The Purple Axe [Reyes ~ Day Three]

I miss the odd, purple boy.

Don't know his name, don't know where he came from, don't know why he and all of his belongings are purple -- but, I dunno. Take away the parts where he was trying to kill me -- and well, other actual parts that I could have lived without seeing -- where he tore up my skin and left me with wounds that will hinder me from here on out, and he was comforting. Comic relief, in a way, in this place where not a lot is actually worth laughing about. I heard his canon fire, and I wondered if it was purple, too.

Being a coward, or a wimp, or just sentimental, I stayed behind in the quicksand. It's funny, how you grow attached to the things that want to kill you. Not that I enjoyed being pulled to my death as all my items fell and disappeared (forever) but there's almost something safe about being engulfed in danger. Only idiots like myself actually investigate quicksand (and, granted, the purple boy too) -- so hurray for me (and well.. it didn't end well for the purple guy).

I don't have to worry about the smart ones, because, let's face it -- why venture into an area of dangerous looking sand unless you're an idiot?

But then, maybe that makes me smart after all.

I smile. Some Career part of me, though I refuse to be one, pulls the corners of my lips up and keeps them that way. I try to picture myself as an adventurer, with the jumpsuit and red socks and cleats, but I only feel like one of them. I envy the purple boy once more -- he died looking different, apart from the rest. Independent, I suppose. Then again, I'm reminded that I killed him. I'm no better than any of the others, save for the fact that all this remorse tears away at my insides.

Out of nowhere, a parachute falls from the sky. I wonder for a moment how they drop it so accurately near to me, but I guess they've been doing it for sixty years now -- they've got parachute dropping down to the very foot.

The blood soaking my jumpsuit is the reason I already know what's inside.

I open the kit hungrily, glancing down in awe at the needles and threads, the bandages, the beautiful helpers of healing. I pick up a needle first, then tie the thread through it. Bringing the needle to my wounds is another kind of pain, but necessary. What is pain, after all, if you've been torn open in slight gashes in every way imaginable?

When I'm done with the needle, I throw it to the ground and secure bandages around the wounds I couldn't get to. I feel tied up, encased within them, but still able to move. I remind myself that I can't stay here for long, I have to do something, so I leave this patch of stable sand behind me and don't look back.

[Received med kit, used needle and thread -10, bandages for -1, flees]