The Realistic Aftermath of the Fatal Five’s Trial

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The last we see of Brit and Mallick is when Erickson calls an ambulance for them. They're both passed out. The Fatal Five were barely done justice in the Pritt Stick of a film sAw V, but we see Mallick again in the survivors' group in sAw: ThE fInAl ChApTeR. His wound is now just a super long visible scar, and his arm is still in a sling despite it being... what, five months? I don't know. I suppose he keeps it on as penance, and so he doesn't have to look at the ugliness. He doesn't know how long he'll keep it on. Maybe forever. He'll be buried with it.

Mallick was in hospital much longer than Brit was, since his right arm was cut in half all the way up to the elbow. He woke up to seeing it stiched up and encased in a navy blue sling. Brit was the first thing on his mind... well, she was so much more than a thing. She was the reason he was still alive. She promised him he wouldn't have to go through the last trap alone, locked her hand in his when he collapsed, crawled away hoping to find help for them. A phone, person, the outside world, whatever. They won their game.

But he hated her so much. He was appalled at how monstrous she was, her empty heart and her avarice for money she already had far too much of her entire life. She killed those eight people, and probably so many more, without a care in the world. All for pieces of paper with numbers and another dead person on them.

He couldn't stop thinking about her though. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see her again, and even wondered if doing so would cure the pain he was feeling. But when she left a few weeks before he did, she didn't even look at him nor even give him a hint that she wanted to see him again. Perhaps it was better that way, or worse. Put the two monsters in two different places and both places will burn to the ground...

The first time Mallick attended a survivors' session was the night before Bobby's Trial. He hoped and prayed he would see Brit there, but when she didn't come he wasn't exactly surprised. She wasn't the type of person to share her feelings. Or anything, really.

While Bobby was talking, he detached and thought about Brit. He thought about her laying in a hospital bed with her eyes closed, while he extended his shaky fingers and stroked a lock of her hair. The second his skin touched her head, the shakiness was gone and the two survivors begin one.

Did he... miss her?

Mallick was apprehensive about being at the session, but it didn't compare to the fear he felt of being outside. Jigsaw or anyone could take him at any moment, not to mention there were junkies on the street who could easily draw him back into that horrid life of addiction and depression.

No. He'd never willingly touch drugs again. He was much too afraid of judgement to go to the Homeward Bound Clinic, his fears only being intensified with the knowledge of Jill Tuck being John Kramer's ex-wife, so he detoxed at home. It was tough - he spent several nights curled up in the bathroom, not knowing whether he was going to throw up or pass out but feeling like he was deserving of both. Every painful moment, he deserved. Murder is an unforgivable sin and if he couldn't be punished at jail, then at least make his mind sick twisted.

And Brit? She had trouble leaving her house too. Her huge house with expensive furniture and art and jewels which all meant nothing to her anymore. She was born rich - her father was a lawyer who defended rapists and murderers and the lot. He was damn good at his job, but that's because society encouraged him and others to believe the victims were at fault. That they shouldn't have gone out, or worn what they did, or said what they said... the evil people could walk.

She became evil like him, not feeling an ounce of empathy as she stole land and money. She had plenty enough of both, and yet she still wanted more. That's the thing about wealthy people; they're never satisfied.

What currently satisfied Brit, though, was the notion of losing everything she had. It was ironic, but it was also a form of penance. She deserved pain for the rest of her life, and the Fatal Five's Trial was just the beginning.

During her time in the hospital, she often thought about Mallick. She figured - hoped, even - that his arm was salvageable. What was it she saw in an arsonist junkie like him? Why is it she could trust him of all people - even kill someone for him?

Well, Mallick did physically suffer as a result of the fire. He always regretted what he did. Brit admired that. She needed that. After all, she was the reason they were all there.

Perhaps the fire and the trial was a good thing, in a way. It taught her not to be so evil and selfish, but those traits have been so ingrained in her mind now that surely she wouldn't be able to help reverting back to them. After all, you had to be selfish to survive, and that's what Brit's always been doing. You can't live in this dying world, but you have to survive.



Present day, five months and two weeks after the Fatal Five's Trial

Brit knows about the survivors' group. She wonders if Mallick is a part of it, but then again he seems like the kind of person to suffer in silence. Well, he'd drop hints to his pain hoping someone, anyone will notice, but he'll never state it outright. No, that's too much for him. There's a high risk of judgement and although Mallick deserves it all it still feels like a metal whip striking his back. 

