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Another week gone, another couple of days spent hauling bodies from a hospital to a funeral home, waiting for them to reanimate. Mitchell had strayed onto the island early, wandering. His own thoughts were a messy jumble; he could use some quiet.

He wasn't even sure when he'd wound up so close to the graveyard, but there he was. ('It's a bit like raising an army, isn't it?' Seth had giggled about the last fledgeling. Somehow that had felt utterly, utterly wrong - they were working to improve the world, here, not raze it to the ground - and he'd been out of it since.)

"Some days, my soul's confined and out of mind, sleep forever," he sang, softly, and mostly under his breath; a little louder, he added, "Sometimes my darkest friend is me again, have you ever--"

He didn't quite realise anything strange was going on.

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chosehumanity

April 2014

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