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It's Always The Quiet OnesHow the hell did I get here? How did all of this happen? I'm surrounded. Surrounded by the dead and dying. Bloody masses as far as the eye can see. It seems like only yesterday I was falling asleep in third period...
No! Go away! Who could be calling me at such a vital moment?!
WHAT?! I'M ABOUT TO BE CROWNED DRAWING CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!!!
My head snaps up from the pool of drool forming on my desk. Fuck. I slowly look up to see a very pissed off Ms. Huntington. Her and a class of snickering and giggling faces.
"Ms. Zania, if you fall asleep in my class one more time I will call your parents! Do you understand?!"
I sigh, "Yes, Ms.Huntington. I'm sorry." But in my head it goes something like more along the lines of, "BITCH, SHUT THE FUCK UP! MAYBE IF YOUR CLASS WASN'T SO DAMN BORING I WOULDN'T FALL ASLEEP!! NOW SIT YO FAT ASS
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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