( the stranger carries the expression of a prey animal, hiding away from something prowling nearby. this man knows there is a threat waiting outside. the recognition can't be missed.
Ben doesn't know yet what it is, though. having just cleared away from the radio tower and its saturation of garbage, it's been only as ominous as the unyielding sense that being this alone is...unbearable. or, that it will be, if this steady incline of terror Ben has felt crawling up through his chest is any indication of what is to come. he might have chalked it up to human nature, feeling the singular isolation so keenly, and feeling such a pull to find someone else here, but Ben also knows himself.
but more than that — he can now say that he knows a name. Will adds something on after his name, and for a pair of singular words, each one packs a dreadful weight.
Will slips out of frame, but Ben remains tethered to the mirror. the shadows... Ben has seen them, at distances that might have been comfortable in technicality, but never felt that way officially. by sheer paranoia, Ben suspected they might pose a threat, but was very content to keep himself out of sight of them (could they even see?)
this is a confirmation. danger.
Ben can do nothing. he has always felt the drive to step in and help where he could, but has never been so aware of a moment when he couldn't do anything. he pulls away from the mirror, once Will is out of view for long enough, and looks at his surroundings. the tiled floor is now on the rightmost wall to him. awfully indecisive, aren't you, room?
he feels discontent with striding so close to the door, glancing past his shoulder to look at the mirror from across the room, as if he doesn't trust that it won't suddenly disappear on him. because yeah, he doesn't.
but he steps outside and looks around, lapels and hair catching in the breeze that sighs dejectedly across this dreadful landscape. a bus... Ben's gaze is investigative, head twisting this way and that, looking for anything resembling a bus. it could be a useless cause — that bus could be the interior to a closet, for all they know. nothing makes sense here.
it takes minutes, ones that feel far too long, far too desperate, but Ben doubles back past a bus cubicle before realizing — that it's attached to a bus. he doesn't see a shadow anywhere, which is as fortunate as it is troubling. no shadow, no one, especially not Will. there's something wrenching about that, something mournful and disappointing. Ben climbs into the empty bus and stares at a loss. who was he interacting with? someone in the past, or future?
he looks at the sun, seated on the horizon, more stubborn than anyone Ben has encountered. he thinks...that it can't possibly be past, or future — not if time is standing still.
there is no time to run back and check before making this decision, one that Ben isn't sure makes any sense... ah, but of course, how does he keep forgetting? repeat after us: nothing makes sense. nothing makes sense.
Ben looks around the nondescript rubbish lying around. anything light enough to...
he picks up what feels like an empty gas can, and he — chucks it, across the length of the bus. next, a wire rubbish basket, which he tosses away from the bus, yards away, opposite the direction of the sun. Ben finds anything that he can, anything that rattles, anything he can clash together, as far from the empty bus as possible.
no subject
Ben doesn't know yet what it is, though. having just cleared away from the radio tower and its saturation of garbage, it's been only as ominous as the unyielding sense that being this alone is...unbearable. or, that it will be, if this steady incline of terror Ben has felt crawling up through his chest is any indication of what is to come. he might have chalked it up to human nature, feeling the singular isolation so keenly, and feeling such a pull to find someone else here, but Ben also knows himself.
but more than that — he can now say that he knows a name. Will adds something on after his name, and for a pair of singular words, each one packs a dreadful weight.
Will slips out of frame, but Ben remains tethered to the mirror. the shadows... Ben has seen them, at distances that might have been comfortable in technicality, but never felt that way officially. by sheer paranoia, Ben suspected they might pose a threat, but was very content to keep himself out of sight of them (could they even see?)
this is a confirmation. danger.
Ben can do nothing. he has always felt the drive to step in and help where he could, but has never been so aware of a moment when he couldn't do anything. he pulls away from the mirror, once Will is out of view for long enough, and looks at his surroundings. the tiled floor is now on the rightmost wall to him. awfully indecisive, aren't you, room?
he feels discontent with striding so close to the door, glancing past his shoulder to look at the mirror from across the room, as if he doesn't trust that it won't suddenly disappear on him. because yeah, he doesn't.
but he steps outside and looks around, lapels and hair catching in the breeze that sighs dejectedly across this dreadful landscape. a bus... Ben's gaze is investigative, head twisting this way and that, looking for anything resembling a bus. it could be a useless cause — that bus could be the interior to a closet, for all they know. nothing makes sense here.
it takes minutes, ones that feel far too long, far too desperate, but Ben doubles back past a bus cubicle before realizing — that it's attached to a bus. he doesn't see a shadow anywhere, which is as fortunate as it is troubling. no shadow, no one, especially not Will. there's something wrenching about that, something mournful and disappointing. Ben climbs into the empty bus and stares at a loss. who was he interacting with? someone in the past, or future?
he looks at the sun, seated on the horizon, more stubborn than anyone Ben has encountered. he thinks...that it can't possibly be past, or future — not if time is standing still.
there is no time to run back and check before making this decision, one that Ben isn't sure makes any sense... ah, but of course, how does he keep forgetting? repeat after us: nothing makes sense. nothing makes sense.
Ben looks around the nondescript rubbish lying around. anything light enough to...
he picks up what feels like an empty gas can, and he — chucks it, across the length of the bus. next, a wire rubbish basket, which he tosses away from the bus, yards away, opposite the direction of the sun. Ben finds anything that he can, anything that rattles, anything he can clash together, as far from the empty bus as possible.
and he feels like an absolute fool doing it. )