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Children Again? pt.4I sat on the couch, head in my hands, staring at my pint sized friends sitting on the floor. They sat looking back at us, an evil glint in all their eyes. I yawned, rubbed my eyes and looked at my fellow fathers at the moment. "If we don't do something soon, they're going to. And it's not going to be pretty."
James and Fred nodded, heads lolled back on he back of the couch. Mick sat in the chair, a book on raising boys open in his lap. He looked up after a moment, a smile on his lined face. I looked back a little confused, then looked at the others. They just shrugged, eyes watching the boys. Nikki and Tommy had their heads together and I knew from past experiences that when they did that it never ended well.
"It says in the book if boys are feeling caged in, take them outside. We do have a giant park right across the bloody street." he suggested. He closed the paperback with a surprisingly loud snap and stood. "I don't know about you three but I need out of here for a while."
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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