[002] a really, very unncessary death of sorts
The facts were these: Charotte Charles, 28 years, 24 weeks, 3 days, 11 hours and 51 minutes old, was found floating in the ocean moments after her body was discarded there. Discarded by whom seemed to be a question only Charlotte Charles could answer...
The vacation itself was rather pleasant so far, all things considered. A little lonely, maybe, but pleasant enough.
Her aunts of course hadn't been particularly ecstatic to hear that she was going to be away for a week - to see the ocean on a really big cruise ship, no less - but they gave her permission. She promised she would send them postcards at every single stop she made, and she would bring home stories of her adventures and souvenirs too.
It is evening, and while she is lying in her bed getting over a particularly strong bout of sea-sickness by reading through one of the foreign magazines she'd picked up at their last stop, she finds her throat getting a little dry from all the nausea and nerves. The room is claustrophobic at best, even though it is supposedly a high-quality en-suite space.
Sitting up, Chuck strolls to the mini-fridge, picking up a rather disappointingly unchilly juice bottle. She eyes the ice-bucket sitting by the titanium steel-case with the very odd looking monkey figurines (it is lying in her closet underneath her luggage).
"Hmm."
Deciding that she would get some ice, she quickly grabs the bucket and leaves the room in nothing but her nightgown and robe.
---
The night is beautiful with the moon and stars out, emitting enough light to guide her as she walks across the gallery leading up to the main deck. She stops by the large ice-box and pushes the weighty lid up enough to stand on its own, vaguely pondering that it would be nice to watch the sky for a bit before she returns to her room. As she leans forward, she feels her room key slip from her person, quickly sinking into the ice and freezing-cold water.
That was dumb, she thinks, getting to her tip-toes in order to better reach for it while one hand clutches to the side of the ice box.
She does not even suspect that there could possibly be anyone behind her until she feels a strong grip take her around the waist. Her scream - if she were to scream - is quickly muffled by a bright pink plastic bag being thrown over her face.
She tries to struggle and the ice-bucket drops quickly from her grasp, clattering somewhere on the deck. The arms around her refuse to let go no matter what she does, and as her heart beat quickens - thundering in her chest with panic - she breathes quicker.
This could be the last thing that happens to her, she realizes, and there is probably nothing she can do about it.
All she can suck in as she tries to breathe is plastic, and soon little specks of light appear in her already obstructed vision. Oh, no, she thinks. This is what someone sees before they faint, isn't it? And soon, she is going to lose consciousness and then who knows what?
But before her thoughts can take her any further, she blacks out.
The vacation itself was rather pleasant so far, all things considered. A little lonely, maybe, but pleasant enough.
Her aunts of course hadn't been particularly ecstatic to hear that she was going to be away for a week - to see the ocean on a really big cruise ship, no less - but they gave her permission. She promised she would send them postcards at every single stop she made, and she would bring home stories of her adventures and souvenirs too.
It is evening, and while she is lying in her bed getting over a particularly strong bout of sea-sickness by reading through one of the foreign magazines she'd picked up at their last stop, she finds her throat getting a little dry from all the nausea and nerves. The room is claustrophobic at best, even though it is supposedly a high-quality en-suite space.
Sitting up, Chuck strolls to the mini-fridge, picking up a rather disappointingly unchilly juice bottle. She eyes the ice-bucket sitting by the titanium steel-case with the very odd looking monkey figurines (it is lying in her closet underneath her luggage).
"Hmm."
Deciding that she would get some ice, she quickly grabs the bucket and leaves the room in nothing but her nightgown and robe.
---
The night is beautiful with the moon and stars out, emitting enough light to guide her as she walks across the gallery leading up to the main deck. She stops by the large ice-box and pushes the weighty lid up enough to stand on its own, vaguely pondering that it would be nice to watch the sky for a bit before she returns to her room. As she leans forward, she feels her room key slip from her person, quickly sinking into the ice and freezing-cold water.
That was dumb, she thinks, getting to her tip-toes in order to better reach for it while one hand clutches to the side of the ice box.
She does not even suspect that there could possibly be anyone behind her until she feels a strong grip take her around the waist. Her scream - if she were to scream - is quickly muffled by a bright pink plastic bag being thrown over her face.
She tries to struggle and the ice-bucket drops quickly from her grasp, clattering somewhere on the deck. The arms around her refuse to let go no matter what she does, and as her heart beat quickens - thundering in her chest with panic - she breathes quicker.
This could be the last thing that happens to her, she realizes, and there is probably nothing she can do about it.
All she can suck in as she tries to breathe is plastic, and soon little specks of light appear in her already obstructed vision. Oh, no, she thinks. This is what someone sees before they faint, isn't it? And soon, she is going to lose consciousness and then who knows what?
But before her thoughts can take her any further, she blacks out.