Semi-True Stories Pt. V

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

In the middle of our second trilogy- something always meant to be superfluous- I felt you building me up for the rush of putting me down. Puppet masters of my hereafter told me there was no glory in life, only a patriotic death (this said by men who would never risk their own lives).

And so we went
to war again with
phobias that have
consoled us
so long.

When the child removed the key from the twisted hold it would forever have on her soul, it unleashed a cataclysm of undead we kept locked inside our heads. Their rotting feet and peeling flesh invited themselves in, red irises sneering on our doorstep. When she breathed the black smoke clawing its way from behind the keyhole, it foretold she would be the only one with the power to pull

such evil back from its whetted tongue.

As the walls that protected
us plunge a
thousand feet,
she returns to
the cobblestone streets of
her youth,

a warrior
in waiting.

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