Dahlia
I began cursing as I slapped myself, trying to kill the pesky mosquitoes that kept landing on me as I stormed off. I hated this place. I hated those mosquitoes. And I hated myself. I couldn't get the image of Chris being slowly spun over the fire out of my head. I couldn't stop hearing the sound of his pained moans. Or of the girl on the other side of the tent. Too much, it was all too much. My stomach churned, and I puked into the nearest bush. Chris was dead because of me. It should have been me over that fire. I should have died ten times over by now.
Maybe I was an ignorant human, as The Hunter so bluntly put it. I heaved again.
Even now, after having cheated death so many times, I didn't bother to grab any weapons in my fury, nor any food or water or other supplies when I
