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Clock: Chapter 03
As morning came, the duo I watch was awoken by the sounds of a city slowly coming back to life after a brief stint of silence during the night. Curfews now lifted, people started opening their stores, filling the streets, and as the noise of the throng grew, it echoed across the tall buildings, building into some dissonant song.
Gale was not used to such chaos, and found it impossible to linger in her dreams. Her home rested in a neighborhood among what was left of the countryside, and the only sounds she ever heard as shed slowly climb to wakefulness, were that of the birds starting to flock to her garden. Peaceful songs, tranquility, and often the noise of her mother cooking breakfast, it painted a wonderful melody, where the city only seemed to exist in a constant state of devouring itself, noise upon noise upon noise
By horse drawn taxi they traveled at first, through the downtrodden slums, where no real form of control has ever been established. The people that propaga
Clock: Chapter 02
Havoc, for all that he leaves in his wake, is a very cautious person. Hidden rooms, dark alleyways, and all that cloak and dagger nonsense that so many people associate with a rebellion, he was far more subtle than any of that tripe. He did not lead the little bird to any dank and hidden fortress; they merely trotted a few blocks and went to his apartment complex.
As she sat there, she could not help but to acknowledge that for a man named after destruction, he kept things very orderly and clean.
They sat for tea, and Ms. Winston started to wonder more and more if Havoc was just stringing her along, and had little intention on aiding her in her goal.
So what you go and bomb today? Shes really far too pushy for her own good. No wonder no man would take her. It even you that did the bombing? Man told me youre the only one around here running things.
Oh, I assure you it was by my hand that such a thing was orchestrated. He smiles that toothl
Clock: Chapter 01
The ringing of explosions resounded across the streets like some horrible song. Ears deafened, some only heard the muddled cries of children and women screaming in the wake of the bombing. Officers of order snuck in quickly, trying to force calm on the public once again. As everyone asked for answers, the cold faces that bore only masks and armor gave no reply.
Who could do such a thing? they asked Who would bomb a school?
I whisper to myself words of humor; a smile grows wide on what I only judge as a perception of a face. Turning my gaze elsewhere, I know who has done this, and why. Motivation, such a fickle word some seem like theyll never find it for any reason, and others are motivated by the wrong thing, or for the wrong reasons. Such is why Ive turned my sights onto the fidgety little songbird, and the raven
Her garden is empty; she has not tended to it in days. The bird feeders lay scattered on the floor, and the plants star
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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