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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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((Min-jae Parker continued from Caraphernelia))

Jae hadn't slept long, or well. He wasn't sure what woke him - a noise, a half-remembered dream, something - but he had jolted awake in the dark of the storehouse and something about it was suddenly suffocating. The shape of Dorothy's body heaped nearby was suddenly horrible, and maybe it was the lingering paranoia from his encounter earlier in the day, but he had been seized with the irrational certainty that someone or something was in there with him.

He had left in a hurry. He couldn't tell what time it was. He had thought it was late when he first ducked into the storehouse, but the sky didn't seem to have darkened too much more since then. Maybe it wasn't as late as he'd thought, maybe the dark clouds had just made it seem closer to night than it really had been.

Maybe he was just losing his mind.

The island was too still and quiet now that there were so few living bodies to disturb it. The parts that Jae passed in his unsteady trek back to the asylum (always back to the asylum, haunted as it was) felt frozen in time again, just as they had been before Jae and his classmates had been dropped there. He felt like an intruder. He wasn't supposed to be here.

There was a sense of déjà vu as he slipped inside the asylum again and down the hallway. It wasn't as dark now as it had been the first time, but the recognition settled heavily on him as he pushed the library door open and stumbled to the nearest table, leaning on it for support and pressing one hand over his mouth to stifle a cough.

Was there someone there? Was he alone? Was he ever really alone?

Who's there? I'm armed.

Jae dropped the crossbow to the carpet and gripped the edge of the table with his freed hand, knuckles going white. Maybe he was losing his mind.

He stayed against the table, waiting for his cough to subside and his panic to settle.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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友達 · The Asylum Library