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Outcast-Chapter ThreeWarm scents flooded around Outcast. The scent of prey wafted through the air. Outcast shot his eyes open, finding himself lying in a lonely clearing. This is not where I was! Outcast thought wildly. His gaze darted around from each tree, all dull and chipped. Sunlight pour through the treetops and dappled the ground. Outcast had no idea where he was. Was this some sort of...Dream?
Outcast soon sensed the presence of another cat nearby. He shook his long matted pelt, tensing his muscles for whatever came to him.
Soon, a sleek white she-cat bursted out of the trees. The trees suddenly seemed renewed, as if they were never touched.
Outcast gaped his mouth at the sight around him, barely realising the she-cat standing infront of him.
She reached her nose to touch his, making his pelt bristle in alarm.
"Greetings, " The she-cat spoke calmly, " I am Newlife."
Outcast stared at her in confusion, " Where am I..Why am I here..?" He asked.
The she-cat simply blinked her brilliant blue eye
RealityEverything has gone wrong,
Nothing is the same.
Everyone tells me that the path is clear,
But why does it seem so far away.
I'm lost in my dreams,
Clouded by the thoughts that I hear.
I don't want this any more.
Send me back to reality.
Many thoughts run through my head,
Playing over and over again.
Like repeating time,
It's just so unreal,
But it seems just fine that way.
Maybe if I forgot the past,
I wouldn't feel this way.
Though, It's impossible
To throw away
The things that you've already done.
To wake up from this dream-
I rather not.
To face the world-
I rather not.
To forget the past-
I rather not.
To go back to reality-
I might as well.
This is the path I chose to take,
No more turning back.
Time to go our seperate ways,
Rather than the same path.
I know you wish to say farewell,
But we just can't.
Send me home
To my reality.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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