It portrays

the noble act

of throwing people out a window

if you were to google it

you would find a historic event

named after it

What's in the word?

War.

World Anger without Retribution.

No matter how many fights you get into, is there any point to it all?

You'd be so much better off learning from them instead of screaming in their face.

Sure, they have issues too...But everyone is flawed.

Try to see another point of view.

For the arts hold no boundries, and our only borders are our Understanding.

I cut out every article about it (there were seven)

It was in economics, tech, stocks, and took up the entire international section.

I heard it's in Washington (I have family there oh god I have family there)

It's everywhere

The kids at school joke about it

I never dare join in

I am panicked, worked into a frenzy

I am unfeeling, a passive observer

one thing is for certain

no one can ignore it

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Am I cool now?

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Okay bye

Well dang.

I'm scared.

What will happen?

I'm paranoid.

I heard it came to the U.S.

Will I get it?

Will all of my loved ones die one bye one?

How will I know?

Will I cry?

Yes.

What are the symptoms?

Do the people around me have it?

Am I going to die?

Is this the new plague?

Is the plague going to come back as well?

We are all going to die

I

The day I died was just an average day.

I remember waking up with the morning sun shining through my bedroom window. I remember how it warmed my back as I got dressed. I even remember stopping for a second, and thinking: ‘Maybe - just maybe - today will be different. Maybe today will be a good day.’ In my heart I knew it wouldn’t be, though.

I grabbed my backpack, and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast was the same as always: quietly sitting across from Dad without a single word or a ‘Good morning’ being said. I went to the sink, washed my bowl, and grabbed the lunch money off the counter. I remember pausing and turning around a little at the door, hoping for a ‘Have a good day’ - even a wave or smile - but like every other day, it was not to be found.

Oh well, I guess it’s just an average day.

II

I remember waiting for the bus, and the lump in my throat as I saw the bus coming down the road. I knew I would be sitting all alone as I did every day before. As we stopped at each of the kids’ homes, I knew none of them would say ‘Hi’ to me as they walked past me, going to their seat. I remember them all laughing happily behind me.

Oh well, I guess it’s just an average day.

III

In school it was no different. It felt just like so many days before. Running from class to class trying to hide from a couple of bullies that didn’t like me, for some reason I never could figure out.

My luck ran out late in the morning that day. I saw HIM in the hallway waiting for me. I remember thinking: ‘What will it be today? A punch, slap, or kick; spit in my face; or just belittling me with hurtful words.’

As I headed to what had been my life for a couple of years now, something in me snapped, as I thought: ‘Not today.’

As I got closer to him, I heard him say: ‘Come here, and get what you deserve.’ Then he reached out to grab me. I jumped forward, and pushed him as hard as I could; and he fell to the floor, hitting his head on the lockers. I ran to class as fast as I could, and never looked back. I remember sitting in class feeling really good, I even smiled for the first time that day.

I thought: ’Now that I finally stood up for myself maybe - please God - maybe they will leave me alone. Maybe we can even be friends - wow, that would make me so happy...

‘Maybe this will be a better than average day.’

IV

Lunch was usually my most favorite time of the day. I really enjoyed sitting and talking with the couple of friends that I did have. I found out from them that word of what I did was going around the school. I finished most of my cheeseburger, and said to my friends that I’d be right back.

‘I just need to go to the bathroom.’

As I stood at the urinal, I heard the door open. I looked around, and saw it was him. I let out a sigh, and thought: ‘Okay, let’s just get this over with. Whatever it will be - a slap, punch, or typical name-calling.’

As I turned around, I started to say: ‘I am sorry…’ - but he lunged forward, and thrust a knife deep into my stomach six times. I grabbed my stomach with both hands, and fell to the floor. The pain was so bad. As I laid there, trying to breath, all I could think was…

‘This is definitely not an average day.’

V

As I opened my eyes, I remember how confused I was.

I was looking down at myself - so strange, I had never been able to do that before. I was such a mess. Blood was everywhere, and coming out of all the holes in my stomach. I was angry because I saw he had put rips in my favorite shirt.

I could see teachers, policemen and firemen running all around. I wondered why they would not talk to me. I kept asking them questions, but they just kept ignoring me.

‘Oh well, at least it does not hurt anymore.’

Things went dark for a while. With a bump, I woke up in a very strange, cold room. Off in the distance, I could hear my Dad’s voice.

‘Help, Dad - help me, please - I am so cold, Dad.’

I saw Dad standing over me, crying and repeating my name over and over. I had never seen my Dad so broken.

‘What, Dad? What is wrong? I am right here, Dad - please answer me.’

He put his head on my chest and said: ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too, Dad - I love you too.’

Why can’t he hear me?

’Wait, stop - please stop - do not pull that sheet over my head. I am scared of the dark. I can’t be dead - I just can’t be - I’m only fourteen. Please, God, please - I’m sorry if I did something wrong. I promise I will be better. Please, God - please give me...

‘Just one more average day.’

***

A story about why we should never allow bullying.

Ethan

there was a kindergarten that i knew

in it there were children

they were special, when they flew

across the field, then they knew

they knew that they were different

they knew that they were strange

it was kind, it was sweet, it was every

thing i could possibly need

i went to this kindergarten

in the city of rockets

i wanted to fly

but instead

I died.

it's 3am and I can't sleep. I wish I could. All I can see is the failure. I see myself falling, only falling, and I see the rope. The rope that strangled him. The rope that strangled her. The rope that strangled everyone I loved. The rope in my hands. MY hands. Everyone I loved, gone, by my doing. The alarm clock is so loud. TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK. I materialize a rope. I start to tie a noose. I put my head through and tie the end of the rope to the hook on the wall, and step off of the bed. It's 3am. I can finally sleep.

I met him in 6th grade.

He managed to get on my nerves like no one else. Though he had wormed his way into my friend group through mutual friends, I didn’t really interact with him much.

It was only the next year that we really got to know each other.

I saw a boy alone.

I saw a boy cracked (even broken).

I took him in.

Sometimes, I wanted nothig more to walk away, and never have to deal with him again. But I didn’t.

And now, it’s finally payed off.

He’s learned.

He’s grown.

He’s become someone I’m proud to call a friend.

This must come off as incredibly self-centered, and it probably is. I don’t care. He needed help, and I helped him.

He wrote a post about me, on here. When I saw it, I wanted to cry. I’ve made an impact. And really, isn’t that the point of it all?