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Part two of Insanity
Written by: Laura Doyle
I was first to notice the slow extinction of our food supply. It surprised me that we had survived this long, after all who would think twenty boxes of stale cheerios and water would last until now. Our source of the liquid had not run dry yet, the flow was slow but we managed to get enough.
By now we had assumed we were somewhere underground. Puddles on the ground would form no where near a broken pipe or water source, and they never lasted long. Evaporating only to re-appear in another sector out of the five that we had, we were kids of knowledge. Though we did not care, all that mattered was that our food and water supply remained and we were not at each others throats; I did not know how much longer we would last.
The gun shot bellowed in my ears, playing my eardrums like a constant chorus. The sound did not stop, my brain would not take it in. It was over as quickly as it had begun. Jesse was dead. The thought processed through my mind like a broken cassette tape. Moments ago, that Beretta pistol was aimed at me. How was it, that it was not my corpse laying on the ground two meters from Jesse? Minutes passed. Each millisecond felt like an hour waving goodbye; I stood helpless.
My mind was so boggled I could not think. A large object was fixed in my right hand but I ignored it; I never once looked. I knew an hour had passed but I had lost track of how long it had really been. I was not even sure if I was standing anymore. I found myself secluded in the farthest corner of the room my arms wrapped around my legs. I was in the south-east corner; I could see the box.
There was no breeze, yet my body was trembling and all my hairs on end. Maybe it was the face, the frightened face of my emotional innocence. It was plastered among his pale skin. The second the cold hands of death wrapped him in a blanket of eternal rest, it vanished. Only I did not know why I felt that way – responsible for his death. It had to be a ridiculous thing to think, that I was the reason he shot himself in the head. I guess it was the words that kept repeating in my mind that made me refuse the comfort I desired terribly.
"You're insane!" Jesse bellowed, my footstep toward him only resulted in a light click of the hammer locking in place.
"Jesse, please just put the gun down," I pleaded, not noticing how much I was trembling, "this is not going to end it." I saw his face twist in pain; I knew he was crying. I took a step closer, only making it easier for him; I was in range of a perfect hit, if his hand would stop shaking. It was hard to tell what he was thinking with his expressions changing expeditiously. I took another step, but this time there was not much of a reaction, he recoiled slightly. There was only one bullet, who it was meant for was unknown. Hand on the trigger, his thumb slid from the hammer into a more steady position. There was now three meters separating us; silence. It was quiet and he remained unmoving. It would have been a good time to close the space and steal the gun, but I knew that would not end things, maybe make it worse. I decided I would make the move, but he caught me first. The unsteady quivering of his hand alerted my senses. The gun was wavering as it attempted to grapple its target, me. There was no time for planning anymore, it was now or never. Then there was a loud explosion, and all went silent.
I knelt alongside his body, my fingertips ever so gently massaging his cadaverous hand. My senses had dwindled after a unpleasant rest. My throat craved water, and my entire body was reacting to dehydration. I did not want to leave him, his body. I felt so weak I was surprised I had not let go of the object in my right hand. It was a comfort to stress.
"Jesse." I wanted to whisper his name but my voice was hoarse. I continued to stroke him. My eyes did not want to look at him fully, just the parts that looked alive. I let my hands trail up his arms and towards his shoulders, my eyes carefully following. They reached his neck and upper torso but that was it, I had gone too far. My eyes had strayed from their careful surveillance, out of bounds. I would pay. The nine millimeter bullet wound was planted in his head; the blood still fresh. His expression remained the same from when he pulled the trigger. My heart accelerated. I clutched my stomach as a sudden nauseating feeling conquered the defense system of my bowel. The acidic vomit filled my throat and I wound my head to the left. I gagged as tears streamed down my face, it was not the painful feeling of throwing up that caused the waterworks, it had been his face. His emerald eyes were coated with death and his eyebrows fixed in a frown. I clutched my stomach as I vomited again. I was finding it hard to breath, I had stopped feeling sick now that my stomach was strained, but I felt like I was falling to pieces. I choked on air repeatedly as I sobbed. My chest rising to consume oxygen only to exhale in loud wails. The tears stopped streaming, only glazing over my eyes. I turned myself around to face his corpse once more, as hard as it was I was testing my limit. A few drops soaked small patches of his clothing as I tried to touch him, but I shook. I stared at him in the eyes and I choked. Still my gaze did not move from his tender features. In fact, a small smile creased the corners of my pursed lips. At least it was over, he would feel no more pain. I stared for a few minutes, examining the wound. Maybe fate had hit a crossroad in who would take the bullet. I was to die first but death changed its pattern and chose to kill me emotionally, where it hurt. A pain like that would never die. I looked toward his feet and searched for the gun. He did not hold it. Confusion began to fill my throat, panic began. I scanned the room many times. The gun was no where. My body tensed and I balled my hands into fists, but stopped abruptly when I felt the solid object. I took a deep breath of air and let it out. I now stood a foot away from the exit of this sector. My pupils directed downward then my eyelids locked, in my right hand I embraced the handle of the Beretta pistol.
