Okay so Lexi makes a life-like robot of Maya but back when she was Brute and has a remote controller so she can essentially play as herself and for a while, it makes her feel better. But then as she watches the robot play, she realizes that it's really just sad: She's sitting in pity watching what used to be her in all her glory and trying to recreate the moment.
The one thing that Maya struggles with is that one day she will get her strength back but...it's been 4 years with no improvements or break throughs for her condition. At least she has a sweet little brother to make things a bit bearable for her.
"You know...I still think you're great."
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Wrecker hardly moved. it was strange to see such a gentle giant out of energy. The man was exhausted, worn out, and in pain. It was a pain that he didn’t share with the others. No need for them to worry about him than they already have been. If he didn’t save Hunter he wouldn’t be in this situation. Worse than that, If he didn’t save Hunter, they would have lost a brother.
The right choice was made in his mind.
A hiss as the door opened, Wrecker not turning around to face the person. He knew it was one of the others, which one, he couldn’t tell just yet. He kept himself focused on the memory, the surge of white hot on his face, the strength that it took to pull him and Hunter back up and ignore the heat on his face.
Wrecker physically winced, “ I told ya, I’m not very hungry- ” voice was quick to stop as soon as he laid eye on the other behind him. Hunter.
“ Oh... ” he paused for a second, “ Do ya need my hand for somethin’? ”
I am so, SO happy that I had no idea that the CúNobu’s... are just Cu’s VA going ‘nobu NOBU!’ in various goofy voices
I am OFFICIALLY deceased, goodbye my friends, I can no longer function, I’m in TEARS of MIRTH....
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The Happiest Day
by Linda Pastan
It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn’t believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn’t even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day—
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere—
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
Perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.
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