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 First patient of the day...
Posted: Aug 1 2005, 04:09 AM

Resident Snuggle Bunny ^__^ ::snuggles with you::

Group: Members
Posts: 284
Member No.: 7
Joined: 22-June 05

CONTINUED FROM 'B35 - Start Point':

It was a rare occasion that Clemence's face exuded anything other than hostility, and now was no exception. She had been so close to eliminating her first victims when that vile whore and her horrible acting skills had scared them away. If it hadn't been for the wretched girl having a gun (something Clemence noted upon leaving the site of the caverns in a rather sneaky fashion), Clemence might have gone at her full force, but Clemence was smarter than that.

Looking at her map, she had decided that her next stop would be the clinic. Even if there weren't people there she would certainly be able to pillage some useful supplies.

She had no time to bother with petty things like her parasol on her journey across the island so when she arrived at the ramshackle clinic, she was understandably soaked to the bone from the downpour that was drenching the island. Her snow blonde hair stuck too her candy apple cheeks making her all the more menacing looking. She might have been mistaken for attractive if it weren't for the hollow, almost empty look she wore.

The lights in the clinic were on, and the front door open. Peering inside Clemence noted that whoever had been there must have left in quite a hurry... she looked behind, so as to make sure no one was following her and thats when she noticed it. In the bushes, the body of a girl, about her age, obviously dead for some time now judging by the swarm of flys that had begun to swarm arround her like the carcass of some poor dead animal. She had the undeniable urge to reach out and touch it. To feel it. To touch and feel death. She walked primly towards the partially hidden mess, calmly and slowly. The smell overwhelmed her. Holding her nose, but keeping her face stone cold, she kneeled down and brushed aside the foliage, touching the cold cheek of the dead girl with her well manicured finger. So this was what a dead body felt like, cold and waxy to the touch.

A fly buzzed annoyingly above her. Without taking her left hand away from her nose, Clemence reached with lightning fast reflexes into the air, catching the fly in the death grip of her right palm. She imagined the life draining out of it as the small insect became as dead as the girl in the bushes.

The girl in the bushes... what was she like? Was she popular at her school? Did she have any friends at all? Was she kind to her parents? Did she have any brothers or sisters? Did she feel as passionately about anything as Clemence did about ballet? It was doubtful, but either way Clemence didn't care.

Standing up, Clemence walked back to the door and into the ramshackle clinic. It was truly a mess. She removed her blood red blazer and tossed it onto a chair, sighing. Through her rain-soaked white dress shirt her well shaped breasts, nipples and all, unsupported by a bra, could be easily spotted. Clemence supposed the whole situation looked erotic in a rather macabre manner. She could be both a schoolboys dream and worst nightmare in under six minutes flat.

Ripping off her tie, she opened one of the glass cabinets and began to forage through for supplies. She stuffed various bottles of pills and liquid medicines into her pack as well as syringes and other useful things.

She was grabbing towels from underneath the sink when she heard the back door open. Her eyes grew wide. For the first time in the game, she felt a rush of adrenaline. The time to kill was now, she could feel it in her vains.


James Coombs aka Boy No. 5, was like most of the students, scared out of his mind. At Barry Coleson, he had kept mostly to himself, not bothering to make many friends, prefering more often to write poetry and study film in his spare time.

He had been dropped onto the island in the forest at the start of the game, making his way to various places on the island. He had passed out several times because of his narcolepsy. The damn 'problem' as his mother called it always afflicted him at the most unwelcome of times.

Earlier he had been ready to call out to the familiar face of Jon Tognetti, but had fallen into a deep slumber seconds before he could, only to awaken and find Jon's dead body on the path just beyond the brush where he had been hiding. Someone had done a number on Jon Tognetti... that much was certain. It was then that he had changed course, turning around.

And then several hours later James had found himself at the clinic... hoping to find some oxycotin or vicodin to ease the stress of the game, and perhaps the added bonus of a companion judging by the lights, he made his way inside through the back door. He hoped that whoever was in the clinic was friendly.

Making his way down the dark hall, he finally found himself bathed in bright light at the front of the building. There were flys everywhere. He swatted them away and peered closer.

"Hello," he said shakily, pushing a strand of his long dark hair out of his eyes. There was no answer. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see a girl with her back turned to him sitting on a chair, peering out through the window at the rain. Her head was slightly slumped to the side, maybe she was asleep.

"Excuse me," James began, then repeated louder ,"excuse me."

He gripped his throwing daggers just in case she was dangerous. Approaching the chair his heart pounded. He reached out to tap the girl on the shoulder, "hello?"

James jumped as the girl fell off of the chair in a heap. Helena Van Garrett... his classmate at Barry Coleson High... his former classmate anyway, was not sleeping peacefully at all. She was dead. If it hadn't been for his narcolepsy he might have realized this soon enough to save himself. He yelled out stepping backwards in horror. She was absolutely covered in blood and gore... he was backing up, and that was when it happened...

It all felt so surreal as someone pounced on his back and wrapped something cold and hard around his neck. He hadn't heard them coming. They must have been very stealthy. His mind raced not beleiving the startling series of events unfolding. This couldn't be, he had been extra careful! Grabbing one of his knives he reached back to fend of his attacker. He felt a hand grab his arm and twist it, the knife clattering to the floor. God this guy was strong. He cried out in pain as the chain closed tighter around his neck. He prayed for the narcolepsy to kick in at a welcome time for once, making it all painless, but to no avail. His throat emitted gurgling noises as he struggled for air. He had been tricked, fooled, bamboozled and he knew it.

As the life drained from his body, James was reminded of his favorite poem, 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by his favorite poet Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

He had no idea why he was reminded of this one obscure thing in the history of his life in those final seconds, but thinking back on his favorite piece gave him a strange sense of calm as his futile struggle against the chain and the monster holding it in it's grip ended.

Accepting his fate, he was finally able to silently say goodbye to his single mother who had raised him and his siblings alone in a harsh dog eat dog society. He said goodbye to his older sisters, Nicole and Pheobe, with both of whom he was very close. He said goodbye to all of the scripts and screenplays and poems he'd written and to his big St. Bernard, Pickle. James Coombs silently said goodbye to all he cared about in the world. He thought that maybe with some luck, he would see them all again in some other life. Approximately 26 seconds later, James Coombs was dead, his vital signals flatlining at the school, alerting Danya and the other terrorists of his pitiful demise, not at the hands of a man as he had suspected, but those of a girl, much smaller than himself to boot.


The body of the tall boy started to shake as it went into convulsions. Clemence released her grip after she was sure he was dead. Her whole body trembled, but her faced remained calm. So this was what it was like to kill. It hadn't been particularly enjoyable. She hadn't expected it to be, but it was the job that needed to be done. He hadn't put up much of a struggle... in all honesty she had expected it all to be much more climactic. He looked oddly at ease, even with his tongue sticking out and his now fully dilated eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Clemence was suddenly afraid. Death was not something she aspired to do, ever. She wouldn't end up like this, her life was too important. She decided to continue her hunt in a different part of the island. She did not feel comfortable around the bodies of the no longer living anymore. She was no longer curious about death, she merely wanted to avoid it at all costs... for herself. And if it meant killing more people then she would do it, but hell would freeze over before she went there herself.

She collected the two throwing knives he had dropped and put them in the the strap of her skirt. Grabbing her coat she collected her bag, bountiful with supplies and exited through the back door. She didn't bother to close it.


CONTINUED IN 'Coppice Land of Waste':
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