The Last Respiration

The Last Respiration

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Jun 19, 2020
"Where are they taking us?" "Is this-?" "Yes , yes it is." "What the hell?!" "Well, its the mankind's very personal hell." "We shouldn't have listened to you!" "Seligman says-" "Fuck Seligman. He is not going to save us right now, would he?" "Well then, we'll have to see what we can do about our lovely magistrate over there." . . I've been found. We've been found. They are dragging us. Into the hell hole, we all were afraid of. We were willing to camouflage ,and yes ,of course, survive. Survival. An instinct we learnt in our birth giver's womb. I don't know if we'll be able to survive for the next coming days. We tried our best to fit in, to not lay on our miseries onto this world but somehow our veil slipped, our stealth tactics became redundant and somehow government became much crueler than we ever thought it to be.
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I wasn't special, I wasn't a marine or a scientist sent here from earth to study Pandora, I was a behaviorist-some say behaviorists are scientists too; but the brain isn't made up of mathematics and hope, it's like the roots of trees. Forever speaking but unheard. I study people's brains and their behavior. I don't look at it with hope and faith. I'm nothing special, not really. When I was accepted to help with Project Pandora, I was exhilarated. This was my big break, something to get me out there. I never expected for it to spiral into my life unprofessionally-become personal, emotional. That I would have to fight in a war between man and alien, choose between my own people and a clan of beings that accepted me-welcomed me, trained and made me one of them. This wasn't supposed to become personal, but it did.

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