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The Story of Tifa Lockheart</i>
A glimpse into the Past, # 2.
By all accounts, she was a lucky girl. She had a father who was well off enough to give her anything she wanted, a mother who was loved by the whole town, almost the whole town who idolised her, with all this and probably more most people would think that made her spoilt, but she was an almost perfect girl-if she allowed a tiny bit of arrogance into her life every once in a while, she was usually a sweet, well mannered little girl.
Tifa Lockheart, daughter of Lena and Jack Lockheart was the talk of the town she lived in, a small place called Nibelheim. Everyone had always said that Tifas mother, Lena Dehernhee-a descendent of travellers who had settled in the town many years ago-was the most beautiful young woman to have lived in the town for a many sum of years. People talked about Tifa because she was the spitting image of her mother-if slightly different in the colour o
COTW_Cloud-Strife Chapter 8CHAPTER 8
Madness and Ashes
TWO YEARS LATER
The time was around ten, Zack was wandering around the Slums of Sector Five he had to find his friend. With the events of a year ago, well the pain of it all had changed him slightly. He was still the same man, but he had grown up somewhat since the whole affair around Genesis.
Thinking back, with Avalanche now in virtual ruin thanks to the Turks, Zack couldnt think it a more fitting punishment for what happened to Cloud.
He had found him just leaving the compound, his bag over his shoulder and a forlorn expression on his face, if the knowledge the Jerikson had been a member of Avalanche secretly planted in the program and had tricked Cloud into getting hi
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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