A preeminent disgust repulsed, despite the evident unconsciousness of the situation. The RV reeked of glorified loathe, and, fully aware that I had presented a vehemently untrusted lie, I sat vulnerably and uncomfortably in the presence of tension more adhesive than the rubber cement my teacher had once unintentionally applied to her own hair. Lilly, face compelled in a submerging repress of bright, violent red, stared impertinently at Doug, whose breathing had eased significantly and graciously, with expressions of thorough and genuine concern. The currently improvised trauma, though unfortunate, was conveniently appointed to allot me the time to redeem Ben's guilt.
Katjaa sat deferentially towards the front, attempting desperately to convey a collectedly blasé implication of the revolt, whilst Duck harrowed me halfheartedly, quite unprecedentedly shaken and disturbed by the prior concurrence. Kenny drove insolently, looking inappropriately infuriated. As I analyzed him, occasionally glancing back to exchange a gaze with Lee and subsequently turning to pierce Lilly with a viciously malevolent glare, I felt a hand grip my shoulder. I had subconsciously perceived nothing of what Duck had said so far, so I was relatively shocked and stirred when my contemplation was interrupted when he shook me and inquired, "Are you scared, Clem?"
Are you scared?
The concept of fear seemed so superficially impudent and inconsiderate now, so conventional, it was almost laughable. Yet, somehow, what was intended a simple question, inclined for comfort, perturbed me: was I scared? Or had my experiences incited a steel, cold, impenetrable force so great, my emotions had been stifled and diluted? Impressionably, all I had seen had been but and unsubstantial, insentient dream, right? However, everything thus far that had transpired continued to comply with the insensibly impeded "vision" I'd had.
Of course, I was denied the plausibility to ponder this as Duck ensued to stare at me, eyes profaned with something I had not yet encountered in them, glint gone, and exhilaration replaced. Optimism slowly dissipating. "I-."
But I could not reply, for suddenly, the vehicle jolted, and I was thrown from my position backwards, colliding with the RV's seat, on which Ben had fallen asleep, and Lilly remained abnormally alert. Upon impact, however, everyone who had begun to dose off were cruelly reinhabited to the detrimental reality, which consumed heartily at the souls of those who retained any hope whatsoever, ingesting their confidence by eradicating what was left of an imperfect world, and replacing it with dystopian immaculacy.
"Sorry!" Kenny grumbled from up front, and quite abruptly, I realized how afraid I was: I was so imminently mortified of myself, of everything, of my friends, of death itself, which had been reduced to something interpreted normal, so horridly and irremediably, that it was mutilating me. Excruciating dread distressing me at every moment, petrifying me, paralyzing me. It was so disgustingly unfair. I could barely recall what had, apparently, occurred less than a year ago: complaining staidly about school, my relations with others, most of whom who were now gone perpetually, destroyed by what had become. Everything was gone. I now, rather than eagerly anticipating a jubilant celebration for my approaching birthday, reprieved an apprehension so surreal, it effectively killed my will to live.
I looked at Duck, who steadily reimbursed his previous, decremented stability, standing cautiously, gaze affected with dismay. I stared directly into his eyes, and opened my mouth to respond, momentarily afraid that terror had swindled my ability to speak.
"I am. I'm so, so scared."