[She's the one who kept-- Fine, whatever, he'll just shut his mouth and point his eyes at the memorial. He keeps them open, and his hands crumpled at his sides. He finds it easier to focus his thoughts that way; he feels awake, sharp, raw. It's not like he's trying to dip his fingers into some stream of spirituality or connect with any deity anyway.
He thinks about the people who were slaughtered in this town, even if it wasn't really their home, and he thinks about the people of his hometown. How they were chased out, how some never made it. How some would probably never came back, would find somewhere else to dub home, and he can't blame them. He thinks about his classmates, those who lit up the night sky and fell down as ashes, and those who walked away when the pyres died down, who lived to throws themselves bodily into the waiting jaws of death, and him beside them. He thinks about the word unflinchingly, and why he's never heard just flinchingly before.]
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He thinks about the people who were slaughtered in this town, even if it wasn't really their home, and he thinks about the people of his hometown. How they were chased out, how some never made it. How some would probably never came back, would find somewhere else to dub home, and he can't blame them. He thinks about his classmates, those who lit up the night sky and fell down as ashes, and those who walked away when the pyres died down, who lived to throws themselves bodily into the waiting jaws of death, and him beside them. He thinks about the word unflinchingly, and why he's never heard just flinchingly before.]