"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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Viewing Single Post From: Hemochromatosis
Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Hm. They'd been quick about it. Less a conversation and more a sales pitch. Immediately down to business, like one of those brain dead girls from Mojave giving her brain dead friends a pyramid scheme sales pitch. Probably didn't look so good. Maybe. Maybe the faux pas was better received when there was an actual immaterial charisma behind the speaker's slow, lip-biting dirge for the class of 2015.

He didn't know how Raina would respond, went without saying. Ben knew he believed in the solvency of Penelope's high-flying rhetoric, even when he himself was stuck on Earth by his own leaded weight. But that also went without saying. For every other living name on this island the terrorists hadn't dangled cockily over announcements, even for the ones they had, who knew where the priority lay? For all Ben knew they cared about life over the honor, over the glory, over the humble pride to look their loved ones in the next life in the eye and know they belonged. Shit, maybe they were even right.

Ben had all but killed that line of thought a long time ago, killed it like the sensations in his bad arm. Days? Years? But he knew there was a certain underclassman girl left alive. Name, Lana Fields. To press on without her brother, to be the head of a household she'd never learned to care for, if Ben went and got himself killed.

If he made it home he'd betrayed her, simple as that. If he didn't make it home...

No regrets, right? He glanced at the camera for answers.

No response.

Back to the girls. He kept his distance, maybe half a pace forward at most. Enough so he wasn't yelling like a dumbass just to be heard.

"Together..." He nodded solemnly. "We owe it to ourselves to go out without letting the terrorists have won. No matter who wins this version they already lost, they already gave in... So yeah." God as his witness he'd never expected to go out in life with this many rocks in his mouth. Before the actual ones were introduced to his halitosis maw whenever Mother Nature started doing her rites for his corpse. Anyways. Invoking God. "Think the dude in the sky would be pretty happy if we all stood down... Kept our souls from wasting away on the off chance there's a chance at life."

To think he'd been ready to kill only... however many days prior. That anger, that urge was gone. Even as his body fell apart at the seams in anticipation of death, the gut churning boil of pointless ass anger that had once burned his tender innards to chewiness was dissipated. It left him clean, humbled. Maybe this was real heroism, real manliness. Letting go of the bullshit. Ignoring the marauding thieves, the starving friends, the awkward lesbians, focusing on what really mattered. Dignity, grace before the final hour.
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Hemochromatosis · Helipad