Snippet #2337854

located in Canada, a part of Beneath our Skins, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: Summer Vorhees Character Portrait: Brik Hamilton Character Portrait: Kaleb Dean Sivaj
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Brik let Kaleb take Summer out of his arms, following them into the cave. He watched intently as Kaleb examined Kite. His heart rate had increased, each beat getting more violent than the last. It took him a minute to realize that Kaleb was talking to him. "She was in the woods, screaming before I was able to find her. I don't know if she was just having a bad trip or if someone was actually attacking her. When I got to her, there was no one there, though." He leaned against the end of the cave, watching everything happen from afar. He was concerned to no end, but he just wasn't very good under pressure so he kept his distance, but lingered in the background.

The rocky walls felt cool against his back as he leaned on them. He looked at his hands, realizing the absence of whiskey there. He must have dropped it without realizing it. What he wouldn't do for a drink. He felt that familiar burn, but this time it was accompanied with a loud painful cough that racked his body. He hunched over coughing and wheezing, soon the taste of copper consumed his mouth. He didn't need this right now, of all times.


No one needed to worry about him, fore Kite was much more important. He left the cave, hoping that they'd ignore him. The starry sky was his audience as he spewed blood from his mouth. He spat pink liquid onto the ground, and wheezed, gasping for air. It hurt. It all hurt, but he was mentally strong and he could get through the affliction, so he could be there for Summer. He clenched his teeth as the stinging of his lungs made him whimper quietly. He was almost to tears, but he held them back. He had to endure this. Had to stay strong. NO WEAKNESS. He gasped before coughing up crimson again, spitting it all out then repeating the process. By the time he deemed himself fit to stand up straight, his windpipe felt coarse, his head was aching from his constant retching, and he felt"Dead," he said aloud, under his breath. He leaned against a boulder, supporting his disarrayed body. He stared up at the sky, feeling as though a higher power was enjoying his misery. He took this time to both compose himself and analyze his life, thus far. He thought about his pessimistic views on life, his rude and distant actions, even the emotionless edge that his voice had developed. He thought about how people saw him. He knew he wasn't the most friendly of the group, hell, he was probably considered the worse, he didn't blame anyone for thinking it. But despite all the thoughts, the cancer, and the worries, only one thing truly mattered: His family.