She could go to the survivors' group, but she doesn't want to talk about her feelings. She doesn't even want to listen to the stories of the others. All she wants is company, to be around people who are messed up like her. It hurts being lonely. At first Brit considered herself free, but now she just feels so empty. She's like a box that's floating aimlessly out in the vast ocean, one that looks beautiful on a map or the internet but upon closer inspection the muck is made prominent. She herself is broken and has horrible things written all over her, but there is no lid and so the dirty water just splashes in and engulfs her. 

She could stand outside though. Just take a peek and see if Mallick is in. If he is, she'll go inside too. But why? Why does she want him to be there? Is it so she can feel better about what she did, because he was a part of it as well?

Does she... miss him?

No. She can't. Missing someone like him is far too dangerous. She needs to stop reliving the trial and actually learn somethig from it. Move on. 

But then again, isn't she destined for a lifetime of pain? Of penance?

She's never not been happy, so the idea of eternal suffering is frightening to her. But she needs to accept it. Accept that she is a new person now, not the suit-and-six-inch-heels-wearing senior Vice President of a murderous company.

And besides, it's the normal thing, right, to wonder how the only other person who survived is doing? Wondering if they are also afraid of all things human, if they also see fire and blades in their dreams, if they also remember the sick feeling after the last game was over...

She sits on a wall a couple meters outside the church  and peers in through the door which is wide open enough. Open enough for all manner of people to walk in, including murderers like herself. You can't take away sins, so... what, do those meetings tell you that it's ok? That despite what you've done, you're still a good person who should be able to live with themselves? Yep, it's decided. She's certainly not going in.

So why can she see Mallick sitting there? Doesn't he feel the same way as her? Unless she's imagining. She wants him to be there, close enough for her to feel somewhat comfortable, yet far enough for her to try and get over him...

Brit's throat tightens when she sees everyone standing up and proceeding to leave. She's not sure if she has enough time to get out of sight, since she walked here. Well, she could pretend she was just passing by, except she's been staring at a map on her phone that led her here. No, everyone would know she was meant to be here. She's doomed.

No. She's always been 'just passing by'. She's passed by all the dead bodies, the ash... can she face her fellow captive?

Mallick is the last one out, and Brit's heart flutters when he stands still and looks right at her. Their eyes lock for a moment and neither of them know the next move. Should they walk towards each other, or walk away? Either way, both actions will be volatile.

But it's better to destroy one place than two, so... Mallick crosses the road. Brit's heart rate intensifies, much like in the 10 Pints of Sacrifice, and she wonders if Mallick will be next to her in time to catch her if she falls. 

"Hey," Mallick mumbles. Everything around Brit starts to become blurry, and there is a loud ringing in her ears. A tear escapes her eye and she wants to leave, but she's trapped. Her mind goes back to the blades, the shrill whirring and the screaming and the blood...

"Brit, are you..." Mallick stutters, but Brit can't see him. She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't see him again, but did she know this would happen? What if, instead, she saw something good? Something beautiful?

Don't get me wrong, Brit has been having these panic attacks quite frequently as a result of the trial. She's used to them. But still, not in front of Mallick. Does he hate her now? Hey, does he go through them as well?

She suddenly feels a calloused yet warm hand on her icy one, and she feels tingly. She closes her eyes and tries to absorb as much of the warmth as possible, and her eyes abruptly snap open when she realises that the warmth, unless she wants it to, will never leave her. 

"I'm here, ok?" Mallick promises, and Brit feels a particularly hard thump in her chest. "I'll always be. You can talk to me... or not, you choose."

Well, this is certainly a contrast to the desperate-for-caffeine-and-heroin Mallick that she knew five and a half months back! He's so gentle... is he trying to impress her? Trying to show her the illusion of perfection? Has he finished reading the chapter about the fire, and is now on the one about salvation and redemption? Because for Brit, either those pages have been ripped out of her book or she simply has the wrong book.

Brit's mind snaps back to the harsh reality and she finds her head resting on Mallick's shoulder, her breathing now slow and deep. Mallick uses his uninjured hand, which was shaky when he first saw her and all the times before that, to trace random shapes on Brit's thigh. She finds she doesn't mind, but she likes it just like this. No more than this. 

