welian
#BlackLivesMatter
/monthly_2016_08/icon-morgan.png.4efb0c5086e1edec0b1030af54238c3c.pngMorgan Brahn
The terrorist attack was the worst day of Morgan’s life, and he wasn’t even there.
It wasn’t that he was involved in it – the worst that happened to him that day was that he stubbed his toe and tripped on his face walking to the clinic, wondering why the new teacher was carrying a girl whose leg was covered in blue ooze.
No, it didn’t matter what happened to him, or what he thought. What mattered was what everyone else thought.
For the first time since operations began, the family bakery was closed. It stayed that way for three whole days, while his mother locked herself in the house and refused to come outside. Morgan didn’t need to ask why. His mother had been there for both of Rapture’s attacks on Commonwealth. One of them nearly killed his father.
The bakery reopened, eventually. Dad begged her, and Dad always got what he wanted from Mom. Usually. As long as it involved food.
But they were thinking. Lots of people were thinking, and so there were lots of thoughts to be heard.
And Morgan was thinking that it might be nice to know the thoughts of a man that was at the mall when the Knights attacked, and at Commonwealth when Rapture attacked. Mr. Swan would surely have an opinion on the matter.
The teenage boy glanced down at his limiter, it was turned all the way up. Even then, it burned hot against his skin and he could feel wave after wave of intruding thought pounding at his skull and begging to find a crack anywhere, at all, to seep in and break him down.
It was no wonder then, that he looked remarkably like the White Rabbit as he sprinted across the courtyard, pretending to be worried about being late for class.
The terrorist attack was the worst day of Morgan’s life, and he wasn’t even there.
It wasn’t that he was involved in it – the worst that happened to him that day was that he stubbed his toe and tripped on his face walking to the clinic, wondering why the new teacher was carrying a girl whose leg was covered in blue ooze.
No, it didn’t matter what happened to him, or what he thought. What mattered was what everyone else thought.
For the first time since operations began, the family bakery was closed. It stayed that way for three whole days, while his mother locked herself in the house and refused to come outside. Morgan didn’t need to ask why. His mother had been there for both of Rapture’s attacks on Commonwealth. One of them nearly killed his father.
The bakery reopened, eventually. Dad begged her, and Dad always got what he wanted from Mom. Usually. As long as it involved food.
But they were thinking. Lots of people were thinking, and so there were lots of thoughts to be heard.
And Morgan was thinking that it might be nice to know the thoughts of a man that was at the mall when the Knights attacked, and at Commonwealth when Rapture attacked. Mr. Swan would surely have an opinion on the matter.
The teenage boy glanced down at his limiter, it was turned all the way up. Even then, it burned hot against his skin and he could feel wave after wave of intruding thought pounding at his skull and begging to find a crack anywhere, at all, to seep in and break him down.
It was no wonder then, that he looked remarkably like the White Rabbit as he sprinted across the courtyard, pretending to be worried about being late for class.
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