Freeform Narrative 2

She counted. One. She could hear the steps coming closer. Two. Puffs of breath could be seen coming
from his mouth. Three. He stopped beside her. Four. She pulled the trigger of the gun.

She looked at her student wondering if she could ever get through. "You need to learn to think for
yourself," she wanted to tell him. "Your friends are holding you back and bringing you down." But she
didn't because she knew his friends were all that he had and even if that meant a life of misery, he would
never give them up.

According to the caption on the bronze marker placed by the Multnomah Chapter of the Daughters of
the American Revolution on May 12, 1939, “College Hall (is) the oldest building in continuous use for
Educational purposes west of the Rocky Mountains. Here were educated men and women who have
won recognition throughout the world in all the learned professions.”

I recollect that my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one
side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was
startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and
reverberated by the angry echoes.

Greg understood that this situation would make Michael terribly uncomfortable. Michael simply had
no idea what was about to come and even though Greg could prevent it from happening, he opted to let
it happen. It was quite ironic, really. It was something Greg had said he would never wish upon anyone a
million times, yet here he was knowingly letting it happen to one of his best friends. He rationalized that
it would ultimately make Michael a better person and that no matter how uncomfortable, everyone
should experience racism at least once in their lifetime.

The amber droplet hung from the branch, reaching fullness and ready to drop. It waited. While many
of the other droplets were satisfied to form as big as they could and release, this droplet had other
plans. It wanted to be part of history. It wanted to be remembered long after all the other droplets had
dissolved into history. So it waited for the perfect specimen to fly by to trap and capture that it hoped
would eventually be discovered hundreds of years in the future.

Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair. They were thick and almost horizontal, emphasizing
the depth of her eyes. She was rather handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivating by reason of a
certain frankness of expression and a contradictory subtle play of features. Her manner was engaging.

There are different types of secrets. She had held onto plenty of them during her life, but this one was
different. She found herself holding onto the worst type. It was the type of secret that could gnaw away
at your insides if you didn't tell someone about it, but it could end up getting you killed if you did.

Barbara had been waiting at the table for twenty minutes. it had been twenty long and excruciating
minutes. David had promised that he would be on time today. He never was, but he had promised this
one time. She had made him repeat the promise multiple times over the last week until she'd believed
his promise. Now she was paying the price.

He heard the loud impact before he ever saw the result. It had been so loud that it had actually made
him jump back in his seat. As soon as he recovered from the surprise, he saw the crack in the windshield.
It seemed to be an analogy of the current condition of his life.