avityfalia-536

Someone once said, "Seeing isn't believing, believing is seeing," and I have never doubted these words of wisdom. I don't think many are aware of this, other than children; they see the things that we adults can't . . . but there are a handful us that can see through the eyes of a child—like me.     I guess I haven't properly introduced myself: my name is Ashley Smith, eighteen-years-old. I live in Dyer Brook, Maine; it's a pretty small town with a population of about 200, but a very nice place nonetheless—especially during the wintertime. I like to believe that it's the fine work of Jack Frost.     I had just gotten out of Southern Aroos

News began spreading itself within the school; concerning about Fred and his expel from the school. It was because of his aggressive and crazy personalities, and his tendency to murder people without hesitation. The crazy American was to be sent to another school on Monday, and worst of all - it was all the way in another country. "He should be sent to the asylum instead!" You walked through the halls with endless chatters. You wanted to defend Fred, but you knew he wouldn't want you to do that for him. "Totally! He's a crazy murderer that should be sent for life sentence!" The girls walked off to their class at the sound of the next bell

It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. But it was happening. It was real. You watched through wide, clouded [e/c] eyes as people of all different races and ethnic groups ran for the nearest exits, some of them just barely touching one of the doors when a large piece of debris fell over their heads, effectively crushing them to death. As you watched all of this play out before you, the entirety of your small frame was shaking with fear, your heart pounding against your chest like the wings of a hummingbird. Screams of fear and outrage echoed into your ears as people pushed you aside in a desperate attempt to save not only

You were trapped. Kidnapped. Annexed. Taken over. There were thousands of words to describe your very situation. You starred down at your ankles, bare feet dusted in dirt, with sores around your ankles from the chains that had been placed there. Your upper body was no better, your arms were chained to the walls. The chains were long enough that your arms weren't suspended in the air. So, thankfully your arms could rest, you wish you could say the same about your wrists. The flesh was red and sore from the chains rubbing against it. Both the flesh of your ankles and wrists have became raw and extremely painful. You looked around your tiny pr