"Sorry," she finally mutters. "Not the best way to greet someone, I know."

"That's ok," Mallick smiles crookedly at her. "It's not easy, I know. Especially for me and you." Damn. Should he have said that? It was kinda the truth, but it still hurt...

"Definitely for us," Brit sighs, and Mallick frowns. Us. Was it 'us' now? Would it always be 'us'? He didn't want to pressure Brit into fusing them both together, but wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Five become one, isn't that right? Two become one...

"When did you join the survivor group? Brit asks.

"Five months after our game."

"Trial," Brit snaps, and Mallick gulps.

"Trial. Yeah, sorry. Um... well, it's quite odd because the night I joined was also the night before Bobby Dagen's game... uh, trial, sorry. Turns out he's a liar."

Yeah, Brit heard about that, and she believed Bobby Dagen deserved every bit of the pain he got. How could he lie about something as terrible as that? Something Brit can't even live with, even though she knows now that she's alive? He did it for money, just like her. Everyone's so venal these days. The last trial as well, with the insurance guy... wasn't that about venality too?

It was Brit's Maths teacher in Year 7 who told the class - no, sorry, shouted at them, saying that money was the most important thing in the world. Yes, it's true, but doesn't it suck how a simple piece of paper can rip you away from real people? Brit would rather be broke but still have company. It sucks now, walking around by herself in a huge house with no more purpose. What's worse, she lives in that huge house. And now that she isn't working at the Marshford Group anymore she's scared to go back up to them, especially as she has to sell her house back to them. Would they think she was a coward?

Anyways, what's the point? Even if she gets a smaller place, she would still feel lonely. Even on the streets, full of people as monstrous and venal as her, she would still feel so painfully lonely.

"So I'm guessing this is your third time here?" Brit asks Mallick in an attempt to get herself out of her own head. But wait, does that mean she doesn't actually care about him? Is this her going back to her selfishness? Wait, wallowing in her depression when Mallick is right next to her and never leaving, is that selfish?

Mallick nods, his hand sitting on Brit's knee and tapping it unrhythmically.

"Have you made any friends?"

"Um... there's a kid. Brent. He comes with his mum, except he wasn't there the first time I attended the sessions. He's cool. Quiet. Um... he killed someone in his game. He didn't have to, but he did, and he ruined his victim's sister's life..." Mallick shifts uncomfortably. He removes his hand from Brit's knee and brings it up to his ear, clenching his fists. Brit remembered how often he did that back in the trial. Perhaps it's a nervous thing. Does she make him nervous?

"Brent... Abbott? From that trial two months ago?" Brit asks, and Mallick nods. "Isn't he, like, 17?" Another nod, and Brit cringes anxiously. Jigsaw's for sure not merciful. She remembers seeing the news about this nine year old girl who was left orphaned as a result of her father's brutal trial.. she didn't care for her name back then. But now she knows it for real: Corbett Denlon. She'll never forget it.

There was an eight year old kid who was captured almost a year before Corbett's ordeal, she she also survived. There was also a 17 year old over a year ago who survived, but just two months ago a 19 year old girl died... 

Brit knows their names. Diana Gordon. Daniel Matthews. Gena Hackett. Diana Gordon. Daniel Matthews. Gena Hackett. Diana Gordon. Daniel Matthews. Gena Hack...

"Brit, what are you saying?" Mallick asks, concerned instead of judgemental, and Brit blinks rapidly.

"Uh, nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Um, sorry." Brit picks up her empty handbag and places it on her lap... she doesn't know why she has it on her. Perhaps for a fidget. Still thogh, a simple hairband or something would suffice. But no, bigger is better for Brit, always.

Switch the subject, Brit. Get the focus off you for once. "Do you still need the cast on? Have you been to see a doctor lately?"

"Yeah, a few weeks ago," Mallick responds. "I don't really need the cast, but I keep it on anyways. I don't know why. I suppose it's so I don't have to look at the scars."

"Maybe if you take the cast off, it won't be as emotionally painful," Brit suggests, but Mallick scoffs, making her feel humiliated for a moment.

"The fire's been on my mind ever since it happened. It's not going away, Brit."

