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Colors ch.3 Colors
Molly looked upward at the sky. It had been a day since they started following this weirdo wolf for no apparent reason, and they were following it at a good distance. Timothy was chasing a butterfly around. He’s such an idiot, she thought amusedly, rolling her eyes with a smile. Even though Tim could come off as an ass sometimes, he was still one of the best friends she could ever hope to find.
She wasn’t exactly sure why they were even following this wolf. There wasn’t really any logical reason, but she had to admit, there was something compelling about it. Maybe it would lead them to endless treasure, or a big mystery that needed solving.
Or maybe it’d lead them to death. She supposed she’d just have to wait and see.
She’d miss her family while she was gone, and she was sure they’d miss her too. She would especially miss litt
Timothy trotted excitedly up to Molly’s front door after he’d left his hat somewhere safe, while Franklin waited by the side of the house. He’d better not try to run off, he thought, as he scratched at the door. Soon, Molly’s owner opened the door, and his white furred friend bounced out.
“Hey, Timmy!” she said, smiling at him. “What’s up?”
“Molly, you’ll never believe it.” He said, jumping off of the front steps and walking around the house to where Franklin still sat.
When she saw who was there, Molly broke into a huge grin. “FRANKIE!!” she ran over and butted heads with him. “I can’t believe you finally came!!”
Franklin smiled shyly. Though he in no way wanted to be there, once he saw how happy it had made his friends, he couldn’t go back now.
“It’s nice to see you, Molly.
Timothy blinked open his bicolored eyes; the right bright green, the left bright red. He stood up from his fluffy pink bed his humans had gotten him, and yawned while stretching, and then shook out his orange stripey fur. He decided he’d walk into the living room. Ben, the male human, was usually watching entertaining TV shows at this time.
“ARE YOU LITERALLY SERIOUS?!” he heard Ben yell at the screen, “He’s not the one!”
“I know!” Timothy replied, though the human couldn’t understand him, and made himself comfortable on the arm of Ben’s chair.
Why the hell are these called soap operas? Tim wondered. He often asked himself this question; when Ben’s wife Hillary had first called them ‘soap operas’ Timothy had expected some dumb kids show about singing soap bars.
But nnnope. It was the best show ever.
Dominique had just go
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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