"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
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"-aaaaah. Aaaaaaahahahaaaaaowww."

Brendan's ears were still ringing. Funny that. When you think someone with a gun, you think someone who knows what they're doing, not someone who's more than likely to shoot their best friend in the face because they don't know how sensitive that old trigger/finger is.

Eventually, it died down.

Fuuuuuuuuucking hell I'm not doing that again.

He sighed, shaking his head in one of those little vain attempts to rid himself of all the remaining ringing. Wouldn't have worked, either way, but it was just...something to do, really.

The flashlight on the ground was now probably telling everyone where he was. Not that he minded company at the moment (he still had some redecorating to do on his new house, so maybe guests weren't the greatest idea), but that flashlight was probably attracting the wrong kind of attention.

Well, it's better safe than sorry.

Still sitting against the bunker wall, he reached out to grab it off the sand with his left hand, where a few moths already decided to skirt around the rim-

crack

The moths flew away, the rock bounded after them like a lost puppy, and Brendan's had was clenched on the front of his shirt. What he couldn't even try to clench, however, was the unplanned yell from his lips.

"AAAH! FUCK! FUCK!" Brendan yelled out into the night.

YOU TARD.
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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