@kingofkumquats: You can't tell from my avatar that I am ecstatic about the growing developments unfolding via [proper] death post... Too bad the people that are dying are those I didn't even vote for at the time... #MinorityVote
Well, I'm finally dead. The original death I had planned was going to be humorous, but I'm no longer in the mood for it. So here's this instead.
It was happening again. Everyone that I had once again gained a passing familiarity with was dying. I thought it had been over when I shot myself after that hellacious "game." I had met sweet oblivion and escaped from survivor's guilt. Than I arrived in hell. And it started again. This time I tried to help, to solve the murders. I was no detective, though. The murders continued, but hardly anyone seemed to die, most just disappeared. I thought about reaching out, asking some of my fellow victims in waiting to band together to stop the killer. Paranoia and deppression set in once again, though, and destroyed those moments of clarity and motivation. I kept to myself again. Because it worked out SO well last time. Even in hell, I couldn't force myself to try and save my fellow man. I was a coward, and I knew it. I contemplated trying to end it again, but I wasn't sure how. Besides even if I did manage to kill myself again, who was to say I wouldn't wake up in an even deeper layer of hell, stuck in yet another game of life and death to fail miserably at. I didn't know what to do, anymore.
I wondered the hallways of the mansion, restless again. I couldn't sleep or eat. I probably looked terrible. My Batman costume was in tatters now. I had ripped it apart during one of my panic attacks. It was months past Halloween now anyways. I wondered down a long, straight hallway lined with door after door. It occured to me that I hadn't seen anyone for... hours? Days? Years? Not that mattered too much. I wouldn't have been able to face them. Perhaps a curt nod, and I would be on my way. It was better to be here alone. I continued walking, not bothering to look in any of the doors, lost in the deep recesses of my thoughts, when suddenly I heard a knock. The sound brought me back to some sort of reality. It sounded like it was coming from the door to the right of me. I turned toward the door, and there was another knock, louder this time. I took a step toward the door, there was another pound on the door. I put my hand on the knob, and there was another. Who or whatever was behind the door was slamming on it now. the door shook with the force of the blow, threatening to explode in splinters. I began to turn the knob, but stopped. I couldn't do this. I needed to leave. I was breathing at a rate that I wouldn't have thought possible, and I was sweating bullets. I had a deep pit in my stomach, and tears were in my eyes. The door shook once again. I turned and ran, screaming, "No, no, no!" I ran back the way I had come, desperate to find someone that would take pity on me in my wretched state. Running, however, had never been a strength of mine and I was already tiring, when I heard the door splinter behind me. I dared not look back to face the killer. I knew I was dead if I didn't do something. If I died, I knew it would all start again. It would always start again. Over and over.
In a last ditch effort, I flung a random door open, and slammed it shut, praying that they hadn't seen me, a futile hope I knew. I collapsed against the door, squeezing my eyes shut. Suddenly there was a voice. "It's your fault, Kumquat." My eyes snapped open and I immediately regretted it. I found myself in a room full of bodies in various states of decomposition. The faces of the dead stared at me. "Your fault." They whispered. "Help us, Kumquat. Please." I didn't know if I should scream or throw up, and decided to compromise by doing both. I turned and opened the door. "Why won't yo save, us Kumquat?" I ran out of the horrid room and slammed the door shut, cutting off the tortured voices. It was all too much. I collapsed in the hallway. I heard footsteps approaching. I couldn't look up. It must have been a pathetic sight, me on the ground, crying, covered in vomit and piss. The footsteps stopped and a shadow fell over me. "Please," I croaked. "Don't make me start this again."
"Stand up," commanded a voice.
"I can't." I gasped. The killer picked me up to my feet roughly. I looked down. I was shaking, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I could feel the killer's gaze on me. He wordlessly reached out and opened the door. The voices rushed out again. "What are you doing?" The killer silently shoved me, and I fell into the room of bodies. I squeezed my eyes shut, and began to cry once again, covering my ears to shield me from the taunting of the ghouls. I heard an object slide toward me, and the door slam shut, followed by a click. I jumped up, with renewed strength and pounded on the door. Screaming, begging for someone to let me out. There was nothing but the voices though. I slid down the door and looked at the object that the killer had given me, a silver revolver with one round in the trigger. I sniffed, took one last round at the lost souls I had failed, and lifted it up to my head. I said a silent prayer to whatever deity could get me out of this endless mess and pulled the trigger.