Roll:5
As reality snapped back into focus, Alexander shuddered slightly, before putting a hand to the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, trying to ward off the memories.
"Ah... yes, I'm fine. Just got a little bit carried away for a moment.", he called back, before returning his attention to his daughter seated upon the bed. What was there to say? His... episodes were getting more frequent, and this one had been worse than usual, judging from the state of the room. He knew his family worried about him, but how could he convince them it would be fine when he couldn't convince himself?
"I'm sorry, Kay.", he said, pulling the blanket from the ceiling fan and wrapping it around her shoulders. "I just... I... didn't mean to scare you.", Alex managed, the words sounding lame even to him as he gave her a gentle hug. "Let's get this room cleaned up, alright?"
You can still see the doubt in her mind... the fear for me that she tries to hide. This must have been how Sam felt when I... I mean, when Frodo was falling under the effects of the preciousss... No. Have to keep this in check, at least in front of her. I can't scare her more.
Heading over to the door, Alexander roughly dragged the dresser to an upright position, pulling it out of the way of the door, if not quite to its former position. A quick circuit around the room, with Jospeh watching cautiously rom the now opened door, restored the frames to the walls, if not entirely straight, and more importantly, collected all the scattered doll pieces. Depositing them on the bed, he asked Kaitlyn,
"That should be all of them. Do you want to help me put them back together?"
The child looked into Alexander’s eyes, her sobs stilled, and nodded slowly, reaching for a leg, a torso, and some stuffing. “Oh, Alex …” Joseph sighs, and goes, leaving the door slightly ajar as he does.
Some time later, room darkened, child sleeping comfortably, Alexander closes the door behind him and turns toward the hall. He knows he must talk to Joseph and melissa, and soon. Their love for him made him strong, but … but it pput them in danger. He just couldn’t bear if anything … he looks down the hall, toward his room, warm, familiar, and … safe. Then he looks toward the stairwell, down which the voices of fhis brother and sister-in-law could be heard. Maybe … maybe this can wait til tomorrow. To sleep, perchance to dream, or down the rabbit hole to meet the Red Queen - no! Down the STAIRS, to meet his FAMILY?
Roll:2
Darek stares, speechless, at his father. “I’m not hungry!” He snarls, more forcefully than he intended. “Son,” his father begins, gently. “Just leave me alone!” Darek yells. He shoulders his way past his dad, stomps down the stairs, and out the door, slamming it behind him. Darek walks for some time, burning with embarrassed shame and regret. “I’m sorry, dad” he mumbles to himself. A couple teens nearby break out in laughter, and Darek looks sharply up at them. Did they hear him, talking to himself? They think this is funny? He stares for a moment, as a dark, unnaturally thin figure fades into being in the shadows behind the teens. The world darkens suddenly, as if the setting sun fell behnd a bank of storm clouds, and Darek shudders.
Roll:6
“No!” Annie screams. Annie’s fear for the children absorbs and is heightened by her fear of the outside. She fumbles for a minute with the deadbolt and chains, tears falling unnoticed down her cheeks, dripping on her bare feet. Finally! The door opens and she runs out into the yard, tripping and scuffing her knees. Her eyes dart toward the forest - were those bushes moving? What could be there? Fear lends her speed, and she dashes around the pond. The children notice her about halfway around. Their puzzled expressions turn slowly to nervousness, their laughter stilled. Annie runs toward them, and they turn and run toward their house “Mom, mom! Dad!” they call. Annie catches up, and sweeps the children into her arms, up the deck stairs, and through the kitchen door, which she slams behind her before lowering the kids to the floor. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeats, holding each of their faces in turn and hugging them tightly.
“Oh my God! Tom!” She hears.
Roll: 4
“I’ll have the number four please. I always have the number four. Light on the lettuce, extra sauce, no ice in the drink. I don’t like how it melts.” Starn laughs a little nervously, maybe a little too loudly at that. He carefully counts out exact change and places it on the counter, with the coins stacked on top of the bills. He slides the stack forward with his fingertips, and moves to the end to the counter to wait. He arranges a stack of ketchu packets while he does. Outside, the wind picks up, and the door opens, letting another person into the resteraunt. How many does that make? Stan wonders? How many were there before? He can’t quite remember. Heh counts. Seventeen. Six workers, and eleven customers. “Number fifteen?” A voice calls, and Starn’s food is there, on the counter.
Roll:3
Giving into rage, Jack shudders in place. It seems not even this shelter is safe from Them anymore. He glances around (have to keep Them from noticing, always keep Them from noticing), taking in the faces, the atmosphere of crushed dreams and despair (under Their crushing heel). He doesn't notice anyone who might now be inspecting his prize, but They are good at this, sneaky, conniving, and always everywhere.
