The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

Stay
by
Adam Crain
Attention: This fragment was found in the demolished headquarters of
Weaver Inc. Television. This memoir cannot be confirmed as fact, but
is the only existing artifact of the tragedy at Versailles Studio. Read
with caution.
Accidents. They happen, right My mother always told me so,
and I usually believed her. Why is it different this time I stand here
in this room, at the end of this long road, not knowing where else to
turn. She stands beside me, holding my hand; resting her sore body
upon mine.
It started as a game, now it was a perversion in our minds,
a way of life. The friends we had before Dead or insane, products of
the evil rules that governed us. Did they lie to us In all reality, they
didn’t. We signed that waiver at the beginning, the one that said ‘In
Case of Death or Dismemberment.’
Did we believe them No! We thought it was all a part of the
environment, the mood, a way to get us into character. Now character
meant nothing. We had spent our time here killing, lying, cheating and
doing whatever we could to rip each other apart. I never understood
killers, their ways and mannerisms. I had always viewed them as sick
and twisted, they were pariahs, a group of perfectly normal humans.
The first time, it hurt, badly. Then it became second nature
to me; each stabbing or shot fired was another step on the way to the
prize. To fully understand my lament, I guess I need to start at the
beginning.
The clouds had sneaked in on a perfectly sunny afternoon in
the pool.
“Why” Flit asked, “This was fate, destiny, the pool was meant
for us. Why does mother nature have to get all jealous and rain us
out”
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