The time is 1700 hours, and a man has just turned into a ******** monster right before your eyes. Or rather, not before your eyes, but close enough that you probably could've seen him become a monster if something hadn't gotten in your way.
That's not the problem, though. The problem is the cordon of state police outside the library: who knows why. There are bleeding people in here, dead people, but until the scene is provably secure not one of the law enforcement personnel can enter. You could've left in the first rush of panic, but you didn't.
Quote:
Why didn't you leave?
Post below the cut <3 - some Darker thoughts, absolutely blood.
Wanted to spare people who didn't want to read so - it is at your discretion.
Prompt 1 --
The rush of initial panic was speculation at first, that moment when people first start turning around, staring into the source of growing screams. That moment when people succumb to their more morbid tendencies, staring and hoping to see something ‘memorable’… as though they really think they want to experience the moment. They don’t really want to see a death though. They want to see the dead, the injured; they might think they want to see the dying and maybe a tiny fraction of humanity does but most do not. They don’t –understand- the difference.
Panic itself spread outward like a wave, like a rock dropped into a pond and the ripples begin. A handful of screams become a dozen, becomes thirty… more.
Fear froze him, like some statuary in a graveyard he stood, a rock in a stream of humanity that bolted for the exits. Then there was him, jumping to try and block someone he didn’t even like. Why had he done that?
He could have run, he could have gotten away –
Could have gotten away, and then wondered where his friends were, wondered if he could have saved a life. Wondered if he wasn’t placing an all too artificial value on his life given his history of failure.
He cradled his arm to his chest, watching the blood squeeze through his fingers with a passive interest. There was so much more blood, so much more, his eyes were glazed as the memory of mirrors, and spiders, the sound of those feet, one plastic moved in the darkness.
It was so –real- that it took an effort to push it away, a shooting sensation of pain because he’d curled fingers into one of the deeper cuts that starts low on his upper arm and skips over his elbow before finding real purchase down the back of his fore-arm.
He needs to find Autumn… He needs to get up and move. Not because he’s an important piece in this, because history suggests quite the reverse. But because other people matter, and that’s why he couldn’t leave.
Posted: Mon May 23, 2016 6:57 pm
Bad Moon Rising – from Floor 3 – Zac perspective
This shouldn’t be able to happen on ‘this side’. That was the thought that kept playing over and over in his head. This shouldn’t be able to happen. But he’d seen it, he’d seen the gout of blood, the ripple of growing panic, and now, now they stood before the elevators with fresh memories of more carnage playing behind their eyes. The look on Professor Lupin’s face, how close she had to have been to that little Dog she always had, service dog he remembered idly. Her service dog… Funny how the vest stood out so clearly in his mind despite the fact he barely knew her.
That look in her eyes, like she was already gone.
Gone… Just gone.
//Like Alg… Like Jer… like…// he pushed down the malicious whisper, stuffing it back into the recesses of his mind to whisper in his nightmares and into sleepless nights.
Gone…
He wondered if she felt any kind of peace. He wondered If she’d search for it too.
The thought left a dryness In his mouth, a carved out hollow spot that he couldn’t seem to patch in, like once thought, once loosed he could not call back that thought. It was just one more thing in his life slipping out of his control.
One more thing he had no answers to.
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Posted: Mon May 23, 2016 7:51 pm
waiting--1830 wednesday may 18 The police are slow to believe the efforts of the negotiating team. Insisting that help is required has no impact on the negotiator from the state troopers, and the CDC requires evidence of hypertrichosis before it'll clear the area from suspicion of being a biological attack site.
You're getting by, but how? What keeps your mind off things, if anything does?
He has to wonder what’s going on outside, what’s going through their heads. They are fighting with the elevator. They have to make this work…they have to. He is bleeding; God is he bleeding and Falco just fell.
What are they even doing? He knew CDC was involved from Radio chatter, and bullhorns, though his information was fragmented, distracted because he was in here, he was living this while they jacked around, people died. He couldn’t stop shaking, or maybe it was shivering.
