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Categories: construction, hill, bridge, road, home
When I was very young, still sleeping in a crib, I woke my mother up crying in the middle of the night. She asked what was wrong, and I insisted on getting up and coloring in a coloring book. She finally gave in, most likely so my crying wouldn't wake up the entire household. She set me up at the dinner table with crayons and a book. However, I insisted on two sets of crayons and two books being set up. After doing so she told me to wake her up when I was done or just climb in with her and go back to sleep. Then she returned to bed.
A short while later she got woken back up by the sound of me crying again. She dragged herself back out of bed and returned to check on me. She found me devastated and asked what was wrong, to which I told her that my friend couldn't color with me because his hands hurt. Since she wanted to comfort my tears and I was the only one up besides her at that hour she humored me and asked what's wrong with my friend's hands? I went on to tell her my friend had burned his hands and could not hold the crayons. I went on to describe to her the details of his wounds and that he lived at the end of our street.
At that point she became a bit alarmed. A few years earlier where the small parking lot for Adrian Steel is on James Street by Lansing Street, there used to be some houses, and one of which had caught on fire. While trying to escape the fire a young boy was coming down the stairs and had touched the metal stair rail and burned his hands and sadly died in the fire. It turns out I had described the boy and his wounds exactly. I even told her his name and that he had said that if he would not have touched that rail, he would have made it out of the house safely. I was so sad and just wanted to color with my ''friend.''.
Submitted by Shane |
Categories: parking_lot, fort, fire
I worked Halloween night with two other co-workers at the local Shoe Carnival. I'll call them ''Mike'' and ''Sarah.''
It was getting late in the evening about 6:30 pm, and the store was quiet. Mike was walking the floor and cleaning and ready to provide customer service, while Sarah and I stayed in the front with the registers. We took down the hourly numbers and took stock of the returned shoes. Mike came up to the front asking Sarah, the manager, if the store carried a brand of shoe called ''Cannonball,'' and she informed him ''no, we don't. '' Neither of us had heard of the brand, but Mike had.
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