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For Cloud Lovers"Hey Tifa, what's up?" You ask as you see the brown haired woman running toward you. She suddenly grabs you by the wrist.
"Come with me," she says anxiously. She starts to drag you down the street.
"What's wrong?" you ask as you both round the corner, heading for the Seventh Heaven Bar.
"It's Cloud," she says, "I think he needs you right now." You could catch a bit of fear in her voice. It scared you, thinking about what could be wrong with the blonde. After all, you've always had a crush on him. You swallow hard. Tifa continues to drag you as you step through the bar doors. She drags you up the stairs and stops in front of what you know as Cloud's bedroom door. She knocks on the door.
"Cloud, someone's here to see you," she says.
"I don't want to see anyone," you hear him say on the other side of the door. You can tell by his voice there's something bothering him. Tifa sighs.
"He locked himself in there two days ago," she says, "You try to reason with him." She walks back down the sta
For Cloud Strife LoversFor Cloud Lovers
You are perched on a cable 60 feet off the ground, cloaked in shadow. Squirrel-like, you crawl along the vine like cable out to the center, drawing one of your throwing knives as you go. You pause in the middle, watching the shadowed streets of Midgar. You could hear Cloud's motorcycle in the distance. You close your eyes, listening in the silence to the sound of, not just Cloud's motorcycle, but two others following him. You open your eyes turning to look behind you. The motorcycles are about a mile off, and you quickly plot their course. In about five minutes, they will reach you, judging by speed.
As they draw nearer, you sheath you throwing knife, there's no way you'll hit something moving that fast. You quickly enact plan B, swinging down to a lower cable, and an another, hanging by your knees, letting your arms dangle downwards, you're still a good ten feet from the pavement. You close your eyes, listening to the approaching motorcycles as you hang bat-like from
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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