This was –real, this was their world, this was their damned supposed to be at least somewhat more normal…world.
And it was so… screwed up. No one out there cared, it wasn’t lives in here, they weren’t people anymore, they were just statistics. People being pushed one way or another or left to die to fit into an equation that didn’t work for these circumstances.
He… was going to die. He wasn’t even 19, and he was going to die… again. But if he could be there to hold the doors open, so people who were more capable might be able to enact Jer’s… maybe hair brained maybe reasonable, they would do or die – plan.
Please…god let it work…. If there was a god…
Please… Sunny?
Posted: Tue May 24, 2016 12:30 pm
victory 1--1930 wednesday may 18 Somehow, the police have been convinced that they are better served helping than waiting for news. There are paramedics swarming the first floor, people being carried away to ambulances and triaged in the concourse.
You survived.
How does that make you feel?
He felt dull, not that he didn’t hurt, he hurt, and he bled and he stared, dull eyed as people were swarming in, carrying people out. He’d allowed some first aid, but was trying hard to convince them to handle people who were worse, cause there were people who were worse. He shivered, and felt sick.
He was glad, that they were getting people out, but he had no idea how many Were-creatures were left in the building. Lives might be saved, here, now…
But they might be lost too… He stared into the crowd lie in their movements he could divine, line an oracle the secrets he needed to know.
Truths that he knew would more likely than not, hurt, or be uncomfortable. Truths that might involve bodies, bodies of those he loved, or cared for.
His shoulders sagged as he realized the terrible…twisted machinations of the authorities fit that same thought process. That if he wanted to protect the town… he’d almost have to consider people numbers, quantities in an equation that may or may not be right.
So he’d sent the text about …sending the Were’s to OAD. His concern, his stupid, pointless concern, and his only reason was… you could get OUT of other ash down.
And if you could get out…
Well…
This might look a great deal like control, and peace.
He half wished he were still up there. Angry and tired and bleeding, because damn… Autumn was down, Lucas was there, Jerimiah and Alg had justified concerns, but god…
Like he could –ever- matter more than them. It was too easy to know when you were –not- the value of an equation, just one of its subtract able parts.
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2016 5:04 pm
victory 2: finale-- 2000 wednesday may 18 Someday, the police, your family, someone will ask you: what ******** happened in there?
There will be news stories to direct them to, of course, but they're asking for different reasons. They want to see the look on your face. Record the facts. Hear the trembling in your voice.
What will you tell them? -----
Watching, he just watched from a corner, scratching idly at his wrists, a terrible habit of anxiety that would likely get him into hot water if they caught him at it. They had their hands full though. He was trying to be happy, he saw Lucas re-united, though Throne looked badly injured, worse than he was.
It was a justification not to move. Worse than him…. There were things worse than him; there were people who had it worse than him.
He tries to think about the future. Stories, like before, like when he was ‘missing’ for 7 days.
More lies.
SO many more lies, and it doesn’t even start to feel over even with the paramedics, the cops, the radio chatter, it should feel finished but it doesn’t.
Maybe it will NEVER be finished. Maybe all they can hope for are little moments like this one, Lucas and Thorne, their hands together despite the blood; a blanket to hide the strangeness that this town has inflicted on Lucas, red eyes, pointed ears, tail.
What will he tell them? Maybe ‘a killer got loose’…. ‘He hurt a lot of people’. His throat feels tight and he feels tears running down his face. He’s so damned… tired, and it’s hard to think.
Maybe he should call a paramedic.
Maybe he should think of more reasons why the police, the CDC, the hospital all got called to a job fair.
He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks ‘And then the cops put them away’… because Jer wanted to put them into the other place. It’s a knot of doubt in his stomach. He hopes if they did they didn’t send them there alone. He hopes if they did…that it helps.
Because …they were people under those teeth and that fur, they were students, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. What If they just put him down one day?
