Mystrii

Death has three faces, Three faces that swell With fear and anger, But tranquility as well. The first of Death’s faces Do most fear most. It’s devilish gaze Pierces into its host. Fear overtakes us, When we stare into its eyes. But Death’s not skin-deep, No, it tells truths and lies. Death’s second face, We find ourselves facing When we’ve overcome fear And our minds are racing. Final thoughts, words, No, they mean nothing— Not when it's despair That Death is bluffing. We find that we kneel Where we wouldn’t have before. We drown in our thoughts That we have, that we swore. But not all is ever lost,

October 25, 2186.   This marks the beginning of my logs aboard the space-bound vessel La Gente Zonza. I am the captain of this ship under orders by the United Nations to venture to a planet under their control. On that planet, there is a company under control of the UN that has run into some sort of problem. I was given orders to relay the United Nations’ concern and offer my assistance. If it can help my fellow people, I will gladly do it. October 28, 2186. La Gente Zonza has run into some problems of her own. For now, my crew and I are trapped planet-side. The UN is looking into it, but out here in the middle of Russia, I fear we ma

The boy lived a normal life in suburbia. He woke up in the morning. His mother or father made him breakfast, depending on which one had already left for work. Once all was done and he was dressed and bathed, his teeth brushed, his hair combed, his shoes slipped on, he was taken into his parent’s car and driven off to be deposited at the preschool. There, he was subjected to learning basic shapes, some colors, mathematics, and such until he and his peers were put to sleep for a nap, and whenever he would sleep, he would dream. These were, however, daytime dreams, and thus were spritely, full of colors and beauty. In a word, they were pur

Preface -     History is written and told by the victors, and so it is often twisted to their views and morals. These views and morals do not belong to everyone, and therefore not everyone will benefit from history. If history were not written like this, however, there would be nothing to learn from, and therefore nothing new to teach. This would make war an objective event instead of a subjective one. This would make love emotionless and death would cease to be sorrowful. Indeed, history is written by the victors, but there is more than one victory in any struggle. The struggle between nations is often seen as the only one, but the struggl

Kuja stared into the pages of an old book, immersed in the story. It told of an ancient ruler of an ancient kingdom who bitterly punished his minions and his subordinates. He was so cruel in fact that none of his enemies would dare to face him in any combative situation. Once, when one of his enemies did face him with the intent of overthrowing the tyrant, the cruel king was said to have merely stared at his enemy and he was instantly transformed into an oglop. Legend had it that his descendants still lived today in royalty. Kuja smiled, and he read on. His spell was so powerful, that only the caster could rever— A soft knocking sound i

Parried. Ganondorf's attack was parried once again by Link, the brave warrior only trying to reclaim his childhood love and friend, Zelda. With the Triforce of Courage branded to his spirit, Link would be the one to silence his seemingly immortal enemy. Despite the fact that his foe had the Triforce of Power, Link would not be struck down. Ganondorf had tried to convince Link into giving up his Triforce shard, but the hero was smarter than that. Now, the two were locked in duel, the enemy using powerful magic and the hero using a powerful sword. Each shot was ricocheted back to its originator. Soon enough, Ganondorf fell to the ground, his s