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Worst of Curses, Best of Friends Pt. 5Night.
I was younger, a lot younger, when I appreciated the waves.
The stars shone out and made the black carpet of sky twinkle, and the roar of the sea accompanied it. The water rushed against the cliff, creating the sound of chaos and serenity, and the moon smiled.
I was on a cliff, sitting, twirling my hair, with nothing terribly important to do. The waves broke, the seagull in the distance cried out, the crickets sang their song.
Footsteps. The gravel/sand I was sitting on crumbled and cracked as a shadow walked up, making no sound other than making the rock beneath his feet complain. Milan was here. He had gone in earlier this afternoon with his father to talk about a "very important thing you should know about Alex", and after that, he had quitely said, "I'll meet you at the place with the cliffs" and had disappeared. Now, he was silent as he sat down, and for a while, we just sat there.
I waited for quite some time, and then, impatient, glanced at Milan to see why he wasn't bein
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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