Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Long Walk' or any of its' characters. Anything published using its' characters/name are to be viewed as entertainment only, not profit.
Everything was climbing, racing to a peak. The noise of the Crowd, the pounding of the ever dwindling feet of his fellow Walkers, the drone of the half-tracks treads, the voices ricocheting, rocketing through every corner and crevice in his mind. The voices of all those who had ever mocked him, jeered him, hated him. Everything was spinning crazily out of his control, an crescendo of madness. His plan had failed, he had failed. As everything around him swayed and churned in a frenzied craze he felt himself also losing control. He burst into tears, sobbing, not truly even knowing what he lamenting. Jeers from the others once again, it was all too much. Too much. They wanted him dead, he knew it, a certainty, a truth engraved in stone. A wobbly smile made its' way to his lips as tears continued to stream from his eyes. They wanted him dead? Well, he had never been much of a pleasure in life, so why not please others with one final act? The part of his mind not currently being torn to shreds tried to convince him he was speaking insanity. He shoved the thoughts forcibly away from himself. His smile cracked and from his open mouth spilled a terrible mockery of laughter. There was no joy in that sound, none at all. The laughter was climbing, racing to a peak. And as its' pitch raised, so did his hands ready to perform this final act.
And if this doesn't bring them any pleasure, what then, is this all for nothing? Have you thought of that?
That voice was really, really, getting on his damn nerves. But once again he ignored it. After all, if it brought no feeling of happiness to anyone, well, it would just be like the rest of his life had already been, would it not? And with that thought his hands dove at his throat, fingers reaching, grasping, tightening, pulling, ripping. Warmth cascaded from the tear in throat and spilled down his front. He could not determine if the screams that seemed to be enveloping him were his own or of those around him. He found he truly didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to care about much at the moment. He felt weak, fain even. The world swirled and figures blurred to shadows. He blinked once and saw the face of that Garraty kid gazing at him with a look of horror upon his face. He smiled and tasted blood on his lips, then blinked again and fell. He didn't feel it when his body smacked against the road nor when the two bullets were pumped into his already dead body.