Pulling back my arm and inch or two, I swung toward her head. One strike was enough to put her out for as long as I needed. It was very dark in the room, I could barely see her face. Leaning over and grabbing her shoulders I put her against the wall; the toilet smelled of old water and let off a revolting aroma. I decided to move her to the opposite side of the utilities, away from the smell. Taking hold of the brown thread, I laced it through the little hole at the head of the sewing needle. First the lips, to save her from hearing herself cry. A smile, a smirk, a grin. Enjoyment flowed in my veins as I punctured through more casing. Her lips were plush and beautiful, I sometimes paused to touch them; not a single sound. I moved on, carefully piercing through the thin parchment like lids, weaving in and around each eyelash. Never once did my hand jerk, I was taking an interest in my work. Already I was getting full of myself, what a selfish thing to do. I quietly complimented myself as I continued, tying a knot to move on to the next eye. Then there was movement, a feeble twitch of the arm followed by a groan. She tried to catch her breath, shock was slowly creeping onto her body; I twisted the silver blade between my fingers.
"Shhh, hush now. I've done you a favor Andy," I breathed, rubbing the back of my hand lightly on her cheek. She flinched, "Isn't it great that I've found a way to cure your claustrophobia?"
She was attempting to speak, a few mumbles here and a few sobs there. I sat in front of her, observing her jittering movements to predict what she would do next. She did nothing next, as the blood slowly escaped her throat. I dropped the stained knife.
The gun slipped out of my loose grip making a low clash as it made contact with the cold cement below. I could feel the choking sensation fill my throat and the salt preparing to stain the floor. Realization was flashing before my eyes, and I could not control how it set off every emotion in my body at once. It was the worst kind of pain; I ran.
I held the handle carefully, never having used a gun before my mind referred to movies. I raised the pistol to level his eyes, my hands shook slightly. "Please put the gun down Jesse, just put it down. Killing me won't stop anything."
"You're insane! Stay away!" Jesse howled. His criticism hurt, ultimately he was indeed my closest friend and only family; I clicked the hammer so it locked into place.
"You're only going to satisfy the one who put us in this hell in the first place." I took a step.
"You're insane!" He bellowed again, this time louder than the last.
"Jesse, please just put the gun down," I trembled and the gun shook violently, "this is not going to end it." I tried to be convincing, but pain entered my chest as he began to cry, I could see his face twist. Another step and I saw him stagger back.
"Look at you," He whispered, choking slightly as he breathed, "look at what you've become."
My mind raced on trying to figure out what he would do next, his words were too silent to apprehend. The last step put three meters between us. My hand stopped shaking, I was steady. I pulled the trigger.
I collapsed as a heap on the floor, holding my stomach to keep the feeling of being ripped to shreds at half point. I began to hyperventilate as I felt the acid rise from my stomach making another journey to my throat. I clenched my eyes shut and forced it down. I had made it halfway to the steel door where many attempts had been wasted on making our escape. The adrenaline mixed with all the emotions was not exactly the best cure, more of an epidemic.
I forced myself to my feet and dashed to my destination. The faster I ran the farther I would get if I fell. Yet again I crashed to the floor, I felt the ringing pain in my ears as my skull collided with the cement. The blood ran from my head and I continued to breath evenly to keep myself from going into shock. I had made it to my target, I lay a meter from the door. I could feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, my lids were getting heavy quickly. I did not know how much longer I would last. My tears mixed with the blood as I broke down, my howls echoing throughout the entire chamber. I was going to die alone, it was best for me, and everyone else in the world. I wanted to die.
An explosion of light and the steel door crashing to the floor alerted my instinctive senses. Suddenly four men wearing uniforms and badges rushed into the chamber yelling words my mind would not take in. I became more alert as two men lifted me, I keyed in to what some were saying.
"-Yeah, that's the one."
"The one with MPD?"
"Yeah, we have to take her in for questioning, the others most likely didn't survive, I'm surprised she-"
The rest blurred out, I allowed sleep to take over my system. I was rescued and everything else after this just would not matter to me.
 i F r o n g · Sat Jul 07, 2007 @ 11:26pm · 1 Comments |
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