something rotten, skiplaurel v. mermaid bay (day 3)

Eventually, Thompson fell asleep before the other two even got back to their initial camp. They knew where he was, and if they cared enough to come find him that’s their problem. It’s more of a danger for them to bring him around anymore. He’s a walking flare signal for hurt. In his dreams, he feels trapped. He’s walking for a year, straight, without stopping. The darkness of the forest revived in his dreams, it was better as a nightmare, the feeling of endlessly walking.

The darkness never ended until he woke up. Flooded by emotional rush, his breathing was harsh. As if he just finished running a marathon, and as he stood up to run, he felt a hand on his shoulder. August. Thompson exhaled, embarrassed by his fear.

”Sorry, I, uh-:” His thoughts get taped shut. There’s nothing that Thompson can do to make him seem stronger, but if he said he had a nightmare about the dark he’d look like an even bigger baby. ”It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head. ”This place sucks.” He can sense August hum in agreement before speaking.

"There's something wrong with this place. It's like the sun never came up. Let's get out of here." In the far distance, a small light whispered into the huddle of trees. That way was smartest. Or it felt best at elast - Thompson couldn’t go another hour surrounded by the trees.

”Yeah, let’s go.” Before the others could walk, the boy took the initiative as if he never learned from yesterday. Initially, he’s happy to rush out of the forest. However he stops, as the sun begins to get blocked out. ”You’re kidding!” The boy yelled. Is it that hard to ask for a day not surrounded by darkness? Thompson wasn’t even ever scared of the dark, but if he was going to die, he wanted to die knowing where it was. However, the darkness began to foam, and grow as it began to approach. ”Again?” At least this wasn’t designed to directly hurt them. It was a test, and Thompson was good at tests. He liked tests in school. At least August could climb a tree to avoid it. ”I think one of you needs to start leading the pack, I’m tired of running into disaster!”


avoids the nature (maybe)!
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Completely unscathed except for an odd-looking bruise on his arm, shining brownish purple through the hole in his sleeve, guilt was August Vance’s deepest wound. When he returned to their camp to find Thompson sleeping alone in the dirt, defenseless, his smooth face tranquil as a baby’s, anger flared up in his gut– first at Tsiuri, then, inevitably, at himself.

There were so many people he had promised to care for. Back home, he had always been the one to carry everything on his shoulders. Here, the weight of all their expectations was almost unbearable, they tumbled off him, slippery. Although who could blame him? His only vessel was a rusty bucket on a string. He already seemed to have lost the fairy helmet he’d put in there the night before.

He tried to take everything in smaller steps. The forest seemed to watch them with a thousand invisible eyes peering from the trees. Unable to sleep, he watched over Thompson and Tsiuri.. He stared into the pitch darkness beyond their bodies until visions began to dance around his eyes, and he couldn’t be sure if he had eventually drifted off, or was still the same conscious watchman he had set out to be.

Whispers of a dream haunted his body in the morning. An ache in his legs as if he had walked miles, and a sinking, longing sensation. To the east, the sun filled the sky with colors so lovely it made him sick, thinking of that old saying, red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.

Then Thompson woke with a start, and August grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady. The younger boy muttered an apology, though he didn’t need to. There was no shortage of nightmare material in this place, they all knew.

”This place sucks,” Thompson summed it up.

”Uh-huh,” August grunted in assent, looking back warily over the expanse of forest that had trapped them the entire previous day. ”There’s something wrong with this place,” he added. ”It’s like the sun never came up.”

He looked to Tsiuri, who was starting to gather her things, silent. She seemed to be preoccupied with something; August took it to mean the forest was getting them all down.

”Let’s get out of here.”

As much as August and Tsuiri had pep-talked Thompson the day before, it was evident that the kid had a knack for running them all into trouble.

”I think one of you needs to start leading the pack, I’m tired of running into disaster!” Thompson lamented over the sound of the mounting waves.

”Fuck!” added Tsiuri, reaching out to both of them.

”Whoa,” August breathed, taking her hand.

A funny feeling bubbled up in August as he stood between them, besides the adrenaline and the sense of impending doom. A strong desire to laugh with all the air he had in his lungs, an unlikely smile playing at his lips. He was remembering what he said to Florentine the night before.

I want to see the ocean before I go.

It really was a fairytale, his wish coming true in all the worst ways. He only hoped three could still be a magic number.

He held onto his allies and began to run, feet pounding against the receding sand as the water tried to pull everything away from him. He tried to think of something positive, to keep them from sinking in more ways than one, especially to prevent Thompson from one of his spiraling moods.

”We’ll get through this! Let’s find something we can all hold onto! A branch, a piece of rope or something!”

_{D A R S}

Thompson struggles to stay afloat the massacre. In the midst of that struggle, August is in the background, chanting a hopeful cry that they can get through it, they just need a branch. Gee, thanks, August. Whatever attempt this is to make any of them feel better was definitely not helping. He bites back any sort of snarky remark, wanting to save the boy some grace in a high-paced disaster.

”Right, well,” he pants, finding it hard to pace his breathing. ”Whatever he says.” As long as it wasn’t Thompson brewing the damn ideas anymore. They’d probably fare much better. There’s another girl, who he thinks is August's district partner. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t have the mental space. Thompson isn’t concerned about her, though. His eyes find Tsiuri, who is much more realistic in her expressions, and finds comfort in her attitude. She seems to be struggling like him.

avoids the nature (maybe)!
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Of all the ways to die, August had heard that drowning was the worst. He wanted nothing to do with it.

The first big wave dragged them under, tearing Tsiuri’s clasped hand from his. Water filled his nose and ears, a frozen rush of salt, more than he had ever tasted at once. The closest thing was the salt water his aunt had made them gargle when they had a sore throat. Kicking forcefully against the water, he finally broke the surface, hacking up a disgusting spew of ocean stuff.

A mop of platinum blonde hair bobbed in the surf downshore. He had already noticed Skiplaurel but held his tongue and turned his head, as terrible as it was, only one of them was allowed to return home.

The storm spat them back out again on the beach. Thompson had said something but he couldn’t hear, the boy’s wet hair clinged to his furrowed forehead, he seemed preoccupied with something. It sent a chill through August, to feel that they could suddenly become divided like this. They barely had time for a double-take before the next wave crested.

He reached for them again before another wave could hit them, fingers desperately clutching at the soaked cotton of their peasant sleeves.

”Don’t let go… we need to stick together,” Tsiuri said.

”I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw from the salt. ”There's no way this will last forever. Let’s take it one at a time.”

_{D A R S}

The waves continue to attack at the beach, offering little chance to recover from the onslaught of energy required to survive. Tsiuri sounds out, saying that they can’t let go and August responds, saying that they should take it one at a time. Whatever, dude. Thompson’s energy really sucks the life out of any involvement with the other two. Socially, he wants to try. But there’s a mental block that keeps telling him they’re better off without him there. After all, he once again leads them into disaster. Can they really rely on him that well? Or do they feel too bad to abandon him all alone?

Maybe he needs to take their safety into his own hands. Unfortunately, that might just mean keeping them as far away from his hands as possible. The waves do seem to be lowering in intensity, though, and Thompson’s arms thank that. They’re tired of trying to float and paddle above the whipping tides.

”I think the tide is starting to pull back! We’ve got just a little bit more…” the boy tries to echo August’s attempt at hope.

avoids the nature (maybe)!
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