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City Boy
Samuel, Age 13, Sauquoit, NY

My pale face, complexion scares people.
I walk alone, no one joins me.
Red eyes arenít there.
Horns arenít there.
Iím not a monster.
Up and down the streets, stares.
I keep my hood up, hands in pocket.
Just walk.
Mutilated soul, not my fault.
Lacerated heart, not my fault.
Manhattan, so many people, revulsion.
Take of the hood, they run.
I come to a corner, she stops.
She asks where my face is.
I keep walking. She follows.
She asks where my face is.
I keep walking. She follows.
I turn and stare. She isnít afraid.
She asks where my face is.
I run. I run and run and run.
No tears come, only sorrow. But I run.
The warehouse is open. Inside I am.
Back door is where I run. More Blood.
I run again, down the streets.
Stop for a second. Look around.
She comes up from behind.
No. She grabs the hood.
No. She pulls the hood.
No. She stops. I turn around. She screams.
Thereís nothing there.

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