crossing_lostrp | [Amanda] Skipped Time (Day 10): Surf's Up! (open tag)

George was splashing around in the surf with Carlos. Again.

Amanda watched them with ill-concealed jealousy. Rose glanced at her, pausing in her preparation of fish stew for today's lunch. "Why do you do this to yourself, girl?" she asked. "There's lot of attractive men around here."

Amanda didn't bother to answer. She just continued chopping up fruit with more force than was strictly necessary. She looked up again. Carlos was teaching George to body surf. Amanda laughed mirthlessly as George tumbled head over heels and disappeared in a breaker.

They'd gone for a swim every day before lunch for the last three days. It was always the same. They spent all morning together, either playing grab ass while pretending to teach George to fight or disappearing into the jungle. Supposedly they were foraging or setting and checking snares, but Amanda knew they were screwing around out there.

Then they'd come back grinning like idiots, usually with something in hand to justify their disappearance. They'd go swimming (more grab ass), eat lunch, and then they'd disappear again for a siesta. Amanda snorted. ("Siesta" my cute little ass!)

"Why're they out there playing in the ocean while I'm stuck here," Amanda muttered. She was talking to herself, but Rose answered anyhow--apparently she found it impossible not to stick her nose into everyone else's business.

"They've been doing their share since the first day here," Rose said. "Or since Carlos joined us, in his case. If they want to take some time to relax, they've earned it." Her voice hardened. "Your friend Shannon has spent a lot more time relaxing with a lot less justification, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," Amanda snapped.

"No, I guess you didn't," Rose said with aggravating calm.

Amanda snuck a glance at Rose. She continued to methodically prepare the fish. "I just...don't understand what he sees in Toilet Seat Girl," Amanda said.

Rose paused, knife upraised. She looked at Amanda in surprise. "What?"

Amanda feigned surprise. "Oh, didn't you know? George claims to have been killed by a falling toilet seat. Now she's undead or something and she sees dead people, like that kid in The Sixth Sense. Or so she says. Just goes to show far some people will go for attention, I guess."

Rose blinked and glanced out at George, who was sputtering and wiping her face, hip deep in the surf. Amanda worked hard to control the spiteful smile she felt. She was taking great joy in spreading the story since she'd heard it this morning. Rose shook her head sadly, and Amanda smiled faintly.

"You're a pretty girl, Amanda," Rose said. "But you'd be a lot prettier if your insides matched your outsides."

OOC: I've created an icon for Amanda. Feel free to steal it.

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Amanda fled the camp as fast as she could without attracting attention. She couldn't stand it anymore. She was furious and disappointed and hurt. The sight of Carlos fawning over that skinny bitch was sickening. Almost as bad was how most everyone seemed to think it was just fine, and now even her so-called friends--or at least allies--were jumping on the bandwagon. ("Leave it alone, Amanda,") she thought mockingly. ("Get over it, Amanda." Well, fuck you all!)

(And Harry thinks he's so fucking smart,) Amanda thought as she stormed off into the jungle at the edge of the beach. (Ethan is playing him like a banjo and Harry doesn't have a clue.) She didn't know what their ultimate goal was, but it was clear that they didn't give a damn about her. They just wanted to use her to further their own ends. Screw them, too!

Angry at first, Amanda stormed along with little thought for her path. The anger faded and she slowed, her eyes tearing up and her lower lip quivering. She felt a crying jag coming on and she was glad to be far enough from camp that no one would see or hear. Amanda reached a small clearing in the jungle and sank down into a pathetic huddle and let it out.

She sobbed and howled and screamed and beat her fists against her knees or the ground. Before she was done, she felt hoarse, exhausted and strangely empty. It was an ugly, painful experience--and a little frightening. Even as she wallowed in self-pity, some small part of her marveled at the depths of rage and fear and pain she felt.

Amanda came to herself crouched in the clearing, arms around her knees, rocking herself gently and feeling...lucid, as if she had awakened from a dream. For the first time, thinking over her behavior for the last few days, she recognized what everyone had being telling her. She was obsessed with Carlos. She was practically stalking him!

(Small wonder everyone is turning on me,) Amanda thought. (I've been a complete ass.) She might have followed that thought to it's logical conclusion, except that that was when she heard the voices.

OOC: to be continued...

At first she thought she was imagining them. It had to be the rustling of leaves in the wind--except that there was no wind in the clearing. The leaves hung motionless all around her. Amanda got shakily to her feet and moved, trying to get a little closer to the voices, to make them out. Had a group followed her from the beach? Was it...the Others?

No matter how she strained to hear, no matter how she turned and maneuvered, Amanda could never quite make out what the whisperers were saying. They got no closer and never became any clearer. It was terribly frustrating. Amanda felt the frustration like a maddening itch and it reminded of her recent frustrations. George.

Amanda scowled, feeling her newfound calm cracking. The whispers continued unabated. She could almost imagine that they were repeating George's name over and over again, rubbing it in. George, the source of all her unhappiness. George was the problem.

For a moment Amanda struggled to cling to her brief sense of serenity, but the whispering was relentless. It seemed to remind her of every resentment and annoyance she'd endured at George's hands. She could imagine the voices reminding her that it wasn't going to change. Amanda could feel her resentment and anger rekindling with unnatural rapidity.

She turned and darted toward the edge of the clearing, but the voices seemed to follow her. George was the problem. Her pain would continue as long as Carlos was sleeping with George. Amanda pressed her fists to her heads, as if that could silence the voices--or the idea that occurred to her now.

George was her problem. If George weren't around, she wouldn't be a problem. It was simple problem with a simple solution. The thought appalled her. It horrifed Amanda that she could even contemplate it. More horrible still was the knowledge that she was tempted.

Amanda fled the clearing, running as fast she could, pursued by the whispering, herded by it. She had long since lost any sense of where she was in relation to the beach. She ran until she was gasping for breath and moving on shaky legs, until she stumbled to her hands and knees.

Stumbled over a corpse. A long-decayed bundle of rags and bones, skull grinning at her with malevolent intent. Amanda drew in a breath, but the scream she heard in the back of her mind never made it out her mouth. Instead, she reached out and wrested a prize from the skeletal fingers of the right hand. The whispering surrounded her again, still unintelligible but full of pointed meaning.

Amanda raised the pitted, rusted blade of the machete and examined it, trying not to think about what she had to do.

sinanju you are absolutely ebil. I bow before your wickedness.

[Amanda] Skipped Time (Day 10): Surf's Up! (open tag)

[Amanda] Heart of Darkness, Pt. I (no tag)

[Amanda] Heart of Darkness, Pt. II (no tag)

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