TAPESTRY (tapestry) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-08-16 12:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-08] august, ! npc |
RP Narrative; NPC.
Who: Paul Abernathy (NPC), resident of Tinworth.
What: Rioting in the street. Lynching.
When: 15 August, dusk.
Where: Tinworth, Cornwall.
Warning: Death.
Rating: R.
Status: Completed; narrative.
He knew he should have left when his neighbours stopped talking to him, but he was stubborn. He always had been. Paul Abernathy would say that he overestimated just how much pressure people could take or maybe that he got a little too optimistic at the wrong time. And so he stayed, tried to help out where he could. The first couple of days went by well enough, he managed to ignore the pointed remarks that random passersby sneered at him; what mattered then was that he was still helping. He was useful. Paul was not going to run away. A few days later, it changed. The shops had those signs tacked on to their doors and windows, it was fecking ridiculous, wasn't it? He tried to go into the pub for a drink that afternoon but he was dragged back outside by a couple of the regulars. He was a regular. Wasn't he? "Go back home, Paul," John, the barman, told him before slamming the door shut. "What the fuck do you mean?" No response. "Oy, what the fuck--" His speech was cut off when something hard made contact with the back of his head. A rock bounced off to the side and Paul glanced behind him to see who threw it. The group of children didn't look at all peturbed when he turned to face them. The smallest, a dark-haired girl who looked a little ill, stepped forward. "They said 'go home'," she called out, anger hardly concealed in her voice, "So why don't you just leave, you big ninny." Paul laughed and walked back home without looking back. It was dusk the next day when it happened. He had gone out to buy lunch when they spotted him. Paul didn't even have enough time let alone the chance to defend himself. Maybe he should have been more careful: stayed home, bolted the doors, ate something from the cupboard. Too late. People, Paul thought, often underestimated the savagery other people could have when they were beyond reasoning. Fists. They passed him from one to the other, taking turns to beat the fuck out of him. When he fell, they began kicking him. He could barely see the dark orange sky from the thicket of legs and arms and heads above him. Something warm trickled down his left eye and Paul didn't need to hold a hand up to wipe it away to know it was blood. His spine had curved slightly and the effect was painful enough to have him stumble and try to clutch at the closest person he could get his hand on. There were words, Paul could barely make them out. Most of the sound were jeers and shouts and there was so much anger. Hatred. Someone slapped him in the face and he opened his eyes blearily to look at the person. A woman, dark-hair flying everywhere, bellowing at him. He felt as if this had happened before. He wasn't given a chance to speak and he doubted anything could have helped his case. Paul felt something pull at his neck, choking him so he gasped and pulled at it momentarily. He pulled it out far enough to see that it was a length of rope twined to make a loop. It was around his neck. The horror barely registered when they began pulling him again, dragging him across the pavement like some badly-behaved dog on a leash. He couldn't help but thrash and hang on to the rope, heels digging into the gravel, blood dripping out of each fresh wound. "We told you to go home, Paul." He looked up to see John the barman's face. He had never seen that expression on that familiar face before and the effect was chilling. Paul was more terrified than before, more afraid to see how much hate had changed his neighbours and friends and... everyone. Everyone had gone completely mental. He was propped up on a tall stool. Paul could see them all, their faces alight with triumph. He felt a cold had grip his neck for a moment then he realised that a man was only checking to see if the rope was tied properly. The sounds of their voices became louder and with it, his vision became even more blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. This was his home. Where else could he have gone to? Paul tried to tell them this but as he said the first couple of words, he felt the stool give way under him. Everything ended. |