A friendish journey

Jean Turro was what you could call a pretty boy. He had curly blonde hair, was pale as ivory and had a perfect nose, despite this, his cat like face was riddled with squares of gauze and his small, skinny self was always covered with something black or camouflaged, his most outstanding feature being a perpetual deadpan look that ruined his bright blue eyes. Rick: “Oh god! What do we do!? What do we do?!” Mag: “I-I don’t know! I DON’T KNOW!” Matt: “No, no, no, no, no… Check again Mag, CHECK AGAIN!” Mag: “DO YOU SEE ME LETTING GO OF HIS NECK?! There’s no pulse, there’s no breathing!” Rick: “He’s not moving either! He’s not doing anything! Oh god!” His eyes had never been this lifeless. Jean’s gaze fell upon those who surrounded him, his dear friends whom he loved more than anyone in the word… His friends whom he had loved more than even himself. They were now panicking atop his lifeless corpse. How could this happen? Why did this happen? What do we do? These were the questions that plagued the living trio’s heads, but in the mind of one, there was another question that arose before it came to the others. Whose fault was it? Rick was not a looker. His black hair was akin to a bird’s nest, his skin was a strange mix between grey and green, and his eyebrows were particularly bushy; his physique was a strange amalgamation between fit and skinny, the result of going half-heartedly through a training regime, he was nothing short of being a Frankenstein monster with the heavy black rings beneath his forever-frowning bug eyes. As Rick’s mind was invaded by this thought, he quickly rose from his place besides his diseased friend and lifted his robust, callous filled fist, aiming it straight into Matt’s pudgy face. Rick: “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Matt: “Huh?!” Mag: “Rick! Watch what you’re doing!” In an instant, Matt was lying flat on the ground with a bleeding nose. He knew what hit him, he saw Rick throw the horribly telegraphed punch his way amidst tears of anguish but did not react. Matt could have easily avoided Rick’s fist, but he had decided not to, he did not want to let go of Jean’s head that rested so heavily in his arms, even after falling flat, he cradled his friend’s head tightly in his lap. Mag: “Guys please… Jean… Please, Jean is…” Rick: “You were the one that told us to go in. IT’S YOUR FAULT THAT JEAN…” Matt: “MY FAULT!? You… You were the one that brought us here in the first place!” Slowly Matt got up from under Jean, gently putting his head to rest on the grass. Rick may have landed the first strike but as Matt stood up in front of him it was clear who had the biggest capacity for violence. Matt was a scary individual. His hair was a shining jet black, his skin was healthily tanned and his teeth where pearly white even if they were as crooked as a shark’s. His build was massive, not only was Matt tall but he was also wide, he was not fit in the slightest but under the pressure of his own weight, his body developed strength that only those who exercise should enjoy. Matt’s overwhelming presence was something he was already accustomed to, the reason as to why Rick had backed off was a never seen expression on his friend’s face. Matt’s expression was one of madness, his mouth was curved downwards as if wallowing, but his teeth were tightly shut, almost grinding from rage, his massive eyes despite being covered in tears were wide open. Rick had not meant to brutalize Matt like that, neither had he meant to say what he had said and the other two knew this, but there was no taking back what had already been done. Rick: “He-hey man, I’m sorry, I-I’m scared, I don’t know what to do any more, please, Matt, I didn’t mean to.” Matt: “I am not the one who did it… None of this is my fault… NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN’T BROUGHT US HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT, IT’S YOURS! YOURS!” Mag: “You morons, please… Guys… We-we need to help Jean… Please, guys.” It was Matt’s fault. It was Rick’s fault. All Mag could see were children who pointed fingers at each other wishing that it would all go away. Mag: “Guys… Please… Damned idiots… Please…” Rick: “THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!” Matt’s hands were round and soft, but his grip was true. As Matt strangled Rick to his knees, he kept repeating these words, each time louder and louder. Mag: “Please…” Rick: “THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!” Mag was no longer looking at how his friends killed each other over whose fault it was, he could not leave Jean’s side, he needed to do something, he had to try. He racked his mind for an answer, looked through all his knowledge for something to help his friend, to no avail. Mag almost looked smart. He dressed in black, heavy clothes, his long black hair reached his nape, and his head was always covered in a wooly hat of some sort. His skin was a normal pale and his bright green eyes always hid behind a pair of secretary glasses. Neither thin or thick, short, or tall; Mag was a very normal looking kid, he even cried as such. His eyes filled with tears as his hands soaked on blood, Mag cried softly as he tried to hold Jean’s semi severed head in place. Mag: “Guys…” Rick: “THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!” With any meaning gone, Mag and Matt kept repeating the same phrases over and over, both trying to reach someone who was no longer there.