It was one of those first cold, dark, early winter days. Late November.
We were let loose from school early, real early. We were told we were sent home to be with our familes.
As we crunched through the dried leaves through the forbidden grave yard short cut home, we whispered to each other.
Could this be IT. Could it realy be that crawling under the unerl in the boys room would not protect us from Cube’s dreaded Nuclear missiles.
Would the bombs fall?
On arriving home, that my father was already there was a frighightning thing.
At what moment would the flash come?
Had it come to this?
John F.Kennedy was killed in Texas by an assins bullet.
Something you will remember always.
Not something to be made light of.
Now, billionaire fools joke about killing presidents.
Have the BlueBloods risen to such great power that they can speak openly of such things?
Could this be IT.
Has it come to this.
I don't care what it means or who decorates the scenes. The problem is more with my sense of pride. Because it keeps me thinking "me" Instead of what it is to be. I 'm not a passenger, I am the ride. Chris Smither