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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 through
The 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.
Haikus from a nostalgic stroll
The mist exhaled by the lake,
When the bloody moon appeared in the sky,
La brume expirée par le lac,
Quand la lune de sang est apparue dans le ciel,
Even this old oak would like to wipe
Your drops of tears
Printemps en fleur
Même ce vieux chêne aimerait essuyer
Vos gouttes de larmes
In the absence of my wife,
My heart still beats for this young sake saleswoman
Lying on plum red leaves
En l'absence de ma femme,
Mon coeur bat encore pour cette jeune vendeuse de saké
Couché sur les feuilles rouges de prunier
MuramasaI am tempered steel
Beaten, forged and sharpened
Becoming the sword
Let none dare hinder my path
Cut down they shall suffer wrath.
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