Dead Or Alive |Laughing Jack X Masky|

Till the Blood Runs Out & the Water Runs Cold

  His eyes fluttered open, and then shut once again. His body felt ice cold, and he felt a hot, thick pain in his lame leg.
  Throughout the night, his leg had become so numb, the feeling in it became evanescent. Blood hadn't began to clot until what felt like hours later, leaving a small puddle, which was at that point a sticky, clumpy, almost dry mess, surrounding his thigh. The train was still moving, and with every bump came a wave of pain and nausea. He had to have been miles and miles from that small town, and almost as many miles from Masky.
  He sat up with a grunt, and grabbed ahold of the side of the train wall, pulling himself towards the opening. He was even more-so surrounded by wilderness, and he knew he'd have to get off soon. If the train were to stop in public, he'd have no chance of escape; nor survival.
  He watched as the trees passed by, occasionally seeing a family of deer. He began to realize his chances of survival were slim either way. He was hungry, and beyond thirsty. He felt as if there was no more water in his body, and his blood had turned into some sort of pudding, just slowly sliding through his veins. He looked down at his wound, which had been tightly wrapped with the bottom of his shirt. He was now left with what looked like could have been some sort 'cropped top', or whatever people called them. 
  Lj took a deep gulp, lightly brushing his fingers over the wound. He cried out, instantly pulling his hand away. The shirt was damp, and was beginning to radiate a foul smell. He looked outside again, and realized he'd better jump off soon; before his leg was so far gone, he'd rather be caught.
  He pushed himself closer to the edge, to the point he was able to look down and see the ground moving at a much quicker pace than he had thought. He closed his eyes again, his stomach churning. His mouth began to water, and his body began to shake. He gripped to the edge of the train with all remaining strength before vomiting out of the train, barely having the power to keep himself from falling with whatever was in his stomach. He stayed like that for what was probably only a minute, before leaning back into the train, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A streak of vile and blood was now sticking and soaking onto his hand, sending a chill through his spine.
  He was doomed, or close to. With Masky nowhere near, and just a single leg, there was no way he'd be able to fend for himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, and made a noise of frustration through his clenched teeth. He gripped the edge once again, with two hands now. He slowly began to pull himself up; he almost made it all the way up, too. That is, before his leg gave up from under him, crippling beneath him and sending him backwards. He landed on his ass before screaming out in pain, yelling every profanity in the book out to the wilderness. He cursed the very soul on the forest floor for getting him into the situation.
  After a few minutes of silently screaming at the steel floor, before pulling himself back up again. He pulled himself up, successfully this time, and slowly began to lean out the open crate. The wind flung his tangled, greasy black hair into his face, sticking to his chapped and on the verge of bleeding lips. He planted his foot, the good one, on the very edge of the train before hurling his body out.
  He tucked his body in, landing on his left shoulder. He rolled a few times, into a patch of shrubs, crying out the whole time. His body came to a stop mid-roll, and he laid there silently. His face was pressed against the pointed, hard branches of the shrub. He could already tell his body was covered in cuts, and perhaps a large bruise on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, begging sleep to come once again.

  He awoke hours later, when it had already surpassed evening and made its way into night. It was cold again, and his leg was worse. He needed to get away from the tracks, and further into the forest.
  I just want to die in peace, now. Through everything that had happened in the previous 36 hours, Lj did not feel like a creepypasta. He did not feel like some nefarious, cold blooded killer. He felt vulnerable, oblivious, and human. His body ached and as did his heart. He missed Masky; he missed Jeff, and Ej, and even Slenderman. He was feeling emotions he had never felt before, and he couldn't help but wonder...was anybody else feeling these emotions? Was he the weakest of the bunch, after all?
  He reached out, grabbing the base of the shrub, before pulling himself forward. He reached out once again, this time grabbing onto a rock. He pulled his body forward with all his might, screaming through clenched teeth when a branch had pulled at his wrap around his leg. He panted heavily, his jaw aching softly from his clenching. He. stayed there for a few minutes, his face pressed against the rock he had used to pull himself. He had only traveled a few feet from the tracks, and he closed his eyes in frustration. He needed to be a good few miles away before he could rest peacefully. He looked around, the night making it more difficult to see his surroundings. He found a large stick a few feet away, and reached out. His finger tips barely touched it, and he attempted to roll it to him with no avail. He grunted before slowly, very slowly, wiggling forward a tad. This time he could wrap his fingers around the stick, and he pulled it to him. He jabbed it into the ground before pulling himself up, exhaling through his teeth.  Once he was up all the way, he leaned against it, and slowly began to walk.
  His pace was much more slow than that of another, & it had taken his about an hour and a half before he made it just a mile away. He was sweating profusely. His mouth was dry, and he couldn't muster a single cry at that point. He needed something to drink; he had considered catching a small animal and drinking its blood, but the thought had made him sick.
  His eyes shut as he continued on, feeling a wave of nausea coming over him once again. He gagged, but nothing came out. He had a lump in his throat now, one that he could not swallow. It had been over 27 hours since he had anything to drink, at that point. His legs were wobbly, and he stumbled over small twigs and rocks periodically. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and he began to here a static in his ears. He had never craved death before, it was considered quite undesirable to do so. But at that moment, he craved death to his very core. His eyes were shut as he continued on, begging for death to wrap its slender fingers around him, and burying him deep below to where he belongs. The static grew louder and louder, to the point he didn't know if it was truly static. His eyes were glued shut, and his legs on autopilot. But the static, what was not static, fueled him just a little. He knew he was getting closer, he could feel it, but his legs could not go forward. His legs buckled, bringing him to his knees with a silent scream of pain. He fell forward, his chest against the rocks and his face submerged into a cool, shallow stream.