Nightshift 55: F01-F10 Hallway
They'd taken her to a new room at dinner. Her roommate wasn't there. Instead, there was an unfamiliar figure wrapped in blankets, seemingly dead to the world.
There had been a box as well. Beside it was her axe, and inside there was her bag and her knife, and her old clothes. Claire had stood in front of it for some time, wide eyed. Anger boiling, scarring her insides. They had it the whole time...they had...
So nothing mattered then. Did it? They knew all along that she had this stuff. They knew she had weapons, that she had gone to Doyleton with Andrew to get them. They knew this whole thing was a stupid joke, and they could take her from wherever she was and drop her wherever they wanted. Could give her stuff from before. Claire had pursed her lips and clenched her fists around the musty flannel shirt. It was all just a joke to them. They had total control of their lives, and they could just...
Shocking how good of a sleeper her new roommate was. Claire could have sworn the fit she had thrown after finding the box would have woken the dead. Her desk lay in splinters, gruel spilled upon the floor amongst the shattered remains of dishes. Even her bed was slashed to ribbons, the knife drawn through the mattress and sheets until it looked as if a wild beast had been set upon it. The box, being metal, was impervious to the axe and the knife. But it did make a rather large dent where Claire had hurled it against the wall.
Now that night had come and the latest ominous message delivered, Claire stood at the ready. She was out of the military uniform, back in her ragged - but familiar - clothes from the island. Her bag slung over one shoulder and axe in hand, she left the room, seething madly.
They had better get something done tonight. Claire had had enough of this.
[To here.]
There had been a box as well. Beside it was her axe, and inside there was her bag and her knife, and her old clothes. Claire had stood in front of it for some time, wide eyed. Anger boiling, scarring her insides. They had it the whole time...they had...
So nothing mattered then. Did it? They knew all along that she had this stuff. They knew she had weapons, that she had gone to Doyleton with Andrew to get them. They knew this whole thing was a stupid joke, and they could take her from wherever she was and drop her wherever they wanted. Could give her stuff from before. Claire had pursed her lips and clenched her fists around the musty flannel shirt. It was all just a joke to them. They had total control of their lives, and they could just...
Shocking how good of a sleeper her new roommate was. Claire could have sworn the fit she had thrown after finding the box would have woken the dead. Her desk lay in splinters, gruel spilled upon the floor amongst the shattered remains of dishes. Even her bed was slashed to ribbons, the knife drawn through the mattress and sheets until it looked as if a wild beast had been set upon it. The box, being metal, was impervious to the axe and the knife. But it did make a rather large dent where Claire had hurled it against the wall.
Now that night had come and the latest ominous message delivered, Claire stood at the ready. She was out of the military uniform, back in her ragged - but familiar - clothes from the island. Her bag slung over one shoulder and axe in hand, she left the room, seething madly.
They had better get something done tonight. Claire had had enough of this.
[To here.]