"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Ben could hear the island come to life, vaguely. Birds and cicadas and whatever else existed out here. The ambient sounds of home, but with an uncomfortably alien tinge. Wetter, thicker, like it was bleeding or leaking. Had the soldier-to-be standing at un-ease. Least it was probably upping his pace a bit. He needed to make up for lost time. He slid open the zipper of his bag just a bit, began to fumble. He could get eyeballs on his map, balls of his feet back on track. Inventory was thus informal, whatever he could brush fingertips against. Plastic wrapped blocks, probably food. Ignore. The familiar contour of water bottles. Ignore. Threaded, twisty mass of what was probably his daytrip sweater. Ignore.

There it was. He began to wrestle it out. Wrestle his thoughts down all the while. This far out he could see around the corner of the neighboring building's prefab. Some kinda old fashioned cabin, real wood instead of plaster of paris or whatever it was they'd used for the other buildings in the compound. Instinct told him not to go there, not yet. It was a bit too stand out, probably a couple faces around there he wasn't prepared to run into. He could walk right around, skirt the edges. Get himself a view of the water, whatever good that shit did him.

Hold on.

Ben glanced back. Important part was, the other kid wasn't following him.

Final few thoughts.

((Ben Fields continued in Forget About What I Said))
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