Monotone | ✔️

Chapter Sixteen

Undoubtedly, Robyn was despondent whenever our eyes met, a swirling storm of hate and angst evident in her dark green eyes. I noticed that her irises were twined with subtle black laces, as if her optics were being cradled by the blackened hands of a charred monster. I guess the feeling of distaste was relatively mutual, yet I often found the emotion was more disgust and pity then resentment. Obviously, she had been driven mad by these divine interventions in life called death and tragedy, her goodness eroded to the point she was a mere murderer, intent on going to any means in order to get revenge for the crimes that were possibly accidental. It was practically peculiar how her mind worked, for I had never seen an abomination such as her weathered personality. It made me wonder what she was like in her past. Was she happy? Kind? It was a shame, in all honesty. And it was clear there was nothing anyone could do to help. She was in darkness, so darkness she became.

In these occasions I quickly averted my attention, not wanting to see deeper into her unfathomable hues. Instead, I often sought the company of Chris, who was my only companion in this tyranny. We had disposed of the bodies and were preparing to go through their stuff. Even without their deaths we would still be obliged to do this task; it was their part of the deal, the guilty conscience for shooting Jay. It still sent a shiver down my spine, a rouge tear to my eye, to think of my deceased friend, the moment his body hit the floor playing through my mind in an agonising loop...

"Found their bags." Chris's voice distracted me from my thoughts and I returned myself to the present, seeing Chris hold up three backpacks.

Rifling through their possessions, it felt... wrong. We were taking a dead man's things. After we were done there would be no recollection that they ever existed, apart from a bundle of blankets containing their decomposing bodies. Even so, we found useful supplies. More food, more clothes, more weapons. Hidden amongst the plethora of things were three bombs, one in each backpack.

"Makes me wonder their motive for travelling along here." Chris mused, mirroring my own train of thought. We had never asked, after all. Were they attempting the same task as us, or were they just cold-hearted killers, throwing explosives at whatever they could find? "Now we have one bomb each." He murmured, placing one in my hand, curling my fingers around it. It felt cold, destructive. Nodding, I quickly placed it in my bag, trying to divert my mind from thinking what damage this could do.

"Will we give Robyn one?" I inquired, careful to keep my voice down. Trust towards the hysterical girl was unfathomable - who knew who she would injure? "Will we let her have any weapon?"

"She needs some defensive device. Although she is unstable it would be horrible if she were separated without anything to fight with. We'll let her have a pistol, and a dagger. But we need to keep an eye on her. Keep her bomb, for now. We'll give it to her if and when she's ready." He placed another bomb in my hand and I repeated the procedure, placing it carefully, yet hastily, in my bag.

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If I thought rifling through their possessions were awful, nothing could prepare me for the repugnant act of having to sort through Jay's stuff.

Chris glanced toward me, analysing my face, and placed a hand on my shoulder in a comforting manner. "We need to do this, Tempest. He wouldn't want us to be like this. Wherever he is, he's probably already distraught at Robyn's deterioration. This is necessary."

"Yeah, I know." I said in reply, inhaling a deep breath. The stagnant, humid air cascaded down my lungs like a polluted waterfall, yet the unfavourable odour didn't register in my mind, although it was different from the stench the home tunnel obtained. It was like Jay said. It seemed ages ago he said that to me, when in reality I haven't even spent a year in the company of these friends ( if I could call them that ).

Offering a feeble smile to him, I retrieved Jay's backpack from where it was strewn in the corner, Chris watching me with concern in his gaze. "I'm fine, honestly." I muttered. With determination, I opened the black bag, taking out the things one by one.

When I was done, Chris seemed troubled. "What is it?" I asked, returning my gaze to the rife of things set out at our feet. The medical supplies, weapons, multiple tins of food... That was it - the food. There was too much of it, an extended abundance to the allowance we originally had.

"That explains why he was so skinny and ill. He hadn't been eating." Chris said, his voice sounding like it had been touched by the clammy hands of death itself. "The selfless, selfless sod."

My voice had left me, deserting my system like a coward. My fingertips trailed at the bottom of the bag, my hand hooking around a scrap of paper. Extracting it from the fabric, I opened it up, the creased material stained with scrawled ink.

Well, I guess if you've found this you've realised my intentions, and I have passed on. I know it was stupid, reckless, suicidal, yet I couldn't bare the thought of you meeting your end amongst these cold walls, without food, without anything. I know how devastated my sister must be, and I know she won't cope well, but I hope my sacrifice, whenever it occurred, was a worthy one. I didn't want to continue. I'm not cut out for this life, like the rest of you. Good luck. Jay.

Tears slipped down my sunken cheeks as the words registered in my brain, my hands scrunching the paper. His last words, his final hopes... How had we - I - been so blind to how he was suffering, how he was taking his own life so we could live longer?

I felt horrible, ravaged by these tumultuous thoughts, the words frolicking amongst my system with taunting glee, baring down on me with Jay's azure hues...

"Don't tell Robyn. I don't think she would appreciate this information at this point in time." Chris whispered. "Dry your tears, Tempest. He did this for us. He did this so we could live on."