"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: Words Can't Bring Me Down
Namira
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Null sheen.
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It was, Brock considered, just yet another godawful situation brought along by the one thing that had dogged each and every last step he'd taken in... well, in his entire life. It was a simple progression. Brock was a year older than the vast majority of his classmates. Why was that? Because he'd been held back a year due to flunking. Why was that? Dyslexia.

He'd gone past the denial of the situation and the onset of panic, managing to calm himself down to a degree. Brock wasn't the smartest guy around, but nor was he hysterical, either. All whilst contemplating this calmly, he'd still come to the conclusion that trying to take part would be all too fucked up. No matter most of the year hadn't tried to befriend him, beyond the football guys which let him hang around because he was a solid part of the team, you didn't kill people just because somebody said that you should.

Was he capable of killing? Brock couldn't say. But he wouldn't set out to do it.

That decision had given him plenty of time to contemplate and decide dyslexia was pretty much at fault for just about every one of his problems.

Were it not for his stupid fucking condition, Brock wouldn't be about to die.

...Were it not for that, he would never have met Hilary.

Hilary vs. being dead... Okay, sorry Miss Strand but Brock liked breathing. It wasn't that he didn't care about her, but meeting a girl that he'd cultivated a sort of weird awkward relationship with was a poor trade for being dead at nineteen.

And Brock had this fatalistic certainty of his fate why? Because of the little booklet that lay alongside him as he sat with his back against a tree. It held the key to his means of defence, the little pistol that even now lay on the top of his daypack.

It was the instruction manual to the gun.

And Brock couldn't read it. The words were a tangled nonsensical mess, the explanations lost on him. He hadn't even figured out what the pistol was called. So that figured. He'd had a lucky draw and it was useless to him...

Because he couldn't understand the manual.

Brock threw back his head and laughed at the absurdity of it all.
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