[COLOR=dimgray][hr][CENTER][img]https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/g4z9cgxmer7.jpg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Beach - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Human #5.003:[/b][/COLOR] [I][url=https://youtu.be/AEB6ibtdPZc?si=kGXX-kv91n_pctQx]Hard Times[/url][/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Nil[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=SILVER][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5564144]Emergency[/url][/I][/right][/SUP]
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The pen saddled midst the creases of his digits waned ‘neath forced vested onto it as Immanuel scratched in a script but nearly only he could see as legible in the leather bound book before him. The book was one where years traveling in the possession filled trash bags from hell-hole to hell-hole and under the stress of writing upon non-solid surfaces had shown prominently upon distressed leather. Streaks of discolored patches lined across the binding of the notebook akin to scars across one's skin, and cracks ripped across the spine where haphazardly covered with a strip of tape through Immanuel’s hasty repairs in the past. The thick pages laced with the memories of bygone days, pages parted with the plastic squares of photos from days past, and the old crumpled papers of forlorn poems wrought with the remnants of a distrust enveloped soul of a self that partially remained in the man who sat today upon the shores of the island.

Not a word had been spoken, not a thought had been whispered from the lips upon his face as his eyes stood in a trance with the words of slightly smudged ink upon the old pages. From the moment the Eclipse made their appearance upon dreary shores for but their last hours upon the island, Immanuel had sought the lonely solace he had placed into the book from its years in his possession. Past the unsteadiness and the scribble of signs barely registered as handwriting was all that his mind had stored behind the lock-down he had equipped in the depths of his consciousness. The words flew freely from ball-point as if they were spoken from his own lips. A literary manifestation of all those thoughts he had held from all but himself, the feelings he had shut out the others from watching him go through. The pages within such a book abound the tears many a foster parents had shut down with being an action unbefitting of a man.

As his pen slid across the page so did that of his thought slide from the fringes of his mind, even as his ears stood blasted with the force of the fire crackling before him, soft grinding of the sand beneath the shifting bodies of all those around, and even choked cries of the remaining populace, the sounds of the week prior had never left his mind. Upon the forefront of all that was thought by the mind of Immanuel Blaylock was the ever-constant reminder of the poor soul whose body was ripped asunder by the likes of the monster that had been but the fine straw that brought the school to ruin. Through all the noise his mind harped upon and that threatened his mind liken to a predator on the prowl, was that of the tearing of flesh. Was that of one’s tendons being stretched to the maximum and snapped like a rubber band between one's parting fingers. Was that of the squirting of blood sputtering out of veins once hidden beneath the safe haven of skin. Was that the squishing and splattering of viscera upon the floor. Although all these sounds plagued and ravaged his mind like no other sound that he had recognized entered his ear, the unforgettable sound of the heart's droning drum beating out its final symphony of life, the fadeout of what one was and would ever be in but a single moment. But a sound left a brand upon his brain matter, hot and fresh despite the time that had flown by in but a blink.

Upon the new page he had flipped to after filling the previous one with his rambling stream of thought, all Immanuel could jot down for the week of his life lost to catatonia and auto-pilot was, [i][color=A24857]I should’ve used the symbol earlier.[/color][/i] Past the words that assaulted his mind flashed the wide-eyed face of Cleo, whose hands had shaken widely as she signed the symbol across her chest as a desperate sign to leave. The loss in her quiet tone, heard above all others as she stood before her in that moment, spread across his mind and tightened the knot he had held within his gut. The image of that of Lucas’s flashed from the archives of his memory, the look upon his compatriots' face was on that, in a much similar vein to that of Cleo’s, was stuck to him. He could only imagine the newfound memories attached to such a place that Lucas had replayed out within the expanse of his mind all over again. Immanuel was supposed to be the one who led them through this final school year, the one that kept the three together through the tribulations of each other member dropping out like flies. But in the end, all that Immanuel caused for the two he considered his closest friends and final groupmates, was a night which shall never leave their minds for as long as they continue to walk upon this plane of existence. 

Before the words within his mind had the chance to fully form a sentence upon the paper, the cheap plastic pen held finally snapped in beneath the pressure he forced upon it. With a crack, the pen lay upon the sand surface beside him three distinct pieces which he scooped within an empty pocket laden on the side of the bookback sat beside him. From the nether regions of his pants pocket, Immanuel revealed a set of string photos from the photo booth a week prior. The plastic was crumpled and folded in its structure but the joy upon their faces still stood evident through the marring. Immanuel dropped the strip within the page of the notebook in which his writing was ended before shutting the book and rebinding the locking strap for its last time upon Dundas Island. 

As he stuffed the book away within the space of his back, Immanuel turned back those he had spent his time at what once was this school alongside. People of memory he shan't forget. And in but a whisper he uttered,

[color=A24857]”I think… I think I miss my home.”[/color]

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