in the poetic mood.

{as in, I just wrote some elaborate poem thing for English homework, so I wanted to write something fun...}


Disclaimer: I don't own SnK because now Wednesdays are not free, nor are they for the team, and what is the point of Saturdays now and don't tell me the point is that there are no more pointless deaths because us SnK fans will talk you in circles and circles and- ooh is that Hanji wheeeee.

/guh need sleep

Three Warriors

xxx. wanderer .xxx

Wanderer, wanderer, lurking in the night.

Close all your windows and don't put up a fight.

Where is your family, oh wanderer of woes?

Watch where you put your feet; they'll step on your toes.

Murderer, murderer, leaping through the trees,

Close your heart and laugh away, just do as you please.

Where is your beloved, oh murderer of sin?

Watch where you put your knife; sunken in the heart of kin.

Ponderer, ponderer, thinking through the lives,

Open all your windows and simply count to five.

Where has your mind gone, oh ponderer of earth?

Watch where you put your faith; cries of unforgiving mirth.

Malingerer, malingerer, lying through the truth,

Open all the spider webs and dangle there aloof.

Where has your honesty gone, oh malingerer of lies?

Watch where you put your tongue; the bird of hope will die.

Warrior, warrior, bathing in the day,

Search for that elusive glory and bathe in bloody rays.

Where has your memory gone, oh warrior of truth?

Watch where you put your love; the misguided soldier's youth.

He awoke with a start, lungs burning as if he'd run a thousand miles in his sleep. In his fist, the crumpled piece of paper and its blurred pen ink. It was a page he'd read a while ago — had it been a year? Almost two? — from Reiner's notebook. Notebook would have been an exaggeration. The collection of ragged, torn sheets stolen from one classroom or the other sufficed as a journal of poetry for the broad-shouldered blond.

Bertholdt crawled out of bed and immediately regretted his decision. Winter bit harshly on their third year, relentlessly sending snowstorms up from what used to be Shiganshina. Nonetheless, the tall, stoic trainee slipped into his uniform, the belts stiffened with the cold. He tucked the paper into his left pocket and fastened the buckle that strapped across his chest. The leather was unforgiving in the blizzard's icy grip on weather.

Still short of breath, he padded outside, boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow. Each step was slow and excruciating; he felt as if each limb consisted of a thousand boulders, joints grating against each other like the plates of the earth. The light fall of snow dusted his shoulders with a layer of cold, wet powdered sugar.

He trudged to the dining hall, strides falling into an obligatory sort of rhythm.

When no one can see, Bertholdt pulled the paper from his left pocket and smoothed it out. Very cautiously, he glanced over its words with a regretful smile. Did Reiner ever notice that it had been slipped out of his raggedy assortment of papers? It was, in Bertholdt's opinion, the most powerful of all Reiner's experimental writings.

He knelt by the same spot Reiner had occupied just moments before, and scratched at the dirt until he felt parchment beneath his calloused fingertips. The wind snapped bitterly at his exposed neck — he intended to retreat inside as soon as possible — but he couldn't help staring at the folded paper one last time.

He shoved the sheet out of sight, hastily refilling the ominous paper grave with soil. Once it was inconspicuous and blended with its dry, gloomy surroundings, Bertholdt whipped around and ran back to the dorm.

Just outside, a majority of the trainees had abandoned whatever class was designated, and were constructing forts of snow. Several peeked over the white-packed walls to hurtle snowballs across the battlefield.

A pair of familiar, strong hands pushed Bertholdt to the side.

When he crashed down onto someone's wall, crushing it beneath his shoulder blades, Bertholdt wasn't sure whether he wanted to grimace or to smile at the soldier smiling down at him.


*needs to stop watch Gintama and do homework asdhasjdfh*

high score on BC Calc quiz + smiley face from teacher on paper = ACHIEVEMENT.


whoo I feel special.