Bursting forth from the wall, she landed swiftly on her feet, continuing to run. All around her it seemed to be pure anarchy and destruction. Buildings were falling and collapsing as if they were dominoes lined up. Her screams didn't seem to matter as she realized all the other screaming campers weren't being rational.
Falling and getting back up again started to become difficult; the deafening explosions made the frightened girl jump each time. Her pajamas were becoming increasingly dirty, but she paid no attention as she had no clue of it. It was pitch black save for the random burst of neon colors from the Molotov cocktails exploding in the distance.
Upon reaching water on the outskirts of the island, she didn't even notice she had begun swimming. There were no reflections on Lake Oblongata except for when the next explosion of cyan and electric blue came. She nearly drowned, spitting and coughing up water as it was taken up her nose and lungs.
Something began pushing against her; it felt slimy and even the current began pushing her as well. She felt something grab her ankle, and she tried to scream. The hoarse, barely audible sound came out, which did nothing to change her situation.
Pushed upon the shores of the Asylum, she sat there a moment, untangling the seaweed from her ankles. Catching her breath became increasingly harder with each resounding boom that accompanied the heart-attack inducing explosions. Getting to her feet seemed harder than ever and stumbling was now common for her footing. She continued on her way to the opposite end of the island.
Sighing as she was forced to climb up the wall, hanging on the larger rocks when she could. When she couldn't she had to scramble up the wall, breathing harder and harder. Her pulse seemed to fluctuate heavily from about to burst her arteries to being almost non-existent. She silently gave a prayer of thanks as she got to the top and began running yet again.
Soon, it became almost routine for her to jump, fall, get back up to silently scream, and continue the vicious cycle. Even though not much time had passed, she felt as if her reality was derailing quickly. Her conscious was diminishing, and she didn't know what to do, only to panic. The heavy breathing of everybody else had died to only let the girl hear her own. It wasn't quite as soothing as the blood pounding in her ears.
She didn't know when she had given up. All she knew was the ground was cold and wet and the root her head was laying against was hard and hurt. Or the rock. She didn't know what it was, it was too dark. She shut her eyes, closing off all sounds and the rest of all her senses.
When what she assumed to be a hallucination began, she didn't notice it at first. Swirling figures surrounded her, warping between the second and third dimensions it seemed. Some popped an others flattened, some appeared and others just disappeared with no warning. She saw flashes of red, when she heard footsteps that followed a militaristic pattern. When she looked up, she was surrounded by little girls. They seemed to be zombies of some sort, limbs missing or skin peeling off in random places. She heard an ambient hiss and low chanting she couldn't make out.
"It's fortified with what the world needs."
She gasped as she heard the voice in the darkness with her. The hissing around her had died down, and they started to chant in mangled English that couldn't be made out. Their lower jaws were barely hanging onto their skulls, making it difficult for speech. The young girl got over her initial shock, and got up to start running again.
She was getting lost within her own mind; she was starting to lack a sense of direction, and stimulation. Her brain had started to fill in what it was not receiving. She soon saw figments all around her, moving and cascading in different directions, completely defying laws of nature. They were all sorts of colors, sizes, and shapes, but they all shared one recurring motif: her fears. These seemed much more real than the duller ones she saw earlier.
"It's fortified with what the world deserves."
She shrieked as she recognized the voice. It was coming closer to her, and she heard and saw another explosion in her peripheral. Tears that she thought would be long gone by now were streaming down her face again, at what seemed to be the speed of sound. Her legs were growing weaker and weaker, as were her eyelids, and flailing arms. She had lost her voice long ago.
She couldn't maintain her energy or strength, and settled for walking at a decreasing pace; she didn't want to, but had to. Her adrenaline had run out, and her brain was playing tricks on her. She was hearing the voices of the secret agents all around her, yelling obscenities. Eventually she reached the end of the cliff, passing the ornate gates leading to the asylum. There was no way she could safely get down with no strength.
She collapsed, bawling.
Then, the words she dreaded the most fell on her bleeding ears.
"I am the Milkman; my milk is delicious."