*proph

The soil has already stained the soles of Gabriel’s bare feet a dark brown; his sandals lay discarded at the edge of the strawberry field.  On his lap rests his open sketchbook, the beautifully drawn strawberries that rest on the page are barely illuminated by the setting sun. He hears a voice clear behind him and his muscles tense. “Who there?” he asks, his voice quivering.

Scott stands in the arena, a long knife clutched tightly in each hand. Sweat drips from his brow and covers his arms and face. He whirls around, attacking the dummies with what appears to be real rage. He notices a camper standing in front of him and straightens, a smile appearing on his face. “Hey,” he says.

Gabe sits in the cabin circle, leaning against a tree facing the Apollo cabin. In his lap is his sketchbook; he’s drawing out the cabin. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, looking for Parker or Kerri or Jacob or- well, really he’d probably run away from anyone. He’s so busy looking behind him that he doesn’t see the camper approaching from the front and inhales sharply when he does. “H-hey,” he stammers.

Scott sits on the beach, holding a photo in his hand. He’s staring at it with slightly misty eyes. He’s shirtless and in board shorts. His hair is still wet- he just got out of the lake. He turns his head when [you] approach and raises his hand in greeting. “Hey.”

Gabe lays on the beach, staring up at the stars and laughing. His hand holds a half empty bottle of wine; empty bottles are strewn around him. Near his head is a knapsack filled with bottles. He heard someone approach and props himself up on his elbows. “Heyyyyy,” he slurs, laughing loudly at the end.