"I believe it will work though," Brit says, before biting down on her lower lip. She was prepared for another scoff, but Mallick instead says nothing and she can't tell if that's more painful or not. He also keeps his cast on, and Brit wishes she had just remained silent. Perhaps it's better when she's silent. 

But isn't silence how bad things happen?

No. Bad things happen when good people do nothing. Whether Brit screams or remains silent, she's still a bad person. Bad things will still happen.

But if good people kill bad people, doesn't that automatically make them bad?

So nobody wins. Of course nobody wins.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Mallick asks after a few minutes of silence, and Brit frowns. How the hell do you answer that question? Oh, yeah, sure, Mallick. I plan to walk to the other side of the city, making sure my legs are burning like the building we destroyed. I plan to breathe in the ashy air, and exhale carbon dioxide which kills people and makes trees grow so they can give us even more money.

Instead, though, she shakes her head. Mallick offers his uninjured hand, and she tentatively locks her hand in his. They stand up, Brit's handbag suddenly weighing a lot less than it did before, and begin walking. 

"What made you join the survivor sessions?" Brit asks.

"Don't know. It's just... it's somewhat nice knowing there are terrible people like me. It's a way to try to live with yourself. I don't know if I deserve that, but if I keep telling myself I do I'm pretty sure I'll eventually believe it." 

Brit understands, except she's learned not to tell herself nice lies like that. Nobody should be allowed to live with something like that. But she won't say that to Mallick, because she likes him too much.

She likes him?

"Sometimes I imagine you sitting across from me," Mallick says, and Brit nearly stops dead in her tracks except he's a fast walker and their hands are glued together. "I'll think about the two of us sitting behind the church, or on the benches, away from everyone else, holding hands like this and talking... or just thinking, I don't know. It's stupid."

Does he really believe it's stupid, or is he afraid she'll think it's stupid?

"It isn't," Brit says, and Mallick chuckles sadly. "It's nice to know you think of me. Honestly, I've been thinking of you too."

"Really?" Mallick's eyes are so full of hope, hope that Brit had no right to give him. But still, like the selfish person she is, she'll egg him on. She'll make him happy, only to make herself happy.

But isn't that the definition of a symbiotic relationship? Both sides benefit? So who loses?

But wait, she thought nobody wins. What?

"I see you in my mind every day," Brit says. "You're the first person my mind shifts to, because after my nightmares you're my source of comfort." 

"What do you see in your nightmares?" Mallick asks, although he already knows the answer.

"Lately it's been flames, you know?" Brit sighs sadly. "A large... thingy... of flames, with you on one side and me on the other. We're trying to get to each other, but the flames separate us."

"They don't have to," Mallick murmurs, and it's then they both stop walking and turn to each other. Their hands are still locked, and Brit's scared she's going to cry. But she's confident as well, because Mallick's there for her.

He said he always will be, but everyone leaves.

So cherish it, Brit, she tells herself. Cherish your life. Cherish his life. He may not be here tomorrow, but he's here now, isn't he? Or are you still doing the selfish 'I'm so alone' rubbish?

"We're together, Brit." The flames are just dreams..."

"But they were real, Mallick!" Brit insists, a tear falling down her face. He strokes it away with his thumb, and Brit's eyes shift to his cast in an attempt to distract herself. She saw the worst of his injury back when it happened, and she kinda wishes she could shee it again. Not as penance or sick fascination, but as confirmation of what happened to the both of them, as reassurance; if they could survive losing five pints of blood, almost losing their lives for each other, then they could survive anything.

Brit then realises... did she really give blood for herself? Because she could have made Mallick do it all. No, he made sure he didn't have to. She would be there for him. 

And for the rest of her life now, or however the hell long these moments with him would last, she'll live and suffer and die for him.

Feel euphoria... for him?

Perhaps it's better that way. Besides, she'd be damn lucky if she could feel euphoria ever again.

So what does she feel now, being with Mallick? If not happiness, and certainly not sadness, then what?

She feels alive, that's what she feels.

His hand comes up under her chin and lifts it up so they can look into each other's eyes. She's deathly afraid he's going to kiss her, since she's not ready for that kind of happiness just yet, but luckily he settles for a hug. A hug that lasts both a few seconds and a lifetime.

"There aren't flames now, Brit," Mallick says after he breaks the hug. "Just us. It's nice that way."

