He was done hiding. He could cower away in his room hoping against hope that there would be no call to arms soon. But, that was not him. Not Corbin McAy. Not "Al" either. He may be a meek whelpling, but he faced most of his problems head on. Usually.

He buried his face in his hands. "Arrrgh!" Why was life so ******** complicated? What did he even want? Whyyyy the ******** would he even want that?!

Thoughts and memories that weren't him and yet... had been, in some way. Even now they filled his mind and flooded his senses. That world doesn't even exist.

He rubbed his face with his hands before withdrawing them and resting them palm down against the tops of his thighs. He glanced, rather, glared at the tarp concealing him. What now? He's ******** no matter which route he takes now. Lose a best friend, a lover, protection, a family, or even all of his pride (what little there was). Some or all of these things, but certainly at least one had to go in order for him to move forward. But which? Which one will he give up? What will make him the happiest? What will keep him alive? What will help him grow?

Why does he even need to choose now?


The tarp rustled and it caused his back to become rigid and straight, a look of uncertainty on his face. Had they become impatient already? He wasn't ready yet. Relief soothed as it had fallen still again. Just a breeze. Still a warning to what he was avoiding so determinedly. Facing a part of himself that the other part denied even the smallest fraction of existence to. Facing it realistically and choosing to either embrace it or cut it out from himself entirely.

His fingernails raked across the stiff fabric of his trousers as a snarl of frustration escaped his curled lips. This wasn't him, it was someone else. His mind constantly danced back and forth on the subject. There was a very thin line, so fine he could hardly see it. He had one foot on each side of it, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as thoughts for and against stacked up and then tumbled over only to re-stack again. It wasn't just his choice though was it? It never really was. So many would be affected by it and all of them, every last one, he cared about more than himself.

It wasn't really fair.

He had so many questions but not one answer.

Is this what it's like to be a grownup; making decisions for others based on questions you can't even answer?

He wished he was back home right now, hiding behind his mother's skirt. It was easier that way... weak little child giving all the power of decisions to a higher authority. But where was his higher authority now? He was terrified of it. Of what it might think of the questions being asked. Protection would become the attack, a skirt with razor sharp teeth and a hunger for his throat.

He began to crawl, not walk, only men walk, towards the tarp and pressed his head into it until the crinkling noise gave way to open air. He could see a glimpse of the halls. They were oddly silent. Was it safe for a worm like him to find help?

Only one way to find out; if he's man enough, that is.