You Don't Know What Goes On In

As A Writer, My Only Responsibility Is To Tell A Compelling Story.

Stories About Sensitive Issues Like Sex, Drugs Or Sexual Assault, Suicide And Teen Drinking, Are Often Censored Because People Just Don't Want To Talk About Those Things. It's Not That These Things Don't Happen, But When They're Shared In A Fictional Setting, For Some Reason They Make Some People Uncomfortable.

I Swear, Guys In Groups Are Capable Of The Stupidest Things." "like War," Kellan Says, Heaping Napkins And Ketchup Packets Onto Her Tray. "and Jumping Off Rooftops." "and Lighting Their Farts On Fire," She Says.

Like Driving Along A Bumpy Road And Losing Control Of The Steering Wheel, Tossing You—just A Tad—off The Road. The Wheels Kick Up Some Dirt, But You're Able To Pull It Back. Yet No Matter How Hard You Try To Drive Straight, Something Keeps Jerking You To The Side. You Have So Little Control Over Anything Anymore. And At Some Point, The Struggle Becomes Too Much—too Tiring—and You Consider Letting Go. Allowing Tragedy... Or Whatever... To Happen.

I Want To Look Back. To Look Over My Shoulder And See The Stop Sign With Huge Reflective Letters, Pleading With Hannah. Stop!