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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac

the death of hope

Happiness is fickle. It chooses its host as if it were a choice made. The rubble of Midgar smells of burnt astatine and charred rubber. The stench of gunpowder and arsenic lingers in the air. What had happened to Midgar? Where is Zack? Its all gone. Sephiroth did this, said a child. It cannot be him. He was the best soldier there was. He was the kindest of them all. It cannot be. It just cannot be. A motionless Zach laid on the edge of the cliff looking down at Midgar, the light of Zach's eyes stolen by a merciless rogue whose long sword pierced cleanly into the right of Zach's chest. Whether or not Cloud ever found Zach, it remained a mystery. Just as how Cloud went about in the years of his adolescence after the haunting tragedies of his young life. He woke up in a Church. He looked at the cross that had lost its lush brown shade. It's solemn surrounding seemed to mourn for the loss of a once beautiful city. He felt a piercing pain in his head. "I want to forget it all. I want to forget it all. I cannot stand the pain. The broken pieces of precious memories seem to pierce through my chest, lashing out on my already aching heart, turning it to stone with everything familiar becoming lost in a whirl." His left shoulder hurt as if dislocated in a struggle. He didn't care enough to take a glance at it. The broken soul faded in and out of consciousness, his memories seemed to be ignored and isolated in a forgotten place to enable his denial. Perhaps, Cloud had forgotten about it all.

#Personalblog #2008

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