A Burial of Memories: Prologue In a large, conical classroom, a teacher discussed strategics with his students. They were all a part of the Gannean military, though many of them would never fight in a battle. Yet still they sat, listening to the lecture with swords and lances and bows beside them. They all had been trained to use them, but some of them would never wish to. One of the students near the back drooped his head down and snored lightly, succumbing to sleep. A sharp jab hit him between his ribs. With a sudden inhale, Seth's snoring stopped, and his head popped up. The teacher continued his lecture as Seth looked over at Ruth, the student next to him. She mouthed the words "stay awake" to him, back to writing down notes. Seth picked up his own pen and tried to continue his own notes. There was a row of large scribbles from when he had fallen asleep, and beneath them, barely legible writing. He wondered what he had missed during his nap. Zachary Slone, the teacher, w
Steak SandwichA taste of red leaps and bounds all over the place, flashes of gold splash around.The waitress's words feel soft as wool as she asks,"Does everything taste all right?"It does, but it's not that simple.Beef gets torn apart with every bite,Chewed through, crunched throughThe fried onions are spiky, and jab at my tongue while making crackling sounds under the pressure of teeth.The bread is rough and tough, all of the softness toasted out of it.There's too much else going on here for one to just taste their food.
Yaguarjungle undergrowthmottled shadows slinklithe and lethal
Forlorn greying skylast of the leavesflap on the tree
*Lemon Grove*Bitter Sweet momentZest in a cool glass tumblerFruit from lemon grove.Delice194123.11.14
*Apiary*Silent winter waitSustained by summer honeySweet activity.Delice194122.11.14
Dogiescalving pasturecows and new offspringslog through cold mud
Wavy leaf-littered yardscurrying squirrel crossesserpentine tail follows
Pine Breeze bathed in soft sunlightthe bitter cold fades away a pine breeze sings
Snowflakes are Santa's dandruff.We jumped on the sled.Ice covering the meadow.Youth is our fireplace.
Withered bent by the windpurple from burning cold withered rose
British PetroleumWaves turn sand to mudOil washed away like darknessThat sad, long lost mess