Sometime Later

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Sometime Later

Postby Connal Reid » Tue Nov 15, 2011 4:12 am

In which Connal gets base-sick and I attempt something long-winded in first person. Tenses kind of shift a bit, but that's what I was going for. I wrote this all at once because I was bored, and the only beta I've got is spell check, so yeah.




It's strange to think this is all I have left of them. Their faces are so clear in my mind, all of them. That bitch of an Administrator tried to make me leave everything behind, but she just wasn't good enough. She took my friends. She took my home. She took my music, my soul, and shipped me away to this constantly frozen world.

I guess a broken, purple crayon stuffed in my sock was below her.

The names are harder to remember than the faces. They're so fuzzy now, and I'm not even sure the ones I do remember are connected to the right faces. I think this should probably make me sad, but it doesn't. These people here don't care about trying to learn my name, and I really can't give a shit about theirs. They call me by my title, and I call them whatever I feel like at the time. It's funny that the doctor here can't seem to be able to tell difference between when I call him "Medic" and when I just call him "dick."

Fuck, I really wish I could draw, but I can't. Not just because I'm not very good, but all I have is the purple crayon. I can't use it, there's just a stub left. It's all I've got to remind myself the faces in my head are real. Were real. I'm not crazy, not like that idiot Scout thinks. He's the crazy one. What kind of dumb ass brings a fucking fish to a fight? It always pisses me off whenever he manages to kill someone with it...

This is getting to be too much. At least I found some matches in the kitchen, here. They're really long, probably to light that ancient stove in there. I hope that Demoman looses his shit once he finds out he can't make any soup tonight. No, no I don't. Oh god, I hope he doesn't get too mad and start yelling at me. Him and his sword scare the shit outta me, he's nothing like my old Demo at my old base.

I shouldn't have taken these. Everyone will be mad that they can't cook, that there's no heat, no fire. No, fuck them. I'm the god damn Pyro, I control the fire! Let them be mad! Please don't yell at me. They can go to Hell, for all I care! God, don't hate me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need this...

The tiny flame is enough to calm me down. I don't even remember opening the damn box, let alone striking one of the matches, but there it is. My old life in my left hand, my one and only constant in my right.

I honest to God wish I could have burned the old base down, with everyone in it. No, that's wrong to want. It would have been so much... nicer, to give everything up to fire. I know it's weird, but the fire doesn't care. It doesn't care if you're perfectly human or some kind of hybrid, smart or stupid, fat or skinny, young, old, green, a veteran... None of that means jack shit to fire. We would have been able to stay together that way, I know. No we wouldn't. No one would have been able to take them away, to take me away. Everyone would have gone to Hell, and you don't get to see people you care about in Hell. This is Hell.

Maybe I should be nicer to these new teammates. Maybe they don't deserve to be avoided all the time. They're probably not bad people. Everyone here is a bad person, even me. They just don't know me. My last base, they... They knew me. They knew who I am, who I was before. Most of them even knew what I look like, what I sound like.

I miss them.

Despite everything, all the bad stuff, it felt like they were my first real family. I fit in, there. I belonged. God, I... I miss them so much... I just...

I want to go home.

"Why you just sittin' in the hall like that?"

My head whips around, it almost hurts. It's that fish-toting Scout, and I can't tell if he looks confused or annoyed. Thank God for this mask, thank God he can't see my face.

"Whatcha got, there?" No, no, don't take my crayon, don't look at it, it's mine. "Oh, fuck, those are the kitchen matches, aren't they? Duuude, you are so busted this time!" Oh.

"Go away..." I try to say.

"Yeah, Cory's gonna be totally pissed!" As usual, he just comes up with his own translations. "Look, just give them to me, I'll take care of this for ya." He's smiling, like he's doing me a huge favor. That smug little bastard is smiling while trying to take away one of the few comforts I have left.

"No. Go away." This time I speak a little more slowly, a little more clearly.

"What?" He's frowning. Either he got the message and he's confused by it, or he didn't and... he's confused. Huh. "Dude, don't be a jackass. Fork 'em over." Now he sounds angry, his hand's held out to take my fire away.

"No, no! Leave me alone, you don't understand!" I shout, trying to scoot away, put at least a little bit more space between the two of us. Then that god damn fish comes out of no where, and it took a second to realize what happened. He hit me. With his weapon. In the fucking head.

Next thing I know, fish-kid is on the ground, I'm standing, and my hand kind of hurts. What...? The box of matches is spilled out on the floor, the match I had been holding is there, too, but burnt out. I can feel the stub of a crayon still in my hand. Wait, what was that noise? Looking back to the Scout, I see red. Not just his shirt, but by his face. He's moaning.

Oh, no. No no no. I did that.

Holy shit, now I'm really in for it.

All I can think to do is run, and that's what I do. I run to my room, and slam the door shut. I miss my bunkbed. What should I do now? I attacked a teammate. I can't even say that he started it, they won't understand a word I'm saying. Even if they could, they'll take his word over mine.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK!

The bed! It's heavy, and I do what I can to drag and shove it in place in front of my door.

I'm screwed. I'm so screwed. I'm dead. Worse than that. I'm as good as a traitor. As a BLU.

What do I do? What can I do?

I just lie down on the bed, maybe it's weight and mine will make a better barricade. I still have my crayon.

Dear God.

I want to go home.
Connal Reid - RED Pyro
Tihun - BLU Heavy Hyena Bitch
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Re: Sometime Later

Postby Gerhard Melsbach » Wed Nov 16, 2011 1:27 am

...
I want to give this Pyro a very big hug and hand him a few barbecue lighters.
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Re: Sometime Later

Postby Tentacles » Fri Nov 18, 2011 1:42 pm

I know that feel, Py-bro. I know that feel.

Also

It's funny that the doctor here can't seem to be able to tell difference between when I call him "Medic" and when I just call him "dick."



Oh lordy. That line just made the whole thing for me.

Good work, and a cute little glimpse into the various skeletons in the other Pyro's closet.
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