Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 2: Prospect Creek]
10-14-2010, 12:49 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.
Heatwaves obscured a stumbling figure in the distance, well out of sight of the town by now. The figure faltered slightly, then, mumbling to himself, continued walking.
If one listened closely, one could make out the details of some of the slurred mumbling. "... sshhut... shlut up you shtoop... stoopid... thing. 'm not a mrurudrururrrrr..."
To Jeremy's eyes, the impaled raccoon was still mocking him, its burbling cries of "Muuurdererrrr~" ringing in his ears; though it and its miniature unicorn were becoming more and more difficult to make out. Despite his drunkenness, he could tell his mouth was bone dry; he'd long since removed his jacket and was in the process of taking off his shirt, but his fingers couldn't quite grasp its ends.
He kept walking, following the hallucination. One foot in front of the other, plodding... no, wait, now he's on the ground. When did that happen? The ground was comfortable. He exhaled, and watched the dust dance around his face. Maybe he should just... close his eyes...
The figure was still, now. It had collapsed on the ground several minutes ago and showed no sign of moving. If one looked closely, one could just barely make out the rise and fall of breath, or disturbed dust around the man's parched lips.
In the man's hand, however, was a book. He'd picked it up earlier, and, lacking a place to put it, had opted to carry it instead. He'd simply forgotten it was there. And, as he'd fell, it had fallen open with his hand on it; its pages opening not to words, but to somewhere else...
Heatwaves obscured a stumbling figure in the distance, well out of sight of the town by now. The figure faltered slightly, then, mumbling to himself, continued walking.
If one listened closely, one could make out the details of some of the slurred mumbling. "... sshhut... shlut up you shtoop... stoopid... thing. 'm not a mrurudrururrrrr..."
To Jeremy's eyes, the impaled raccoon was still mocking him, its burbling cries of "Muuurdererrrr~" ringing in his ears; though it and its miniature unicorn were becoming more and more difficult to make out. Despite his drunkenness, he could tell his mouth was bone dry; he'd long since removed his jacket and was in the process of taking off his shirt, but his fingers couldn't quite grasp its ends.
He kept walking, following the hallucination. One foot in front of the other, plodding... no, wait, now he's on the ground. When did that happen? The ground was comfortable. He exhaled, and watched the dust dance around his face. Maybe he should just... close his eyes...
The figure was still, now. It had collapsed on the ground several minutes ago and showed no sign of moving. If one looked closely, one could just barely make out the rise and fall of breath, or disturbed dust around the man's parched lips.
In the man's hand, however, was a book. He'd picked it up earlier, and, lacking a place to put it, had opted to carry it instead. He'd simply forgotten it was there. And, as he'd fell, it had fallen open with his hand on it; its pages opening not to words, but to somewhere else...