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War!A word simply said by a lip, not more than air with movement one should think, but what is it really?
A young pony, fire Eclypzia, was to find this out, and this is where her story begins.
Synthia, the mother of the young foal, turned around, facing her lil' daughter. 'Life will change. I just got a letter, we are in war.' she said, with a tear running from her eye. 'What is war?', the young filly asked, not knowing what the meaning of the word was.
'War', the mother spoke, 'is ... Um... Fighting. Trying to hurt the other as much as possible. 'I don't want to hurt', the lil' filly spoke, looking at her mom with large eyes. In that moment, a young colt, dressed in a dirty, black covered uniform galloped through the door. He had just opened it. 'All, into the cellars!' , he yelled, then disappeared again on his way to the next house. The cellar was exciting. It was a great place to play. The many barrels were perfect for hide and seek, but mom didn't look like she was in the mood to pla
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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