tabir

*The camp was somewhere far away—so far away that even familiar thoughts sounded quieter. Several days had passed, and somehow everything had imperceptibly ceased to be new.

• Marco sat on the table, waving a branch *: “If there’s porridge again tomorrow, I’ll seriously start a rebellion.”
  “You already said that,” Lisa answered calmly, trying to get internet in her corner.
  Artyom lay on the grass, looking at the sky: “It’s normal here at night. Quiet.”
  “Oh, here comes philosophy,”
  “Just a fact.”
• Dasha sat nearby, listening silently. “Time is strange here,” she said. “It’s like it’s longer.”
  “Because there’s nothing to kill him with,” Lisa answered.
  “Or vice versa,” Artem added quietly.
  "Hey, don't you need to sleep?" Igor said, approaching. "Lights out."
  "Just one more minute!" Marco said immediately.
  Anya appeared next to her: “Let them be a little longer, they’re quiet.”
  *Igor sighed, but moved away.
  There was a short silence.
  "I didn't think I'd like it here, Marco."
  "You still don't admit it," Dasha replied.
  "You already have."
• Lisa looked up: *"It's just... somehow easier here."
• Artem smiled: "Because you don't have to run anywhere."