It feels like our world is being ambushed by a mysterious sniper on one of the world’s tallest buildings. Citizens panic while policemen search to end this cause of fear.
But I love him for his attitude. Really, he’s a bit of a punk, picking fights all the time, usually fights he can’t win. But he fights for a reason, and he never compromises on that.
“Make sure you don’t have any valuables in your pockets,” Luke warned as we got out of the little red taxi. We were standing in front of a very oriental-looking blue archway. All kinds of people were streaming in and out of it.
“Do my veins look darker to you? I…I think my blood is turning black!” Rosa squished the skin around on her arm, poking at her veins. “They look fine. You’re imagining things again.”
His face was just as handsome as the day she said, “I do.” She touched his neatly pressed tuxedo, noting where the white carnation had been pinned with care by his elderly mother.
History remembers the victors: the men and women who rose up and shaped the world. The rebels, the conquerors, the winners. It doesn’t mention the losers.
We mourn because the world is broken. The deserts and the forests, all cracked, fissured in the fixture, a vessel split and leaking blood and oil into the water, the air, the soil, the valleys, the heights.
You could say I’m sad: Sad for all the friends I could have made, All the wonders I could have felt. Sad for all the smiles I could have seen, All the days I could have loved.
You think that you can knock me down Cut my flesh and break my bones. Bury me into the ground Left to rot under your feet.
One for the wicked and heinous king Two for his vile, cold-hearted queen