Spunnyz

My love has grown beyond life’s will. You keep me from the nation I must save. Stay here, the war is no place for such a loss. Death will come for me before I let it come for you.

The sky matched his mood perfectly. Dismal gray clouds covered the sky, a soft yet harsh drizzle soaked the streets of the city. Light dimmed more and more as the sun set out of sight. Cold wind froze the air, the trees swayed and scraped the buildings besides them. Franklin slumped down into the armchair, sighing heavily. He ran his fingers through his sun-kissed hair, disheveled by the cruel gales. Despite his job being all about finding the truth, uncovering every secret, he couldn’t do anything to find anything about his father. The deafening silence of his empty home gave too many painful reminders of his own loneliness. No wife,

The air was the perfect temperature, cold, yet not too cold. The wind ruffled his dark hair and whipped the hood off his head. Tall, white marble buildings towered over the alley, blanketing it in deep shadow. The moon, a thin excuse for a crescent. Barely any light. Excellent. He had to keep his eyes closed, though, this was the worst part of Haraos. Finely carved statues of old historical figures were around every corner, way too big for any healthy ego. Window shops with ridiculous golden jewelry with equally pretentious customers talking about their new clothes or whatever. Knife ears and their stupid garments were everywhere, some even

Mud lined the streets, thick yellow smog choked the air. The sun, down in the east, could barely break through the cloud of floating poison. The buildings all around, decayed by the rain. Azel, however, could get through. His mask was near divine, it came from his grandfather. Its eyes protects his, and the spirits of the mask cleansed the air for him to breathe freely. He will make it through. He always did. His footsteps rang out clearly, his boots stepping down upon stone. Despite the warm light of the sun, the air was frozen. Azel crossed his arms, rubbing warmth into the faded blue fabric. Again, from his grandfather, Joc. He always me

The date was getting closer.  It was practically racing towards them. But at the same time, time seemed to slow down as the 100 year mark approached. Slower than a snail, slower than anything. At least, that’s how Mr. Toller felt, pacing around his office, wringing his hands. The lump in his throat never went away, no matter how hard he swallowed. His heart would start racing even looking at his special title of “ambassador.” Why was he even given this role? He dealt with domestic affairs...not like there was any outside contact anyways. That’s what the Silence Pact enforced. They all focused on the homeland, the Uni

When I write, it’s not me in full control View it like this I take a boat A simple wooden canoe And put on the river The river moves the boat I simply steer I use a map of this river So I know where to go Sometimes I’ll stop And have a friend to look through Their opinion is all I need Then I go down the river more The river flows, I just steer. Steering through flowing words They come to me, not me to them

Oh wait, I remember. I remember sitting at my table, it has a white lace decoration on it. It was morning and I was eating syrniki with strawberry varenye. Mama says we never have enough to make them, but that morning we did and I was so happy! I was also drinking tea with milk and honey, another rare treat. It was a great morning. Papa was also there, he was dressed fancy with his suit and tie. He was also wearing his red flag pin that never lets me touch or hold. He said it came from Comrade Stalin! I’ve never met Comrade Stalin, but I know he’s a great man! My brother was upstairs sleeping. Mama said he got to stay home that d