But... maybe They had yet to find his secret stash. He had to check, for if They found it, all would be lost. Because then They'd KNOW, and if They KNEW then no hope would be left for those who seek the Truth.
Approaching the loose tile beneath which the Proof is hidden, he casts quick looks around, before lifting it and looking within. Before he touches the tile, he hears footsteps. Nervous, Jack stands quickly, and shuffles away to a stall. He closes the door, lowers the seat, and sits on the reservoir, placing his feet on the seat so as not to be seen by the intruder.
The nurses are nice, stan thinks, as he calmly eats the food before him, more out of habit than hunger. What need, hunger, if the body is illusory, after all? He smiles suddenly, thoughts chased away rom this linbe of thought by the antics of the Stutterer and the Repeater, across the table. Of all his companions in this place, he liked these two the most. Stan would do anything to bring back the Stutterer’s lost love. But, back to what? He wonders. Perhaps instead, the Stutterer would be happier going on to her? Something about this idea appeals to Stan, but something about it horrifies him, too. After all, what if … what if this world IS real? It’s nonsense, of course, but … what if? Ah, what does it matter anyway? Does anything matter? Stan must know! If something, anything really matters, the nStan can Make A Difference. Stan could Change the World. Another smile comes to his face as he contemplates this, for a moment the thought that the world is an illusion is far from his mind.
“Mr Nolan? Mr. Nolan?” No response. A sigh. “Stan?”
“Oh! Yes, nurse?” Stan greets her warmly, with a big smile. Her eyes soften. Did she smile in return? “Stan, here are your meds for this evening. Won’t you please take them? Stan looks down at the two red pills in the tiny paper cup. Stan frowns slightly at the pills, then looks up into those gentle, deep blue eyes, and the illusion settles a little more firmly in his heart.
Jeremy stumbles out from the bar, a little inebriated, but happy enough. His friends waved in farewell, and the four of them parted ways. The bright streetlights glared in Jeremy’s eyes, but he didn’t mind. It hid the darkness, in more ways than one. Through the fog in his mind, a fog of alcohol rather than of horror, Jeremy guides himself carefully down the street. It’s cold out tonight, and the sharp wind wakens his senses a little. He wraps his coat a little tighter around himself and peers up at the streetsign. Six more blocks. An easy walk. He crosses with the light and with a few other pedestrians, who appear to take no more note of him than of any other. Perhaps one smelled a little on his breath, perhaps not. It didn’t matter, really.
Jeremy is drawn out of his reverie half a block further along, though. What brought him up so suddenly? He wonders. Think! He looks slowly around, senses heightened again, but somehow … indistinct. Suddenly, he realizes - a sound in the alley. His police teaining and senses come to the fore, and he listens. A muffled voice? Some quiet movement? What drew his attention. He peers cautiously into the alley, and the darkness peers back. Not eyes withi9n the darkness - the darkness itself. Jeremy can feel himself slipping. He has to get away! He needs the light! He needs to get home! But … but why do his instincts tell him to stay and investigate?
He was thirsty. When was the last time he had a drink? He must drink … needs to keep his health up, or else … he forced his mind away from that line of thought. The thirst dragged him up, out of unconsciousness. How long? He wondered, struggling to sit up. He looked around through half-lidded eyes, carefully examining everything. Danger was everywhere, he knew that. But it was in some places more than in others. He could fix this! He just had to, had to, had to what? Keep going. He knew he’d find what he needed. He had to!
A bus trundled by. Joseph watched it for a moment, then jerked his eyes away quickly, realizing with horror what he had done. He wasn’t watching the bus, he was looking in the windows. And someone had looked back. Oh God, he may have tainted someone! He had to keep moving. He crossed the street as he approached a church - best to stay away, lest he taint even what little hope that edifice represented. Or lest he fall victim to the trap his Pursuer might have laid within. Not all churches were on the side of Good - even the believers knew that.
“Hi there!” the voice was cheerful, bright, and attractive. Joseph risked a look - at her feet, at her waist, at her arms, a glance at her hair, then away quickly. Comfortable jeans, tennis shoes, a bright red coat, soft brown hair. “I heard you say you were thirsty. I have some soda here, if you want some?” She made the question sound like an invitation, like a child calling to a skittish kitten. “I have an extra sandwich too, I can’t eat all thaat my mom packed. Here” A plastic wrapped sandwich - ham and cheese, is looked like - appeared in his line of sight, a delicate thumb visible on top, a wrist disappearing into thered coat sleeve. Joseph’s eyes were drawn upward, almost against his will …
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Topic: Insanity: Roll to Keep it Together (Read 33344 times)