"Boys in dreadnought's path suffer serious repose."

The statement itself was astute, surely, and the calmness of the suffering old mans voice allowed the words to be interpreted in a plethora of ways.

Interpret would be the key word, however; the meaning was as clear as glass and bright as July. Only a fool would expect another meaning being harvested from those words. Or was that the intention? Did he actually think those carefully chosen words were falling on fools ears?

Either way, it was a joke. The time had passed for dissuasion, compliments, warnings or advice. This bullshit compassion was a childrens game, the logical and only path to take was simple solitude, and anyone who would choose another was clearly not sane.

A bitter laugh clawed it's way out, unintentional and full of venom. It had been, to say the least, an unwise move, drawing a line and crossing it and choosing a side as clear and bright as the words the old fool had used himself.

There was no more room for ambiguity and nothing else to say.

"I'll take my chances."

Destroy Once Done