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Rumeth - Let The Apocalypse Begin! - Page 2 Neon called out from a little ways behind the group, “Hey guys, come and look at this!”
“Come on Neon!” John yelled, “We’re tired of looking at shit on the walls!”
“But this time it’s important!”
John let out an exasperated sigh and walked back to where Neon was reading something painted on the walls in bright green letters. “What is it this time, Neon?”
Neon pointed at the letter and said, “Read it!”
John looked over at the note left on the wall, it read:
Anyone that can read this; get to Pakka Elementary School for evacuation.
“Oh come on, for once you had something important to tell us?” John said as he read the note left by Burakku Miru, the military, on the wall.
Rumeth - Let The Apocalypse Begin! - Page 1One month later…
It was nighttime, the cold air chilled the world around the four lone people sitting on a rooftop. Three moons shone brightly above them, in the center of the sky, indicating it was around midnight.
A loud bang interrupted the silence, a tall man in black and red was peering through a sniper rifle down into the streets below. Bang. Bang. Bang.
A young boy in a tie dye hoodie was rambling quietly with the man next to him. The man next to him wore a blue jacket and a red bow tie, he didn't appear to be paying any attention to the boy. He then blew out a puff of smoke from his cigarette, glanced at the boy, and then continued to ignore him.
The last person, a girl with a ponytail, stood up. She brushed some dust off of her clothes before glancing at the guy with the sniper rifle. “Zaid, we should keep moving. The infected might
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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