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Finding Love Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Soothing the Pain
Nepeta stared out the window of her room at Gamzee's. She hadn't spoken since a month ago. Since she lost her baby. She put her hand on her stomach and mouthed, "I'm so sorry."
Gamzee stood outside her bedroom door watched Nepeta. He let a tear fall down his face in sadness. She should have never had to face something like this. That girl cared for all those around her.
He smiled sadly. What could he do to help her? He thought about it. Smiling he called into Nepeta's room, "Hey Nep I'll be back in a few kay?"
She turned to him and nodded then back to the window. He dashed into his room. He grabbed his wallet, keys, and jacket. Then off he went.
Nepeta was humming with the bird outside her window when Gamzee pulled up in his car. She saw him get out with a kennel. Curious, she headed downstairs to meet him in the living room.
Gamzee smiled when he saw her. He set the kennel on the table and reached inside. When he turned around Nepeta saw the beautif
What's It Worth?
What is happiness worth?
What is life worth?
What is friendship worth?
What is love worth?
Can anyone really put a price on things?
All I know is what I learn as life goes on.
I feel like life isn't worth living anymore.
People I cherished are dropping me like I'm a hot pan.
I miss those who I cherish and I wonder.
I wonder if whoever is in charge of destiny or whatever.
I wonder if it makes them happy to see people die because of what they do?
My life almost ended a few years ago.
The bottle was in my hand when the phone rang.
It was my best friend who called.
Because of her I'm still alive.
I hope she knows how grateful I am.
She won't talk with me now I guess.
The person who was my support doesn't want anything to do with me, from what I understand.
I feel the pain of being back stabbed to this day.
Do people intentionally do this?
Do they want to kill someone?
How would you feel?
It hurts I know.
Life gets better.
Life gets worse.
You have to make it that way.
You're not a toy or s
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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