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Cicada Days
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i can feel something inside me say
[ *  *  *  * ]
It was time to go. To march, to hunt. To fight. To win. But Nate was still in the way, and time was running out.

Maybe it was time to speak. Nate's proposal was a reed to chew on. It was an aside glance at the nearest camera as its timestamps quietly ticked on, unseen and unheard. For that camera there was all the time in the world. For them there wasn't enough time. His circadian rhythm itself ticked on sleepless. Inertia was a weight in the spurs of his heels, rubber soles eroded away and stained the ombre reds of wasted, despoiled humanity.

"None of us have to do this."

And yet some of them already had.

"Yeah." Ben's voice was mute, measured in glass bottles half broken onto the floor. "We could talk." He looked Nate in the eyes. Ben had always been told he had eyes that were small, empty, almost walking dead. Maybe once he'd thought of them as badass, the rare windows to the soul that came with drawn blinds.

"We could talk, and I guess we will. But Matt's right. Nancy, all the rest of them..." All the rest of them in name, whatever those names had once been. "They made their decisions. Even if we talk to them what the fuck do you think they're going to say?" Matt had used the word 'girlfriend'. That was very much the case, Ben knew. Those names had once been the names of daughters, sons. Lovers. Learners, teachers. Friends. Brothers... Maybe sisters.

Once.

"I don't think there's anything left to say, Nate." Ben had tried to say things before it had come to this. And here he was now. After the terrorists, the fucking terrorists, had gotten their grubby gore-flecked hands onto the final say.
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