"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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Brackie
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i love him, i love him, i love him, i love him
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((Brendan Wallace continues from That's a bout. Salute. Shake hands.))

After hours of aimless wandering, he finally collapsed out of exhaustion, butt-first, into the nearest sand bunker. Really, it wasn't just exhaustion. It was stress. A lot of stress. On all sides, he was surrounded by death.

Somewhere near the trees, right where he stopped, were two dead bodies. At the bottom of that little hill, only a few paces away, was another one. One was covered in blood and bullet wounds, another was lying face down on the ground, and another, some black guy, staring face-up at the sky...but he didn't go anywhere near them. It wasn't out of fear, or disgust, but rather...he just didn't want to care.

That was the scariest thing he'd encountered in his time on the island. That little clasp on humanity which he'd promised himself he'd retain. Care. The senior class of Bayview Secondary school was being shredded apart by their own guilt, suspicions, and insanity, and he'd promised himself he'd stay human, stay caring, just because he knew that sooner or later it would stop. He'd care about every little person he'd encountered, every dead body, he'd at least thought something if he knew them. But he'd hit that point where he'd stopped recognising them as people and turned it into a recognition of the dead.

Brendan didn't know whether or not he was still as human as he was when he got on that bus a few days ago.

He could count it off. Chris, Charlotte, Jaclyn, someone unrecognisable, Petrushka, Rose, Carol (who wouldn't recognise Carol?), and two other people bodies. He was scared of getting close to them, because he didn't want to feel the pain and loss of possibly coming face-to-decomposing-face with someone he could have shared a class with. He didn't want to feel all this pain, this loss, this...uncaring.

...is this how all those killers felt? The moment they saw the people they knew and possibly loved as...things, rather than friends and people, did they also catch ahold of this uncaring?

Brendan clenched his eyes shut. He just wanted more than anything else to...just to say sorry to the people he knew he couldn't save. Chris, Dawne, Jonathan, Charlotte...he'd failed them. He never even said anything to them, not one word, and...now it wasn't possible.

And now, here he was. Thinking. Just thinking about everything, everyone he made promises to, everyone he couldn't see, never got to see, and never will get to see.

He pulled his knees to his chest, and shuffled to the "wall" of the bunker. His bag, with all his worldly possessions, clenched tightly under his legs. The moon looked like it was dipping away for the night, or at least retreating behind some trees while the island really slept.

He looked around, watching the receding moonlight as the grassy hills turned from the battlefield of dreams...to a dimly illuminated graveyard.

And he shut his eyes again, nestling his head from the world into the depth of his pant legs, his breath the only noise to break the silence.

This wasn't a good idea. I'm never going to be able to find them again...
I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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Birdland · The Greens