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VLV: Happy BirthdayThree... Two...One...
The midnight darkness inside of the tent was suddenly vanquished as a small flame appeared in the teenage girl's cupped hands. The faces were in shadows, the spark of fire occasionally casting light on smiling faces, but only for a few brief seconds.
"Happy Birthday to you..."
The singing was hardly more than a whisper; the singers didn't want to wake anyone up; the tradition and fear from years of this special 'ceremony' still clung to them, despite the fact they were miles from home, their parents far from hearing.
"Happy Birthday to you..."
The light of the single flame seemed to flicker in time with the words, and the boy couldn't help but wonder, as he did every year, if his twin was conscious of this.
"Happy Birthday dear-"
Here, their voices clashed slightly, as they sang the other one's name.
As they began the final verse, the girl lifted the small fire to the space between her face and her brother'
TWG Assignment 11Spottedpaw coughed weakly, hating the sound. She hated knowing she was sick, and couldn't do anything about it, she hated not being able to train, but mostly she hated knowing that other cats, her Clanmates, were dying around her, and there was no way she could help.
Why? Why is this happening? All we did was help... The apprentice sighed and closed her eyes, she knew she wasn't the sickest, there were cats much sicker than her.
The calico she-cat gazed around, it seemed that half the Clan was sick. Great Starclan, help us! Her green eyes grew wide at the sight, then narrowed in thought, before widening again. There has to be some way I can help around here! I'm not that sick, right?
Another cough escaped her, and the small cat sighed and laid back down, realizing that any way she tried to help would probably just spread the sickness.
I guess the only way I can help is resting. she decided, beginning to drift off to sleep. Then I can
Moonlit NightThe teenage girl walked silent as a shadow through the forest. She clung to the darkness, doing everything she could to evade the full moon's light. Her brown eyes scanned the area around her carefully, taking in every detail, allowing her to mentally take notes of where the shadows were deeper and where silver slipped through the branches onto the ground.
Stopping in the shadows that lurked at the edge of a well-lit clearing, the girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes, lost in memories.
She was five or six. Her family had gone camping in these very woods for the weekend, and she had gotten up early; the full moon was still visible. Unable to sleep, suddenly wide awake, she slipped out of her sleeping bag. Her parents stayed asleep as she sneaked out of the camp and began exploring. She had made a lot of noise, stomping through the forest, playing, swinging her over-sized flashlight back and forth.
She never heard the footsteps approach her, but rather felt something behind her
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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