"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Something in the look he threw back her way was questioning, searching.

Expected. Even a man of his caliber probably didn't easily understand a woman's heart.

"I've a few. Already wrote up an outline for mine and everything."

Also expected! He seemed to manage most everything else just fine.




Latanna managed her textbook deftly, several pages filleted at the edges dancing between her fingers.

"Nations considered historically dependent on the United States strike me as, well, especially afflicted by history's tides. McKinley's Philippines ambitions..."

She chewed on her next words, carefully.

"The Five Civilized Tribes." As she had the definitions in front of her in neatly stenciled paragraphs that beautifully adhered to the fencing of the line, she could use the terms she liked to presume were most neutral. Present company considered. "And all other Native bodies. The American government alternated between providing them self-determination and otherwise. Abundantly clear in the back-and-forth of Supreme Court precedents." Latanna was musing to herself. Aloud. She believed her opinions were more palatable if they lacked a direct audience. If she didn't project them this or that-a-ways, but offered them as ambiance.

"In modern day terms I suppose the judicial controversy over affirmative action would be a clear continuance of the pendulum swings of self-determination of America's minorities." The white of her skin caught on the white of her eyes. Latanna mewled to herself. She had a bulky opinion on the present day of her musings, of course. Enough meat to the brain that she wondered if her peers could smell it's seasonings.

Oh, she knew one of them would. But his opinion wouldn't matter so long as he held his tongue.

Not that she trusted him to do that. She'd sooner run each individual ridge of her fingerprint over the sharp corners of her book's earmarked pages.
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Sometimes when we reach for the stars... · Memories from the Past