Survival Of The Fittest [ON HOLD]

Chapter Four: Questioning Reality

CHAPTER FOUR

Your point of view.

“Tianna!”

“Come on!”

“Don’t be such a wuss!”

“I’m not a wuss if I’m a logical person,” I reply calmly to the rude shouts and screams.

“Then why won’t you come, then?”

“Because I am smart enough to know that bad things won’t make life better,” I state.

“One cigarette?”

“One joint?”

“One swig?”

“No. I don’t need to sink to your level,” I reply.

“How about one night?”

The low, even, confident male voice behind me makes me freeze.

“What do you want from me?” I snarl, whipping around.

Nothing.

“I want your innocence. It’s not doing you any good. You can give it to me and I’ll give you something better,” he says.

“Nothing can be better than innocence. At least, nothing you can offer me,” I growl.

“How about something I take away from you?” His haunting voice echoes around me as I turn in circles to try to find the source. The only thing I see outside of my circle of light is a thick, inky black.

“What would you be so tempted to take away from me?” I ask tentatively.

“Your loved ones. Your family. Your friends.”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a simple decision. Option one versus option two. Innocence versus everybody you care about. Simple, is it not?” he taunts from somewhere in the dark wall around me.

“David, no. There is another option,” I state mildly.

“And that would be?” he asks with mock patience in his smooth-like-silk voice.

“Neither. It would be me receiving something from you,” I propose.

“Not an option.”

“It is now,” I say firmly, trying to keep the razor away from the edges of my words.

“No, actually-” Another spotlight buzzes on just a meter from the edge of mine. David stands in the middle of it with Louis, Tommy and Charlie. “It is not an option unless you choose to keep your innocence, but nothing else.”

Louis has Thomas and Charles in his arms, holding them against his chest. “I love you,” he tells me.

“I love you, too,” I step closer to hug him, but he drops to his knees, slowly setting the twin babies down on the floor. They look about seven or eight months old. Louis’ face twists in agony as he grits his teeth and a long, slow, low moan escapes them. I watch him crawl away from the babies and collapse on the floor. He curls into a fetal position and starts to sob.

I step away from him, backwards. I can’t watch this. I don’t even know what’s wrong. I can’t help him. I can’t do anything.

Suddenly, Louis relaxes. His head lowered to the cold, hard concrete below him as he lies flopped down on his side. His eyes blink often as his breathing is heavy. I look at him from my distance and can tell he isn’t in as much pain as before, if any.