Zoi's Window

History repeats itself - it was nineteen seventy three In the jungles of Vietnam that Agent Orange wrecked trees. Now the agents of orange once more overshadow green In one of the biggest upsets the Union has ever seen. Entire countries were written off maps, Prompting complaints their states would collapse. Poor fools - the map was to go into enemy hands And only absence would guarantee the safety of their lands. Unsatisfied with shooting themselves in the foot, Those righteous men in their crucified suits Invited the devil himself to write The rules by which he would be allowed to fight. And if that irony were not enough, The orange decided to get dirty and rough - They built a hall leading to an arena on the right, A repetition of where gladiators would fight. Life became fiction as threats were thrown, Discord and rivalry in sour ties were sown. Ultimately the table of discussion proved to be too long For a handshake in the middle and an admittance of wrong. Alas! The one carpenter...

James felt rather than saw Mike catch up to him. He moved to the right of the bike path so the two friends could cycle side-by-side without much problem. “What’s on your mind?” James sighed. He did not have to turn to Mike to know the latter was looking at him with those intuitive sharp blue eyes. James knew the expression all too well – Mike’s eyes would be narrowed; there would be a small furrow between his brows. If it were anyone else, James would probably be afraid of their bike swerving off-road, but not Mike’s. Mike could drive from his room to the campus with his eyes closed and no accident. That was just who Mike was. Making something up did not even cross James’s mind. He knew Mike could read him as well as he could read Mike, perhaps even better. Any lie would immediately be called out. Plus, he did not have the energy. “Death never looked more beautiful,” James replied, nodding to the trees that lined the opposite bike path, their leaves in different shades of yello...