In your defense, nobody ever said you were a hero.


drabbleWhen it rained, you could see the end of the world.drabble
As the dust settled you could see for miles, our land was flat and covered in yellow green crayon wrapper grass shoots, interrupted solely by suburban new growth houses in alternating pastels. During dry spells you could hardly see four feet in front of you, as the wind pulled up centuries old walkways and uprooted your neighbors plants with ease. But on the days it rained, no, you could see the end of the world.
When it came, it wasnt as if we stopped what we were doing and ran outside, these moments happened in between breakfasts and class periods. No one dr


zeroes. prologue-2.Grass was never really green: it was cracked or muddy, wet while it formed yellow green crayon wrappers fields with occasional brown spots where kids had kicked doomed sprouts to Kansas dust. Under spotlights it was blotchy, but looked as if we were staring at a three year old on sugar rushs picture of a tree. Our football field had sprayed on white lines and paint peeled field goal spires. Our bleachers were wooden and splintered, but we were proud. Gold and burgundy uniforms were worn almost religiously, handed off to mothers who screamed when you tracked practice mud inside, or girlfriends with matching cheerlzeroes. prologue-2.


zeroes. prologue-1. My parents were not the type of people that bred thinkers or revolutionaries. They were the kind of people my neighbors would call mister and misses; people who celebrated my birthdays in backyards with matching table kitchenware sets and pitchers of homemade lemonade. They had no stories of horrible childhoods, only history lessons in dining rooms on Sundays. While speaking of relatives from Ellis Island and long lines of farmers whod moved all the way from New York City to Bermuda, just to make a new life for themselves, my parents did not make me a rebel. They dizeroes. prologue-1.


zeroes. introduction.At seventeen you sit in the back of your remedial English class and learn youre going to write a memoir. Of course you panic, your life isnt interesting enough to write half a page on, let alone ten. Your protests and cries are mimicked by twenty other teenagers in the back of the classroom, and but your teacher takes a silent and forceful approach. She insists, rather angrily, that this assignment is due in two weeks, the Friday before your best friends senior football game. The packet never makes it past your locker. You intend completely to write it on Thursday night.zeroes. introduction.
Then again, theres always that thin
| he is a violinist. im going to marry him. |
THANX FOUR TEH FAVEZ.
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they burned his horses
now i know i dont even ask, i KNOW your looking forward to school ;]
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"lets take a walk, one foot in front of the other, through leaves, over bridges."
im so looking forward to three hours of homework.
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they burned his horses
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"lets take a walk, one foot in front of the other, through leaves, over bridges."
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