knife from me, and I mostly trying to keep the knife out of my flesh.
"SEE, I WAS RIGHT" I grunt in triumph, as he had, in fact, tackled me. The second I concentrated even the tiniest bit less on keeping the knife off of me and away from him to get the words out, I feel a searing pain in my shoulder. I look down to see the sniper, holding the knife.
"GODDAMNIT. THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN." I yell out, clutching my shoulder.
I seize this moment to run, Ina slightly distracted by my outburst. Out the door, away, as far away as I go. But no matter how fast I run, I can hear him behind me, waiting for me to tire. I know that Zanaroo and Toastie will be hanging around the café in town, for the last jailing. They would see me and know who I am, see Ina and realize they were both doomed. But they were my only hope, Ina's only hope. I had to get there before I got tired. If I slowed down, he would be right there, stabbing me all over. It would torment him, it was torture I couldn't bear to put either of us through. Finally, I spotted the café, and the two terrified girls holding hands out front. The moment they noticed me, they noticed him, and screamed. The scream threw Ina off, he stopped running to look over at was making the noise. In that second, I slid off into the shadows of another building. I was a sniper because of my ability to hide, to not be caught. More than once it has saved my life, and today it gave me a second chance with a friend.
I sit down in the shadows to wait, to listen. Sensitive to any change in my environment that might give me some clue on how to act. I hear screams from both of them, and prepare to barge in, shoot anyone I had to. Then, I only here one scream. Zanaroo. I relax a bit, and my mind brings me back to high school days, carefree freinds with Ina. Flashes of times when I was happy. Brief relationships with Toastie I always managed to ******** up, being self centered, careless. Ignorant to anyone's feelings but my own. I remember the day it was over for good. I remember the flickers of sleepless nights throughout the years that reminded me that I was never quite over her. I think back to less than an hour ago, arguing about who could kill her, we both knew she had to die. And then, I remember Ina's letter, when realized for certain he didn't want to do this. He killed his friend, and it tormented him. And just like that my thoughts are concentrated back on earlier today. He didn't want me to killer her...he knows I care about her. Ina is insane, he doesn't know how to be humane when he's like this. Toastie will not get a quiet death, she'll get one full of torment and agony.
And just like that, fresh screams draw me up. Zanaroo is dead, that isn't her scream. I load my rifle and crash through the café door in the smoothest way possible. I know what I have to do.
"STOP," I bellow. Ina turns toward me, and Toastie looks at me, her eyes saying so much. Confusing, comprehension, hurt, a flicker of sorrow, and pleading. And that's what I saw the most. Pleading. Not to save her, she knew it was too late for that. Her scream wasn't a scream of fear, it was a scream caused by the rivers of blood running down her arm. I raised my rifle, looking at her, trying to convey some form of apology. I pulled the trigger, and watched a bullet drive into a victim's skull for what I knew would be the last time.
I then turned to Ina, who was looking at me with a look that VERY clearly said "You are dead. Already. Don't bother breathing."
I looked him in the eye, and raised my gun to his head, hoping it would scare him enough to jolt back to himself. We stood there like that for what felt like eternity. It feels so odd saying that, and probably more odd reading it, but it really was forever. Him looking at me, me looking right back. Rifle staying pointed at his head. And then - he collapsed. Not into tears, but into a form of grief and shame stronger than anyone should ever be expected to feel. I helped up, got him out of there, with the knowledge that I was the only one who could have it worse.
