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Viewing Single Post From: Until all our yesterdays are lighted fools...
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After Irene asked her question, another familiar figment of high school came floating back to Olivia, another familiarity on this alien island, but it was not something she wanted to return to her. What came to her, bubbled up from inside, was this residual guilt, this constant urge to apologize. At first, she thought it came out of nowhere, but then she remembered that she had been looking at Irene when that sad laugh came out, that half-chuckle, that all-too-long stare. She hadn't meant anything by looking at her, she just waited for her to finish speaking. But, something that Mrs. Webber, their English teacher, had told them one, two years ago came back to her.

They were about to write their first draft for a speech plan at the time. It was supposed to be a persuasive speech. Olivia ended up talking about how more women should enter vocational schools, how they should try working in the trades as well. It was some nothing speech that she'd written, spoken, to fulfill a requirement, to pass English. And it didn't matter, this wasn't what Olivia wanted to think about. But, yeah, they were about to write drafts, but before they started, Mrs. Webber started off this spiel about communication, how it was omnipresent. How communication was passive, not active. Even if you never said a single word, even if you failed to make a single gesture, there would still be so many things that you could read in a person. Their eyes, for example. Or how fast or slow their breathing was. Whether they hunched or stood upright. And if all else failed, then even the complete lack of any gestures, complete silence, even that would be a message. A very telling one, even.

Maybe that's what had happened, what Olivia hadn't taken into account. Maybe she had been looking at her a weird way, made Irene feel weird and awkward. Maybe she was making Irene feel like she didn't belong? But no, she didn't even do anything, she didn't do a thing. This was stupid, she was overthinking. Even if she did say sorry, what would she say sorry for? Sorry for looking at you the wrong way? She was making up her own sins, her own problems to worry about. She didn't do a thing, she was innocent, she didn't do a thing.

But why did she still feel guilty? Why did she always feel like she was messing things up?

This was stupid, all of this was stupid.

And then Irene asked what to do next. She knew that there were buildings, that there was this bell tower above them. She knew there would be people there, more people. And, she still couldn't confront everything about the game. Maybe she should look at her weapon first, see what the terrorists stole, what they gave. Maybe then she could prepare herself. Maybe.

She was about to talk of staying here, of hiding from the world a bit longer. Maybe talk about looking at the ocean, this wide, wide expanse of blue, about how they didn't get to see stuff like this that often.

But then two people came. They were, they were like partial variables, like, she knew their names and all, but they ran in different circles. They were mostly blanks. New beginnings. And, these were not beginnings that she wanted to deal with. She felt her blood rushing fasteronetwothreebreatheOliviabreatheand then it slowed down, but not as slow as it was before, and then the guy, Alan, he started talking about messing with the terrorists, and messing up the system, and while Hannah could have phrased it better, Olivia nodded, but that was all she would do, because her heart started beating faster because they were thinking days in advance, days that they might not have. And her hand drifted to her collar as Hannah mentioned the camera, it drifted to this gun to her head, this mini-Johnny Three, and then, she thought of Margaret, her mother. She thought of her and of rebellion, and while she wanted to hope, what could she hold on to with this semblance, this shell of a plan? But maybe she could hold on, maybe she could escape, and maybe she wouldn't have to think about the game, think about all its implications, maybe, maybe, maybe,

She looked at Alan and Kaitlyn, and looked for that foundation she could hold on to. "How?"
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G062 - Olivia Fischer prayed a thousand prayers in Ye Not [37/107]
Previous Threads: Sæglópur - Until all our yesterdays are lighted fools... - the way to dusty death - a concrete cave - I'd Say That I've Had Worse Days, but Then I'd Be Lying - Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying - Until Then, You Are Free - Cast in the Name of God
Memories: Sometimes when we reach for the stars...
Weapon: Lobotomy pick.

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"Mara was a mistake." - Cicada, 2017
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Until all our yesterdays are lighted fools... · The Cove