Little (T.S.T) + (T.D.C)

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Chapter 30:
>You suck<
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Darcy ran and kept running until she saw Brenda standing in the middle of a square, frozen in her tracks.

Darcy also stopped, wondering why Brenda was just staring at the ground. There wasn't time for admiring the pavement. But after a quick glance, Darcy understood.

There were two bodies on the ground. One body was laying on its back as the other crouched over it.

Thomas was on his knees, crouched over Newt's body.

Newt's body. Newt was on his back, the hilt of a knife protruding from his chest. His blank eyes gazed upwards at the sky, looking, but not seeing. The same black liquid that Darcy still had all over herself from recently being a full crank stained his lips and chin. His chest was still, no breaths causing it to rise or fall.

Newt wasn't breathing.

Newt wasn't seeing.

Newt was dead.

Newt was dead. Dead, as in never coming back to life. Dead, as in never able to talk, breathe or laugh ever again. Dead, as in gone forever.

Minho was a small distance away, staring at his friend's lifeless body. Just like Brenda was. Fry and Gally arrived a moment later. They, along with Minho, made their way towards the body.

Darcy couldn't move. She was frozen. Frozen in place, desperately wanting to, but not being able to, look away from her friend's body. The words 'dead' and 'Newt' weren't piecing together in her mind. They just didn't go together. Wouldn't go together. Like two pieces of a puzzle that just wouldn't connect.

She couldn't comprehend the situation. Her mind couldn't register the scene in front of her. She was expecting him to jump up at any moment, tell them it was all just a joke. But no such thing happened.

She didn't take note of who was retreating and advancing towards his body; she could only focus on those blank eyes as they remained open, trailed on the stars above without actually seeing.

She thought back to only about ten minutes ago. When Newt was still alive and she was only minutes from going crank. She hasn't even said goodbye to him. All she had mustered was a pathetic attempt at a smile. No goodbyes, no signs of affection. Just a pitiful raise of her lips.

Newt had been nothing but kind to her, and what had she been? Rude. Selfish. Not appreciative of him. But she was only realising that now. Now, when it was too late. Too late to change anything. Too late to tell Newt how much she appreciated him, how much she had grown to think of him as a friend over the past while they had been acquainted.

She let her own tears fall and didn't wipe them away. She felt as though Newt's death deserved tears. It was the least she could do.

When Darcy noticed Thomas leaving, she began to follow him from a distance. No one stopped her for no one noticed her leaving. Every eye was producing tears as they stared at the lifeless body of Newt.

As she walked, she didn't know where Thomas was going. She didn't really care, either, but she followed him as she thought of him as a leader. The leader of their group. Their dysfunctional little family.