I Started Writing Seriously When I Was

I'm Telling You That You Got Your Facts Wrong. I Didn't Kill Your Brother. But You Killed My Mother. You Might As Well Have Held The Gun To Her Head!

When You Stand Out There," John Continues In A Hoarse Voice, "keep Your Chin Up, All Right? Don't Let Them Get To You." "i Won't." "make Them Work For It. Punch Someone If You Have To." John Gives Me A Sad, Crooked Smile. "you're A Scary Kid. So Scare Them. Okay? All The Way Until The End." For The First Time In A Long Time, I Feel Like A Little Brother. I Have To Swallow Hard To Keep My Eyes Dry. "okay," I Whisper.

Then He Crouches Down Behind It, Motions For Tess And Me To Sit Down, And Begins Unbuttoning His Vest. I Blush Scarlet And Thank Every God In The World For The Darkness Surrounding Us. “i’m Not Cold And I’m Not Bleeding,” I Say To Him. “keep Your Clothes On.” The Boy Looks At Me. I Would’ve Expected His Bright Eyes To Look Dimmer In The Night, But Instead They Seem To Reflect The Light Coming From The Windows Above Us. He’s Amused. “who Said Anything About You , Sweetheart?

I Started Writing Seriously When I Was A Teenager, Around 14 Years Old.

Clouds Suit My Mood Just Fine.