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The Race Against TimeOut of my way! I scream. Im in a race against time!
My mad dash towards the door ends abruptly when my feet touch the threshold. I consult my watch. No good. This is no good at all.
I look back down the long hallway that stretches to the far side of the house. My housemate stares at me and blinks.
Are...you...okay? she asks.
No, I am not okay! I snap back. I am trying to race against time.
A puzzled expression crosses her face.
What do you mean? She asks me. Do you need any help?
Ugh! Stupid! She doesnt get it. Cant she understand that I am in a race here? A race...against time itself.
All day, I have been racing against time, but time has always won. Or tied, rather. This is my ninety seventh tie in a row, and
CricketsSounds that sparkle
Breaking gently over the ether
Echoes of a summer evening
The heartbeat of time
The Dragonflies of AugustThe last breeze before pencil sharp September
Ribbons in the sky carry forward
All we cherish
About the eternal blink of summer
May the dragonflies of August
Linger like the future
Damage ReportDon't you tell me a lie.
I know it's easy
But please don't make me cry.
Saying things I can't stand.
I know I'm fragile
But I trusted your hand.
I'm not scared or annoyed.
Nothing in me is damaged or destroyed.
I've heard it all since who knows when.
And it may take some time to trust you again.
Don't you preach that you know.
I know I'm different
But I put on a show.
And I won't tell you a lie
And it's not easy
But I just might say goodbye.
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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