Washing away the Blood(the exterminators)

For what had just occurred, Ocean felt as if she'd succeeded. She'd had low expectations from the very beginning. "If you make it through the Bloodbath, well then you'll do good." She'd made it through, well, she dominated, in fact, but now that her adrenaline had been depleted of and no one surrounded her, she felt that she'd both succeeded and lost. Along with making it through the Bloodbath, she'd promised herself that she would hurt the least amount of people as possible. She'd done nothing even similar to that. She had turn into some, into some... bloodthirsty sick killer that didn't give a shit of what other people were feeling. The spear through the stomach, through the arm, through to foot, another one through the stomach. Stab. Blood. Item. Stab. Blood. Item. It seemed to be the routine for Ocean during the Bloodbath, and it all ended when she received a taste of her own medicine.

When one of the females has sliced her neck, and she felt the warm sensation as the blood seeped through her shirt and stuck to her skin. She'd desperately attempted to rid of the blood, wiping ounce by ounce of it from her neck as it emptied. It ultimately lead to a very pale colored skin to go along with her bloodshot face and ridiculous looking uniform. The bleeding had stopped, but with each step that she took as she zoomed through the forest of no life, she could feel the air slice through the cut, and it was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Imagine swinging on a swing set, barefoot, the wind weaving its way through each of your toes. Now picture the same thing, but the wind sliding in and out of a whole in your neck. The spear was in her right hand, the tip facing behind her, so that every once in a while, when the shaft would bump into a tree and hit her backside, she'd flinch and think she was being attacked.

She remembered how Trace came running after her just as she had left, and she remembered the fear that seemed to mix in with a large bowl of happiness as she saw him running in her direction. She didn't know whether to stop or yell 'no' or tell him to go faster. There was no doubt that Ocean liked Trace, but she couldn't decide if it was a good or bad decision to stay with him throughout her short life span that remained. Unfortunately, fortunately, whatever you may choose, Trace had came with her, and so they ran. They ran for as long as they could, and the boy with the glass filled arms was with her. Ocean couldn't help but to think if he were to have never fell, the chemistry, the feelings, the possible love, wouldn't be occurring.

Ocean felt no need to try to converse with Trace, for his responses wouldn't be read. Ocean wouldn't be stopping just to turn around and read Trace's lips. If he were saying anything, there was no use. Occasionally, Ocean would let out something like "Trace, I'm death, sorry if I'm not answering like I'm s'posed to." Death. One of the very common accidents that were made as a child as one would mix up the word 'death' and 'deaf'. Ha. Ironic, it was. They were in an Arena, and death would positively slither up the deaf girl's legs and bite her hard in the heart.

Her thoughts eventually drifted to unimportant things. Did she look nice enough for the cameras? Had she lost the one person she'd touched the heart of because of her performance in the Bloodbath? What was her dad doing? Acting sad but secretly celebrating at home? How about the people that she'd hurt, were they out to get her now that they weren't being attacked back to back? No. They couldn't be. They were too hurt. Especially the first girl, she'd left with blood spilling from just about every place possible. One little hit that would cause some damage and the girl would die. No doubt.

***

She hadn't stopped running. She now looked into a running stream of water. It was absolute heaven. It took as much as she could to not stick her face in the water and begin to drink.

She carefully observed her surroundings, locking her eyes on a boy whom she'd attacked in the Bloodbath not too long ago. The boy was bent over, and staring into his back were two eye

Anthony Peterson: (Switching to 3rd person)

Anthony had always been obsessed with the game. No, not that game, dammit Anthony just lost. He wasn’t sure was why he was being so goofy, he was dying, No, correction, he was dead, this made his dead self giggle. Sarcastic, matter of a fact humor had always made him chuckle, snort, guffaw, Anthony was now laughing so hard his sides were hurting. When he realized this he just started to laugh harder, because he didn’t have any sides! Who the hell was he talking to you? Why did he have the random urge to cuss? Fuck…giggle. Make sense? No, it didn’t to Anthony either, in fact he was so ignorant of what was going on around him that he started to cry, and when his cries got louder, no one heard him, which made him cry louder. Eventually he got violent, and he thrashed around. He was angry when he thrashed, but the thrashing wasn’t hurting him, he had no body. The anger was growing, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, he doesn‘t even like those words. He still didn’t feel anything, and he started to cry again. He started to think of his mother, but not in the mature I miss her way, but he started to moan, and call out for her. He thought of his dad, his siblings, and that stray dog he’d never appreciated outside the house. He was an infant again, lost in his own deep black world, not knowing anything, alone, and lonely. Making sense yet? No, it’s not supposed to, because it’s death, and nobody understands it, it’s impossible to understand.

Back to the point, Anthony will not be distracted this time. The why game, Anthony had always been obsessed with it. Basically the way you play is, someone says something and Anthony would ask why. Usually by the fourth question Anthony asked the other person was defining happiness, by question 7 they were in religion. Anthony always said, all someone had to do was answer question 10 and Anthony would convert to religion, he would accept what they said, and take it to heart, but nobody ever gave Anthony an answer after question 7 he respected. But now, Anthony hated that game, he kept trying to touch god, and the little demon voices in the back of his head kept going why, why, why. Anthony, cried some more, and you should pity him, and respect him. But take the warning, never take your favorite activity, and ask yourself why, why do you like it, and don‘t keep asking yourself unit you feel like your going to puke. Why? Because it’ll never go away, that doubt stays with you. It was a shame to because, because Anthony could’ve used god right about now. Because his death wasn’t romantic, or loving, or boring, or dramtic. He didn’t get one last look around, a final speech, not even a smile before his time, he died ugly and plain looking. There was no excruciating pain, in the death, but he didn’t not feel it either, it was just a quick flash of anguish. That was another thing, his life didn’t flash before his eyes, and there was no thought of a song or memory, he didn’t get a final word… it was the death no one wanted, and you know why, because it was real...