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Viewing Single Post From: Forget About What I Said
Cicada Days
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i can feel something inside me say
[ *  *  *  * ]
Shit, that was right. Nate was just a junior and all. His brain really was on the fritz then. Memories and thoughts something of an afterthought.

"Huh, sorry. Could'a sworn for a second there that we were in the same grade." Dumb, only word for it really. Ben felt the familiar rush of busywork to distract himself from his own treacherous thoughts, though it didn't settle quite as easily over his adrenaline ravaged body. He swore he felt slower or something, like he had taken a quick shower in syrup before meeting the day forehead-on. Slower or not he was riffling through his bag, keeping all of the weapons he didn't have close as he dared. Nate wanted pills anyways, and Ben remembered that he'd glimpsed the familiar medical symbol in olive steel while searching for his map.

"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Matt. Or as nice as possible given the circumstances." Ben's hands closed over stale plastic. A flashlight. "Close the door behind you, Matt. Think we could hide out in here a bit, maybe."




Ben’s first assumption when he’d come to life was that he’d overslept. That he had to haul ass over to Lana’s room before she overslept even harder. There would be baseball practice today. He’d he’d have to finish up the post-trip report. But first he’d have to open up his eyes, ignore the grog, get right down to his day.




Didn’t last that long. About the few seconds of time it took for his eyes to unweld themselves and suddenly there he was. Laying prone in the middle of an abandoned asylum, ass aching from a few hour’s worth of cold hard floor.

A hand felt at his collar. Still there, just enough to be a reminder. First full day of Survival of the Fittest, and he’d lived to tell the tale. That meant something of course, but Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to spell out the obvious this time around. Even to himself.

They’d done their shifts, all three of them. Lot of talk but not much had really been said. Just like good old times back home. But folks had to sleep too, and Ben had spent a good chunk of the evening uncomfortably alone in the presence of warm bodies. Had probably stared at the camera soundlessly enough to be an extra in a low-budget horror film. He wondered who had been up when the nonexistent clock had struck midnight, thinking fragile and mortal thoughts alone in the dark.

Ben almost blurted greetings out, but something stopped him. Words on the tip of tongue. Good morning, good day. Thoughts holding ‘em back. This was the part where the terrorists started listing off names, right? His circadian was telling him that much. He lay there, still as the dead. Waiting for announcements for just a bit. Thinking only of an intercom voice, of having told Jerry an eternity and a day ago that Cochise names wouldn't ever be heard from terrorist lips... Maybe also the location of his bag. The location of a door.

The names that came up on that announcements could so easily, innocuously, have included either of the names he’d shared a room with that whole night.

Stupid thoughts. But he was thinking them all the same.
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