Wednesday, 9 November 2011

It's About Time.

Is there no better way to end a two month silence than with a cluster f-bomb? I think not. 

Previously in Class 123, people died. Shocking, huh? That's a plot twist to end all fucking plot twists. Next thing you know we'll wander in circles and somebody will run off screaming into the bushes.

Actually, wait. That already happened, didn't it? It was Chase. What a damn shame. 

Yeah, definitely bitter. If I wasn't before I sure as hell am now.

Rest in peace, buddy. Half of us wouldn't be here without you. Not that half counts for much where I can list off the remaining kids around camp on both of my hands. Me. Richard. Lyle. Alex, and a handful of others - though Alex isn't really Alex anymore. Poor bastard stopped responding to his own name a little while ago. Started talking about seeing Zach around camp and keeps notes on his arms about what the hell is going on here - which, all things considered, isn't much. At least bitch and Slenderfucker have graciously left us to die in what little dignity we have left, even if that traitor Broodmoor is still sneaking out every few night to play a song or two with the bastard.

Fuck I don't think I've ever needed a drink so bad in my fucking life.

Calm, Suze, caaaalm...


Alright. I think I'm going to be okay now. A few trees are now sans branches but what the hell, we've got thousands. Knowing this place they'll be bigger and fuller by the time we wake up tomorrow. Or what we think is tomorrow. Fucked if I know because the sun stopped setting a long, long time ago and our phones stopped giving us the right time long before that. I stopped caring. It feels like it's only been a couple weeks and suddenly all I hear around camp is two months, two months like we're in The Grudge or some shit.

Though that would be a pleasant fucking surprise at this point. Death by creepy Japanese kid crawling out of my phone. I think I'd be okay with that. As long as I don't have to look at Tall, Dark and Faceless' ugly mug every time I shut my eyes.

Richard's gone.

... Yeah, I've got no transition for that.

Richard left a while ago. Broodmoor was smoking somewhere in center camp (where the hell did he get cigarettes?) and said he saw him wander off. When I asked him why the fuck he didn't stop him he just kind of shrugged and took a drag.

"So it goes."

Asshole. People are dropping off left and right but he can at least pretend to be upset, can't he?

Can't you?

Another one bites the dust, I guess. Richard Battles, you crazy, brave, idiotic, masterful jerkoff I hope to whatever gods that might still watch over this place you went down in the blaze of glory you wanted to.

I'm not a religious person. I'm just terrified. 

And as for the ones plotting that little rescue mission? Yeah, I've been around the blogs. Followed the comments. Can't post, but there are some workarounds. Turns out there is a type of proxy I don't feel guilty about associating with. 

Call me close-minded.

Your rescue mission? Not going to work. We've been here for four months and we can't get out. You expect to come in, guns blazing, rip us out of camp and drag us back home?

Good fucking luck. 

Really. If those couriers or whoever the fuck is responsible for giving us provisions for the last little while can barely get in, (and apparently get kicked right back out) what hope do you have? It didn't matter too when things went south in July, did it? Why the interest now? Just leave us to die. You'll only add to the pile of bodies and frankly, we don't have enough fuel left to burn the current ones with. We don't need any more blood on camp's ground and we definitely don't need You Know Who or his little hooded bitch on our case again. We're just a bunch of college kids who got in way, way over our heads. There isn't enough of us left to be worth saving.

Did you know that when an animal thinks it's going to die, it panics? But when it knows it's going to die...

Well. I'll leave you to puzzle that one for yourselves. I'm not as determined as Richard or as crazy as Lyle or as lost as Alex or as smart as Walter or as...broody as Broodmoor. I've had four months and plenty of examples of what happens when somebody stops fearing death and welcomes it with open arms. And after watching it happen 42 times?

It's my turn. 


  1. ... I'm sorry I didn't try this sooner. But we will get in there and we will get you out, alright? Don't give up.

  2. Doubt if there will be anybody left for you to rescue if you don't do it posthaste.

  3. No! You can't go rescue them! How will I be entertained if you save them!? There's nothing quite so much fun as watching Canadian college students get picked off by flies! Motherfuckers, I'll end you!!

  4. Dear Ridley,

    Go fuck yourself. <3

  5. Truly I would, but sadly even my awesome self is not that well-endowed.

  6. Picked off BY flies, Ridley? I don't think that would actually be very much fun to watch.

  7. Then you clearly aren't very creative, Ben, though it would probably take a bit of patience it would surely be impressive.

    See you around