February 9
Sirens. I could hear sirens.
Booming outside of my window.
When I peeked at them, I noticed they were wrestling a man into the car.
An ambulance was there too.
Carrying a boy.
He was beaten and bloody, not moving.
Mom was crying.
Sobbing.
“Oh God.”
She kept pleading.
Begging with this spiritual being.
“Mommy?”
I grabbed her warm hand.
I consoled her.
At three years old.
Terrified.
I was there.
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Dear Journal
Teen FictionMegan Hawthorne is a teenage girl with many troubles. Her therapist suggests writing in a journal as a means of finding herself and getting to the root of her seemingly random anxiety attacks. While she begins to explore her problems, she finds out...
