[steps between him and the boat and grabs his wrists hard to still his arms and pin them close to his body, then jerks his head over his shoulder towards the boat, only a few feet away.]
He's really. . . twisted up. He wants to die and he wants a cause to die for. He doesn't think anything can ever change — he probably wasn't any different when you knew him.
But stuff can change, right? Hearts can, too. We're just a couple feet away from a big one. I don't think you have to stay the same forever.
I never said he didn't care about you, moron. Just that he's kind of messed up. Maybe he needs help, too. D'you think it's wrong to mourn and remember and heal? Don't you want that for him, too?
Think about it. I think . . . this place could use someone to take care of it, too. Someone who remembers and comes down here a lot. You could have a job again if you could get out of all this stuff.
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He splashes into the water with you.
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"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
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Nothing! Now look.
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"I can't!"
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. . . you didn't answer who put your eyes out in the first place. What happened?
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He's really. . . twisted up. He wants to die and he wants a cause to die for. He doesn't think anything can ever change — he probably wasn't any different when you knew him.
But stuff can change, right? Hearts can, too. We're just a couple feet away from a big one. I don't think you have to stay the same forever.
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I never said he didn't care about you, moron. Just that he's kind of messed up. Maybe he needs help, too. D'you think it's wrong to mourn and remember and heal? Don't you want that for him, too?
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... But he does startle and check his now-empty hand-- then press it to his chest, apparently remembering he put it down.
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Think about it. I think . . . this place could use someone to take care of it, too. Someone who remembers and comes down here a lot. You could have a job again if you could get out of all this stuff.
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. . . man, I hope you can change clothes with all those on you. We're a mess.
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He sullenly turns to the... slope... and tries to pull away to climb back up.
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[lets him go; I WILL HELP YOU BACK UP THIS SLOPE I GUESS]
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When he's in the dirt again, he hesitates, like he's going to move to try and rip things out again, but he doesn't.
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Can you get back okay?
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He pats his hand around... though then he stops, hesitating.
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Where's what?
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Nothing... it doesn't matter..."
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[LOOKS AROUND; IS THERE ANYTHING UP HERE THAT HE COULD BE LOOKING FOR]
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Which, if you look at it, looks like a crude child's drawing of a stick figure with red hair and a stick figure with blond hair holding hands.
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