Jimmy sits up in the lighthouse for a very long time. Peeking over the edge, pacing between TNT minecarts, thumbing the levers beside each one–fidgeting for long enough to pass several hours. He waits, eyes stalking the path leading up to the front door below, even as night falls slowly around him.
He taps a pattern into the hilt of one of the levers. His fingers feel electric, a strong current of energy buzzing through them. The feeling runs up through the rest of his body and makes him shudder.
He figures it’s just a weird new manifestation of red life bloodlust. Everyone feels it differently, he supposes, and this season has been odd enough already. He practically expects things to twist and change on a whim nowadays. Like the double-boogey situation today, or… whatever the hell Etho and two-thirds of the Villies had going on a few weeks ago. He still isn’t sure what that was, honestly.
So it’s probably bloodlust. A weird, nervous type of bloodlust. But an insistent, much-less-rational part of his brain says that this electric feeling is what’s left over from the lightning strike that brushed him earlier.
It’s rare that he hears it. They always tease him about it, you know–always being the first one out of the series. And as much as he hates to admit it, well, they’re right. He’s bad at surviving, and if he’s not the first out then he always comes shortly after.
So he rarely hears that roar of thunder. The one that accompanies that single lightning bolt–not striking a player, but instead scorching the ground right after they’ve left, marking the place where they’ve lost their last life. It’s not like a normal lightning strike, although Jimmy can’t place what’s different. Maybe it sounds off? Maybe it lasts a second too long, hits the ground a bit too harshly? Leaves scorch marks a bit too stark?
Regardless. He hardly ever hears it. It’s rare that anyone dies before him, and, well, it’s not like he can hear the thunder that marks his own death.
So it’s even rarer that he gets to see it. He’s seen the sky flash brightly a few times, accompanying a bright red death message posted in the chat, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen the actual bolt hit the ground.
He replays that moment over and over in his head. He has a lot of time to think in that lighthouse–way too much time, really. God, do the Villies ever come home?
So think he does. He thinks about that moment again, then again, then again.
It was so sudden, really. Such a mundane moment. Tango had just cried out for B to watch for creepers–and, really, wasn’t that ironic? “I saved your life,” Jimmy heard Tango call. Then the next thing he remembers is seeing that ugly, bright bolt of lightning, reaching down to scorch the earth and leaving a message behind in chat that made his throat close. Tango didn’t even scream.
And it’s terrible. It’s terrible, because part of Jimmy expected to die with him.
It’s stupid, really. It’s very, very stupid, and Jimmy can’t believe that the thought crossed his mind in the first place, much less the fact that he’s still entertaining it hours later. But it’s true. That lightning struck, feeling for all of the world like it was meant for him too, and when the death message flashed he checked his own health bar out of instinct.
It’s stupid. And he tries to ignore it, but he’s just got so much time to wait until a Villy comes home, so instead the scene replays in his head until he’s sick of it.
The moon shines tall in the distance; Jimmy paces another lap around the lighthouse. He ignores calls from his teammates, ignores people messaging about Tango’s funeral. He just sits there, gaze trained on the path that leads towards the lighthouse door, and thinks. He taps his fingers on a lever to ignore the way they still tingle.
