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Mr. Danya
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((Sandy Bricks continued from Among these 'hallowed' walls...))

Sandy remembered when they’d tried to make him take group therapy. It was about two years after it had happened, when he was still barely talking to anyone at school if he didn’t have to; they thought that him getting along with other people his own age with their own issues might’ve helped him feel less isolated. Going around in a circle, listening to people who had it just as bad as him, if not worse, wasn’t something he enjoyed, but actually talking about his own problems to a bunch of strangers was complete torture, and it wasn’t long before he was refusing to participate.

Needless to say, the sessions had not lasted long.

So it was that he’d recognised the group therapy room for its purpose, and almost walked back out again. He wasn’t plagued by disturbing memories about the practice, more that he just didn’t like that word in front of its name. After a day of people trying to force him into their company, groups were the last thing he wanted to think about.

However, he was also tired and the day was winding up, so he’d decided to bunker down for the night. He’d tried to read The Illiad he'd taken from the library, but the lack of lighting made it more trouble than it was worth, so his attempts to fall asleep were fraught with lingering frustration.

With the coming of the dawn came the announcements. Already more or less awake anyway, Sandy had listened in a neutral manner. There was a strange lack of horror over the beginning of the killing, but he knew that it was a difficult fact to accept all the same. The lack of concern over the names was also off, but strange was not the right word for that; he could not find the correct one.

None of the people he’d met yesterday had died, so was he supposed to consider that a relief? None of them had endeared themselves to him, and most of them had actively done the opposite. That didn’t mean he wanted them dead, that wasn’t right, but hoping for their safety was not even remotely on his mind.

He pressed his forehead into his knees, once again trying to drown out the world, taking a deep breath as he rubbed his temples. He couldn’t even get upset when he heard that nine people he was supposed to know had died; what kind of person did that make him? And if that many had dropped, what did that mean for his chances? What the hell was he supposed to think in a situation like this?

Sandy sat there for a long while, stuck in his silent struggle.
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Dreams and Reality · Group Therapy