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Generation Legacy Issue #14 "Genocide" - Part 2
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<blockquote data-quote="Samnell" data-source="post: 3421131" data-attributes="member: 130"><p><em>Yeah well so did I and no one's-</em> Mark made himself look at the sore spots he'd been avoiding. <em>Ok, so I'll have some bruises. I guess that's not the same. Whatever Genocide did must have been temporary. Should I go and see? Neither one of them is on Legacy so it's not really a professional thing and I barely know Kal. I guess I was in Karen's body for a while, but that doesn't really count. No, it would be weird and I don't want to make thing worse.</em></p><p></p><p>Mark set his comm to receive only and left it on the sink. He stripped off his uniform and silently bemoaned the lack of a swimsuit as he turned on the shower. At least he could get wet. Stepping into the hot spray, he closed his eyes and the huge spray of blood from the stump of Genocide's neck rose up in his mind. </p><p></p><p>Genocide's body stiffened and fell over, hitting a different floor covered with dirty little square tiles that used to be blue and white. Many had gone somewhere, to show dark gray concrete below. Mark put his hands in the blood, crawling across the floor to where it came out of the wrists of someone that wasn't Genocide. He had a name Mark couldn't remember and they were both thirteen. Michael was going to be angry.</p><p></p><p>Mark rifled through the boy that wasn't Genocide's pants pockets. It wasn't there. Trembling, he jerked on the belt and looked for hiding places in the shirt. Nothing. He started to cry but he kept looking. Hot blood sunk into his jeans. He knew how to do this. It happened to him all the time. Where did everyone look? Mark pulled off the once-white tennis shoes. Nothing. Under the tongue? No. Hands. It had to be the hands. The hands were clenched tight and full of blood. The fingers didn't want to open. Mark hit the hand against the toilet as hard as he could. Then he found a piece of stone wall somewhere and beat the hands until they cracked and red and white things stuck out.</p><p></p><p>There. Caked in blood, Mark found a plastic baggie with the stuff in it. He needed it right now. Michael would never notice just one. Hands shaking, Mark pried the bag open. He shouldn't. He'd get hurt later, and he knew he'd deserve it too. He could say that the boy that wasn't Genocide took it. He stole, not Mark. Mark was a good boy. They called him Church Boy sometimes. He'd just have one and then he could go to the shelter for the night. It would all be over tomorrow. </p><p></p><p>Michael would understand. It wasn't Mark's fault. He know how Louis -that was his name- got. He couldn't handle it like Mark could. Mark tried to show him how, but he was a rich kid and didn't understand. Still, he had a lot of fun for a while. They were friends. Louis would probably take more than one. He'd take two. Even three. Mark pulled the bag wide open and it tore, spilling the pills on the ground, in the blood. He grabbed them up with his fingers and shoved four into his mouth before he could stop.</p><p></p><p>Mark laid on the floor of the shower, hot water pouring down on him and curled into a ball. His stomach lurched and he threw up.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Samnell, post: 3421131, member: 130"] [I]Yeah well so did I and no one's-[/i] Mark made himself look at the sore spots he'd been avoiding. [I]Ok, so I'll have some bruises. I guess that's not the same. Whatever Genocide did must have been temporary. Should I go and see? Neither one of them is on Legacy so it's not really a professional thing and I barely know Kal. I guess I was in Karen's body for a while, but that doesn't really count. No, it would be weird and I don't want to make thing worse.[/I] Mark set his comm to receive only and left it on the sink. He stripped off his uniform and silently bemoaned the lack of a swimsuit as he turned on the shower. At least he could get wet. Stepping into the hot spray, he closed his eyes and the huge spray of blood from the stump of Genocide's neck rose up in his mind. Genocide's body stiffened and fell over, hitting a different floor covered with dirty little square tiles that used to be blue and white. Many had gone somewhere, to show dark gray concrete below. Mark put his hands in the blood, crawling across the floor to where it came out of the wrists of someone that wasn't Genocide. He had a name Mark couldn't remember and they were both thirteen. Michael was going to be angry. Mark rifled through the boy that wasn't Genocide's pants pockets. It wasn't there. Trembling, he jerked on the belt and looked for hiding places in the shirt. Nothing. He started to cry but he kept looking. Hot blood sunk into his jeans. He knew how to do this. It happened to him all the time. Where did everyone look? Mark pulled off the once-white tennis shoes. Nothing. Under the tongue? No. Hands. It had to be the hands. The hands were clenched tight and full of blood. The fingers didn't want to open. Mark hit the hand against the toilet as hard as he could. Then he found a piece of stone wall somewhere and beat the hands until they cracked and red and white things stuck out. There. Caked in blood, Mark found a plastic baggie with the stuff in it. He needed it right now. Michael would never notice just one. Hands shaking, Mark pried the bag open. He shouldn't. He'd get hurt later, and he knew he'd deserve it too. He could say that the boy that wasn't Genocide took it. He stole, not Mark. Mark was a good boy. They called him Church Boy sometimes. He'd just have one and then he could go to the shelter for the night. It would all be over tomorrow. Michael would understand. It wasn't Mark's fault. He know how Louis -that was his name- got. He couldn't handle it like Mark could. Mark tried to show him how, but he was a rich kid and didn't understand. Still, he had a lot of fun for a while. They were friends. Louis would probably take more than one. He'd take two. Even three. Mark pulled the bag wide open and it tore, spilling the pills on the ground, in the blood. He grabbed them up with his fingers and shoved four into his mouth before he could stop. Mark laid on the floor of the shower, hot water pouring down on him and curled into a ball. His stomach lurched and he threw up. [/QUOTE]
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