No, it's not eleven o'clock; but I couldn't get on then. In fact, I wasn't going to post this until Sunday, but here you go:

A Day For Remembering:
Nachzes Black-Rider

He could see the blood; the fist-sized clods of dirt exploding up from the ground. Could taste the rancid air, feel the terror, smell the blood and the rotting dead and the filth from the trenches.

The sharp scent of gunpowder came firs, followed by the ear-splitting BOOM!, and the endless ringing in his ears.


He vomited, wiping the residue away with a trembling hand. Scrambling to his feet, gun clenched painfully tightly in his hand, he stepped forward, only to stumble over the body of his dead comrade. Stifling a cry, his rifle fell to the dirt with a muffled clatter, and he back-pedalled quickly, feeling panicked. He could hear his heart pumping wildly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears….


"In Flanders' Fields the poppies blow
Upon the crosses, row on row
That mark our place, and in the skies:
The lark, still bravely singing, flies
Scarce heard amidst the guns below

"We are the dead—short days ago,
We lived; felt dawn; saw sunset glow
Loved and were loved
And now we lie in Flanders' Fields

"Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands we throw
The torch!—be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, although we lie in Flanders' Fields"
--John McCrae

November 11

In his office, Seto Kaiba dutifully bent his head for two minutes of silence, blocking out the sounds of other people's goings-on.

And the poppy in the crystal vase on his desk seemed to stand a little straighter.