I held the blade in my hand as I stood in the slowly dimming bathroom. I stared at my palm that contained this relatively small but circumstantially significant object. The isolating stares of classmates and the teasing I'd had to endure for the past few years had driven me to this. I began to fill up the tub and I was shaking, and I almost dared
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- my friend Robert, in Grade 6, one day at the sand pit.
After that day the sand would stick to my legs no more. The legs were smooth after that. Oh yes they were.
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Oh, and your writing vs. mine (He still wanted to kick himself for not letting Taylor lock the door when little Ned ventured out into the freak lightning storm. “He’s happy,” cooed Taylor, staring out the window at the frolicking overalled boy with a quiet contempt burning in his eyes. “Why should we deprive him of that?”)?
No contest. I bow to thee, Roney.
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