Huh. He didn't say anything like 'it's stupid'. He's not afraid of her anymore. But that doesn't make her any less terrified, even though there's nothing to be terrified of. Maybe she's just afraid of herself, afraid of all the horrid, selfish things she'll end up doing to him because people just do not change.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, their hands refusing to leave each other. Mallick is reluctant to pull away even to get his key out, and Brit manages to hide her smile. Me too, Mallick, she says in her head. I don't care where I am, so long as I'm with you. Everywhere is home with you.

The door opens, and Brit blinks rapidly as Mallick turns the light on. She didn't expect his house to be this small, especially for someone who was born rich and lived off a trust fund. But instead of judging, she admired him. Maybe this was what she needed as well. And besides, did the size of a place actually matter? Wasn't it the happiness that made it all worth it?

"Here we are," Mallick says. "Sorry the walk was so long."

Was it long? Brit didn't even notice. She only remembered walking with him, and that's what made it so nice. 

Mallick exhales anxiously. "I'm guessing your place is a ton nicer than this dump, but, I mean..."

"My place is nothing," Brit says. "It's just random expensive stuff that have no worth. Honestly, I kinda like this place. I like it even more being with you."

The two smile at each other for a moment and Brit chuckles nervously. "Can I, uh, take off my shoes?" she asks, and Mallick nods. Brit bends down to undo the laces on her hightops. She'd always worn a short-sleeved shirt, mid-thigh skirt, and high heels, which were all black and she had so many of them, but after the trial she invested in a single pair of black hightops and a whole load of black long-sleeved shirts and jeans. She found she looked better this way. She threw all her other clothes out, by the way.

Once Brit's hightops are removed, she stands up and stares awkwardly at the kitchen. She notices that the oven is completely clean - what, Mallick can't cook? She figured he was a takeaway guy anyways. Well, one day, maybe, Brit can cook for him. Spaghetti or something. Assuming they do stay together long enough to be able to do that.

Not that she's judging. She just... sees an opportunity, that's all. She's good at seeing opportunities. It's how she managed to get her filthy hands on that...

"Want anything to eat or drink?" Mallick asks. "I have leftover Indian and a couple Cola bottles in the fridge. Or water, if you want."

"I'll just have water, thanks," Brit says, and Mallick nods. She watches as he walks over to the sink and slowly pulls out two identical glasses. He pours an equal amount of water into both, before apprehensively walking with them and passing a glass to Brit. It makes her curious - did he have this trait before the trial, or did he adopt it after the trial in order to be perfect?

But she thanks him for the water anyways. She doesn't want to share the burden of the several thoughts in her mind with him so she takes a few sips instead, and Mallick leads her over to the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I'm really boring," he sighs sadly. "I don't have a TV or any board games or anything."

"You have you, right?" she smiles at him, wanting to encourage him to tell her what he's thinking. Relieve some of the tension. "I don't just yet. I'd like to know you, Mallick."

"What do you want to know?" Mallick flinches. He's afraid to tell her his secrets. He knows he's going to ask him the obvious things, such as...

"What got you into drugs?"

"It's drugs that pulled me in," he half-whispers dejectedly, and Brit stares curiously into his eyes. "Uh... I was 22. My brother... it was his 18th birthday at the time, and he and his friends forced me to do drugs. It was either that or they'd make me OD and post nude photos of me everywhere. They had heroin and I got high and it felt really good... pretty soon I'd found myself in alleyways and clubs and people's houses and such, begging for another hit. It sucked."

"Jesus," Brit shudders, a protectiveness entering her. "What happened to you, it's unfair. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But anyways, it's over now. Since the trial, I've completely cut my brother off. I still rely on my dad for his money, but he and I don't talk much either."

"That's good! So, um... have you been looking for a job?"

"No. I mean, if I did, I wouldn't need my dad and I definitely wouldn't leave my job. I suppose it's fear that's preventing me from getting one."

Huh. Brit realises that she feels the same way. She quit her job at Marshford the minute she could, which was five days after she left the hospital, but ever since then she hasn't even tried looking for a job. Perhaps she's afraid to go up to people because they'll find out what she did. They'll notice the scars on her hand and ask her how she got them, and she'll panic. She panics when she asks herself how she got them.

"Um... you have a tattoo of a wedding ring. I've been curious about it since I first saw it."

