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People. In the room in front of him. Voices he couldnít recognise. One of them had a tinge of familiarity to it but he couldnít connect the voice to the face or the face to the name and he knew that it was easy and he knew that this would be a voice that he should have recognised but he couldnít figure it out and he hated it and why couldnít he just figure it out already he knew he just didnít and he wanted to know and he knew but he didnít and he just couldnít bear that. It was a voice he recognised, he knew that, but he didnít know whether that voice was one of a friend or an enemy, and the other person was an even bigger unknown to him. He couldnít even begin to guess whether that person was a friend or a foe on that front. He breathed, in and out. There were people in there. He didnít know who they were. There was a voice he recognised but not enough to know who that person was, and he didnít know whether they were friendly or not. That was what he knew.

He couldnít see them, either. There was a door in front of him. Wood. Solid. Closed.

If he wanted to find out who was inside, he would have to open it.

But if he opened it, and the people inside werenít friendly, then what would happen?

He breathed. In, out, again. He didnít want to know. The thought just scared him.

But if he didnít open it, how would he know? What if the two people inside were friendly? If it was another group, if they were people willing to accept him, then maybe he could make up, slightly, for running away. He would like that.

But it was a risk. It could be bad just as much as it could be good. He wanted to go in because it could be good but he wanted to stay out because it possibly couldnít be and he didnít know what to do. Did he open the door or walk away? Could he take the risk?

He looked behind him. Stairs. He couldnít go down them quickly, but neither could they.

He looked at the door. He couldnít think of anything better.

He opened it.

There was a room. Wooden floor. Four stone columns holding it up. The metal bell below. Two people.


Friend. Teammate. Someone who he could talk to whenever he was feeling bad and someone who he knew didnít mind him doing that. Friend. Ally.


Friend of Michael, who was a bully. Someone who stood by and allowed Michael to pick on him and mock him whenever they passed in the hallways. Not a friend. Enemy. Avoid if possible.

Barry was with Jonathan. Barry was with an enemy. Barry was happily talking with someone who bullied Alvaro and who made school hard for him and who was someone he didnít want to meet on this island at all.

A primitive sound just barely came out of his throat as he stepped back from the door.
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人生の曲 · The Bell Tower