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Cicada Days
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i can feel something inside me say
[ *  *  *  * ]
Maybe Ben hadn't said it right. 'Someone I have to find'. 'Sorry'. Will had said it better, at least. That said. The moment passed.



"Good luck, dude."

He couldn't bring himself to say anything else. Anything stronger, clearer, like 'see you soon' or 'keep up the fight'. Who dares, right? Ben couldn't even bet on a few extra damn syllables. All of his friend he was left with was a hospital's worth of bandaging. He glanced at his arm. The wrap he'd managed to improvise about as well as an underpaid Taco Bell employee wasn't too wet, not yet. Anyways. That didn't matter much.

"Guess we can't convince everyone immediately, huh?"

"Will's always been stubborn. He's a fighter." Ben didn't think too hard about it, he gestured for her to take the gauze, alcohol, antiseptic. It was about two handfuls worth. For both of them, probably, because hell if Ben had ever had much in the way of hand, height, brain, whatever. "I think he'll stay alive, I trust him. Then he might return to us."

Penelope was a bit hesitant, awkward. Hell, better than where she'd been only moments before. Kinda reminded him of a simpler time. Kinda time when there had been nerds wandering the halls of Cochise and there had been baseball practice and there had been locker talk. That sorta time. She was a bit evocative of it, when she wasn't busily contemplating terminal velocity. Heck, she even randomly invaded his personal space to drag him somewhere he had enough stumpy feet to walk to on his own. Switch the name and the face and it was just like home.

" ... Once you've made the plunge, it's not going to be easy to claw your way back up."

"Maybe. We don't know for sure, so we can deal with it if it comes up." Hm. No plan. Maybe plans had let the both of them down before. But it was too risky to leave to chance. "We should have a basic game plan. Try to rationalize with them or leave. Just in case of a worst case scenario." People to avoid no ifs ands or buts. Places they could meet in case of an emergency. Things they could abandon if they suddenly had to part with supplies. Practical things. The sort of things he'd dropped the ball on the last three days worth of his drooling over his own shirt like an ape.

He stayed right outside the door frame, silhouette from the dim ambient lighting beyond barely imposing itself onto the ground. The sound of rain echoed in marching tempo from the distant, unseen window.

" ... Anything you want to know about me, or anything you want to be cleared up?"

"What are your friends like, the ones we're looking for? Feel free to embellish, stories about people without fucking guns and killing sprees sounds like a decent change of pace."
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Haunted Reality · Solitary Confinement