It Doesn't Take Skill To Stand In

Four Sits Down On The Edge Of The Carousel, Leaning Against A Plastic Horse's Foot. His Eyes Lift To The Sky, Where There Are No Stars, Only A Round Moon Peking Through A Thin Layer Of Clouds. The Muscles In His Arms Are Relaxed; His Hand Rests On The Back Of His Neck. He Looks Almost Comfortable, Holding That Gun To His Shoulder. I Close My Eyes Briefly. Why Does He Distract Me So Easily? I Need To Focus.

Just Because They Didn’t Shoot You All In The Head Doesn’t Mean Their Intentions Were Somehow Honorable. Why Do You Think They Came Here? Just To Run Through Your Hallways, Knock You Conscious, And Leave?

Don’t Tell Me You’re Going To Eat A Mashed-potato Sandwich

We Believe In Ordinary Acts Of Bravery, In The Courage That Drives One Person To Stand Up For Another.

What's Your Name? Um... Think About It. You Don't Get To Pick Again. Tris.