Roblox Flicker - Act Two

1 - Formation

It had been a month since the conclusion of the first game of Flicker. To all, it was just a tragic event which was to never occur again, as being enforced by authorities. It was simply a pinnacle of the past which is only left to be forgotten. It was only of concern for such a short amount of time, until the public almost erased it from their memory. What of the survivors? They live their lives as what has become their new normal. No further action, no further worry. The individual behind the wretched idea has still not been discovered, though it should not matter no longer. The lives that had been lost were forgotten and neglected, left alone in their graves. Perhaps there was a better life for them, perhaps something more. None of them deserved what happened to them, so they all believe. The topic of the killing game was one which none were willing to discuss after the mass genocide. However, the question is, is it really forgotten? Just like that?

***

It was a cold, rainy Friday. As much as Fridays are appreciated by the busy youth, every day is a dread for John. He was told his way of thought was not normal. He was known as the type of guy who looks as though he could break you with a single touch. This he did appear. He is one to hold grudges, and create mortal enemies quickly. John was not an appealing person, though he would do anything to be. Recently, he had been constantly following up on the information on Flicker. He was the kind to enjoy topics like these. His interests were his distractions. On his way home, to avoid the blue weather, he went into a lonely corner store near his home. This store was always empty, he had never taken the time to enter it, it was almost as though something inside him told him not to. However, it was for the best.

John would push the shabby, rustic door open, the spikes of splinters pricking at his pale hands, scratching him gently. He was not bothered by the very little pain it caused him. He stepped onto the store's rough olive green doormat, which was falling apart like every other aspect of the small facility. He eyed the building, with his dull brown eyes. With one hand, he combed down his lightly coloured brown hair, which was once nicely styled until the weather had clashed with it for the several moments he had set foot outside. He exhaled heavily as he would stride around the store, pocketing his hands into his heavy, drenched trenchcoat.
He hunched slightly, holding a natural glare. Unintentionally, this had startled the frail old woman who served behind the counter. She gazed at John, her lip quivering. She held both of her hands up, surrendering as though she thought he were a notorious criminal. He was used to this reaction, it was nothing new for him. He was faced with it every day he chose to set out and live what he decided was his pathetic life. It had turned out the woman was holding a book, therefore she had dropped it. John grunted and walked over to her, the woman screamed and cowered in the corner of the counter. John bent over and picked up the book for the lady, passing it back to her. Once he did this, he stepped out from behind the counter to stand in front of it instead.
The woman trembled. "You're not going to kill me?" She'd ask, almost inaudible.
John released a heavy, disappointed sigh, shaking his head. "No, no I'm not going to kill you."
As he said this, he reminisced his wording. He felt the slightest urge to attack the woman. He felt the slightest urge to attack anybody who would walk past him. His aggression battled with his sanity, this was the battle which he fought every day. It was as though the woman's words triggered his thoughts, which where forbidden to a certain degree. He could barely figure his own thought process out.
The woman eyed John, bowing her head. "Thank you! Thank you! I thought you were a criminal! It's just that you look like one, and-" She said, quickly, panic and distress still evident in her tone of voice. Her rambling made John agitated. He clenched a fist as she quivered on every harsh word. The sound of the rain from the outside go heavier, as he fed off of his anger fuel. John raised his fist, and slammed it against the counter.
"SHUT UP!" He roared, the sound of his firm voice sending shock all throughout the elderly woman's body. As he released the anger built up, lightning struck, as though it were him and the world being in sync with his actions. The woman cowered back, tears forming in her wrinkled, aged eyes. She backed into the wall which was not far behind her, holding her arm out along it in thought of having hope beside her, however it was just her and him.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The woman sobbed. "I shouldn't have said anything! Just don't do anything to me, please! I'll do anything!"
John blinked, sighing heavily, aggression evident in this sound. He looked down at her, eying her with his dull, bland eyes, full of anger and a lack of remorse for what distress he had caused. "If you'll do anything, then shut the fuck up."
The woman nodded rapidly, almost choking on her tears. She'd scurry toward a stack of flyers, grabbing one and returning to face John. She cautiously handed the flyer to him. "Take it. You might be interested in this. A lot of people your age are." She said, her voice quivering.
John grabbed the flyer, snatching it. Flicker, it read. He'd widening his eyes, reading the title and information over and over until it was almost engraved into his mind, his hand shook. "Are you serious?" He'd ask the woman, widening his eyes, maniacally. This had pleased him very much. After all he had heard, he has been given this opportunity. An opportunity to investigate the game.
The old woman would nod, calming down. "Oh, yes! I'm being serious. Go along now, it says it's tomorrow! You need to prepare."
John nodded at her, doing this as thanks. He unzipped his dull grey backpack carefully and put the flyer inside, being careful of the other contents. His bag was quite empty, only filled with 3 exercise books from the day he had spent at school, with his small pencil case. The stationary followed a neat greyscale palette, everything was organised in the bag. Although John never acknowledged his homework, he brought it back with him to make it seem as though he had the decency to, not like he already had a horrible existing reputation.
As John zipped the bag back up, the old woman leaned over the counter, her back cracking. "Did you need anything else by the way?" She asked.
John grimaced at the crack, and nodded. "Yes. I need an umbrella."
"Oh, right! It's horrible out there, isn't it?" The woman said, going to the designated area where she kept umbrellas, John followed her, nodding. The old woman passed him a dark green umbrella and beckoned him to follow her to the counter so he could pay. When they reached the counter, John placed some coins which added to the correct total.
"Thank you." The woman said. "It's been ages since someone has bought from us. It means a lot. I hope you have a good rest of your day, and of course, enjoy yourself tomorrow."
"You're welcome, have a good day, ma'am." John nodded, striding toward the door with his new umbrella. He'd lift his backpack onto his shoulder, looking over it now. The old woman gave him an unsettling grin, which didn't phase him. He'd open the door, walking outside into the catastrophe of the afternoon's weather. He opened his umbrella and held the shaft with both hands to avoid it getting blown away by the strong wind. He took long, heavy steps the whole way home. He did this alone, as he always was. John was never seen accompanied.

He'd walk further, until finally reaching his home. He'd grab his house keys from the almost empty pocket of his trench coat. He'd put the correct one into the keyhole, and turn the door to open it. He'd enter, shutting his umbrella and putting his backpack down. He removed his trench coat, hanging it onto the coathanger near the door, moving the doormat so it wouldn't drip onto the flooring. John looked around, his parents were not home. He picked his backpack up and went up his stairs, stepping on stained flooring, into his room. He emptied his bag out onto his desk, stacking his books, topping it with his pencil case. He put the flyer beside the stack. He put his water bottle onto his bed side table, made of dark, dull wood. He collapsed onto the ground, intentionally, staring up at his lifeless, cracked ceiling. He sprawled his limbs out, sighing softly. He knew what he had coming, and he could only hope for the best. It would all fall out tomorrow, and so he waited.