Mallick chuckles. "So ever since I was, like, five, I was obsessed with romance. I learned from my dad the right way to treat a woman, that she should be encouraged to be independent and confident yet still be protected and cherished. They're human beings, not... sex objects. Anyways, I got this tattoo when I was 16. It's my first and last. Turns out I grew up being super awkward so I couldn't ask anyone out, but with this tattoo I always told myself that the right woman is out there."

Brit blushes deeply. During the walk her mind confirmed for her that she had a crush on Mallick. Perhaps it's his courteousness and the fact that she doesn't need to explain herself to him. She can vent and wallow and laugh and just be.

Was it just a silly schoolkid crush though, or love? I mean, Brit and Mallick have technically only been around each other for about three hours, but it feels like a lifetime. Their minds are connected. Two become one. 

How does Mallick feel about her?

Curiosity gets the better of Brit though and she reaches out, touching his tattoo. It's on the wedding finger of his injured arm, which he jerks back the moment her skin makes contact with his. She then bites her lip and clenches her fist fearfully, feeling ashamed of selfishly jumping into something she doesn't understand.

"Sorry," Mallick sighs sadly. "I just... I don't know. It's kinda scary, I guess. You're still... new. Probably the wrong word, but I can't think of another..."

"It's ok," Brit rubs his cheek once, silently reveling in his softness and wishing she hadn't stopped. But still, she knows Mallick needs space especially as she just wronged him.

Mallick doesn't let her go, though. How can he, when she's the only thing keeping him alive in this world of injustice? He grabs her wrist, desperately instead of possessively, and places her palm on his cheek. Brit hides her smile as she runs her fingers along the map on his face, not feeling afraid as she explores the dangerous and beautiful alleys and slowly making her way back down towards his lips. The good place.

But she's confused now. Unlike Mallick, she has no idea how love works. Years ago, she had been on two dates and was adamant that dating was impossible for her.

Those men didn't live up to her standards though. Mallick goes above and beyond what anyone deserves, and that's what makes it worse. Brit doesn't hit her own standards. She'll use him just so she can scream her heart out because she knows he'll listen, but won't even let him get a word out just because she's too cowardly to handle anything louder than the voices in her head pushing her away from him.

Her tears fight their way forward, and before they fall like she's already done she shoots up and makes her way to the door. Mallick jumps over the couch but doesn't grab her hand his time. Instead, he watches, heartbroken, as she puts on her hightops.

"What did you see?" he asks and Brit pauses. Only Mallick would know to ask something like that, except she has no idea how to answer. She sits in front of the door and places her handbag in her lap, fiddling with the handles in an attempt to get some feeling back in her fingers.

"Nothing good," Brit sighs, letting herself cry. "We can't do this. We can't be happy together."

"Why do you believe that?"

"We... I don't deserve it. I'm going to screw you over every step of the way by being selfish and having flip all idea what love is supposed to be like because it's never, ever worked for me and that's because I placed the bar so high, but you tower over the highest bar I could ever set and I don't even reach a quarter of that height and I just CAN'T, Mallick! I can't hurt you!" Brit breathes jaggedly and squeezes the life out of the handles. Mallick sits next to her and gently pushes her head onto his lap, following his dream and stroking her head. When her eyes close and her breathing gradually becomes steady, and he becomes so much less tense, he finally knows that fate is real. They fit together perfectly like two jigsaw pieces, and nothing can destroy the beautiful picture they're a part of.

Mallick's eye catches the scars on Brit's hand that make her even more beautiful, and gently brings her fingers to his lips. He plants a warm kiss on them and watches as her belly rises and falls. They'll do that, won't they? Rise and fall together.

Maybe they won't be falling though. Maybe they'll be... flying. Or just before they hit the floor, the parachute or something activates and brings them back up into the sky. Either way, they'll be able to spread their wings and touch the starts.



"Stay with me."

And then what? They're happy together, but nobody's ever always happy. Both of them are selfish murderers who are going to continue to be just that. They have no jobs, no future... they're just stuck in the present.

But the present is a gift, right? A gift that doesn't come with a receipt, so you have to take each day, each minute and second as they come. Accept it, and make something out of it.

Brit and Mallick can do that together.






Submitted: March 12, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Jan Solo. All rights reserved.

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