ceepetite
The soldiers of the Scouting Legion have no time to celebrate. Every victory is met with tired enthusiasm, tainted with the grief of the hundreds of men and women who have fallen.
Friday was the mothering one. It was unusual because the oldest child was supposed to be the mothering one, but Gwen was anything but. Gwen was a flame too hot to the touch and if you tested her, you would burn.
Friday was sweet like maple syrup, and warm too.
Edward loves his two sisters, different though they were.
It's funny how many details we miss, how many we could notice if we would only squint.
Just when I think I've got you figured out, you blow my mind once again.
Levi does not pray. He does not pray, he does not pray, he does not pray. He does not believe in a God or in Heaven. Doesn't want to think that humans are meant for something greater than simply living and dying like ashes turned to dust.
But in the smallest confines of his mind, he wishes for there to be a God, for Heaven to exist. He quietly, bitterly wishes.
(Because the thought of Petra thriving in a peaceful world that had never been touched by blood and knives was better than the thought of Petra simply being gone forever, after all.)
Trevor Lee and Gwen Vale are the slickest duo in the country.
Gwen is willing to bet her entire fortune on it. Trevor wore collared shirts and sleek ties and Gucci suits over dress pants and leather shoes. She, on the other hand, strode across the city in blazers and pencil skirts and a pair of not-totally-uncomfortable click-clack heels. You would never find either with single hair out of place.
Then one Sunday morning, Gwen rolled over in a bed that was not hers and was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Trevor Lee. His inky black hair stuck out in different directions and some drool had dried out in the left corner of his mouth. His trademark frown was gone from his face. Instead, his facial muscles were relaxed, giving him an oddly boyish look.
This Trevor was a rare sight and she thought it immeasurably endearing.
Black and white.
White and black.
It didn't matter what the past looked like in the photos. Her parents' faces stared sullenly from the cracked paper. There was joy in their eyes -- the kind of joy that made Gwen wonder if something funny had happened just before the photo was taken. Or if they were simply as happy as Eileen with a cigarette in her hand.
There was her mother, beaming, lips turned upward in the shape of a crescent moon. And her father, very much alive and thriving and so incredibly young.
In the corner of the room, Levi plugged in the record player and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filled the room.
Def. The act or process of sending a message from one location to another.
Radio waves fly through the night sky, invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
He could hear the voices of angry men from the box inside the house, could hear hope and despair and fury flush against his eardrum. The radio waves brought them from God knows where.
Words, too, were invisible and intangible. But not unreal.
Hans Vielhaber was an efficient man.
He was straight to the point in his correspondence. No silly words no flattery. Just blunt, precise strokes of his pen.
He spoke rarely, but eloquently. Quite unlike the timid man who stumbled over his words as though they were stones, but not unlike a wise old sage who was well beyond his years.
Hans was well beyond his years. Leah wasn't.
Leah was pure and golden and the sun radiating a thousand times. She was serious, but passionate. Critical and abrupt. Intelligent and everything Hans wasn't.
Leah could outshine him in any situation. She could radiate the light of the entire universe.
She was the least efficient being in Hans' life.