"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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B027 - OSKAR PEARCE: START

In all honesty, Oskar Pearce couldn’t have pictured a better place to wake up.

Sure, the area had plenty of downsides; it hadn’t been the easiest awakening – his head was throbbing with one of the worst headaches he’d ever encountered, even half an hour after he’d first opened his eyes. He deeply regretted wearing long trousers the moment he saw the assortment of scratches that pockmarked his bare legs – the result of awaking in a large patch of nettles. A part of him knew he should apply disinfectant and bandage his legs up, but when it was so difficult to even latch onto a singular thought, focusing on an actual task seemed borderline impossible.

He’d managed to drag himself and his belongings out of the thicket of brambles and onto firmer (and more comfortable) ground, even if it meant staining his vibrant clothing with streaks of dirt. Ordinarily, he would’ve immediately fussed over it – dampening a washcloth and repairing the damage as best he could – but for once in his life, probably the first time in his life, he found he didn’t care about what he looked like.

There wasn’t a single soul in sight whose opinion he’d have to worry about, and although he could feel pangs of loneliness already setting in, part of him was almost glad. He had a moment to decide what he was going to be. If he was going to be the bubbly, happy Oskar he’d always been, or if he was going to be what he needed to be to survive. Survival. That was a concept that seemed almost… off to him. Everything he’d dedicated his life towards – making people love him – could be found on this island with him. If he survived this place, none of that dedication would’ve been worth it.

In a way, that idea was scarier than dying.

He didn’t know what he wanted to be.

He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

There was a vibrant patch of daisies to his left. It was something familiar, something comforting to do, until someone arrived and forced him to make up his mind, forced him to answer the questions to which he was struggling to respond.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do…”
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God Help the Outcasts · Crematorium Gardens