So my Literature Teacher has me writing short stories for no credit. One of my storys (and i plan to have this continued thought rather or not i'll use the names of who i was thinking of when i wrote this, i havent decided
but i'll probably update every friday
"You only learn how to live when you learn to die." These were the last words that were etched into the journal of the man whose coffin I now stand over. His raven hair sways from the breeze of the wind and his once brown eyes have faded out of focus and glossified. The color in his cheeks has left leaving nothing but pale skin as those someone had thrown an entire bucket of ice water upon him. Shooting out of his right shoulder is a white wing, a wing of an angel, that spans about six meters. At one of my final encounters with this man, he had told me that a monsters objective was usually world domination or revenge. As i look at him now, i realize that he had been talking about the degrading and the addition of the wings to his body. " Those aren't the wings of a monster, they're the wings of an angel. Soldier does not mean monster."
but i'll probably update every friday
"You only learn how to live when you learn to die." These were the last words that were etched into the journal of the man whose coffin I now stand over. His raven hair sways from the breeze of the wind and his once brown eyes have faded out of focus and glossified. The color in his cheeks has left leaving nothing but pale skin as those someone had thrown an entire bucket of ice water upon him. Shooting out of his right shoulder is a white wing, a wing of an angel, that spans about six meters. At one of my final encounters with this man, he had told me that a monsters objective was usually world domination or revenge. As i look at him now, i realize that he had been talking about the degrading and the addition of the wings to his body. " Those aren't the wings of a monster, they're the wings of an angel. Soldier does not mean monster."