When he had finally overtaken her, it was when he had turned a corner and she was waiting for him near a small building. It was house. And inside were several boys and an old man. Titus realized that this was a school.

I pick up my pencil and stare at the blank page of notebook paper. There is so much to write, but I cannot find the words. A deep blue sky hovers over me, warm breezes tickle my skin, and I glance around from my perch in the old oak tree. For a moment I let the moment just suck me in, pull me apart, and fill me with wonder. Then I turn my notebook over and flip through the pages scrawled with smudged lead. One page is illegible, stained with tears. Another is half torn where I ripped out the writing I could not bear to erase or keep. This is my journey.

THE journey to Rome was most adventurous for Titus. It took several weeks at sea and Titus, being a Greek and living by the Aegean Sea, was an expert seaman. His father was also but Lampon and Deucalion were usually found having their breakfast and supper pouring into a bucket.

With one look, one breath, one faltering step
Everything went dark
With one voice, one cry, one moment in time
Everything became nothing
With one word, one touch, one last glance
Everything fell apart

With one prayer, one plea, one desperate hope
We struggle to believe
With one call, one word, one sorrow-filled voice
All hope is broken
With one scream, one moan, one terrorized pain
My heart is rent
With one gasp, one sob, one-hundred hot tears
The night is sleepless

Dedicated to Emilie Parker, who was killed in the school shooting in Newton, Connecticut, on December 14th, 2012.

Early morning
Sunrise smile
I twirl her around
She’s such a big girl now
Already six years old
But my girl Emilie, she’ll always be
Daddy’s little girl to me

Early morning
Off to school
She turns and she smiles
Oh how I love that girl
My little angel, walking away
Never could I’ve guessed
That this would be her last day

Strange People call me strange Just because I’m not tall People call me strange ‘Cause I don’t have good posture People call me strange ‘Cause I get a B+ People still call me strange I’m in a nursing home All I do is sit around There’s no reason to call me strange anymore Goodbye

*This story is NOT fictional, but there wasn't a non-fiction section. ;)

I hope y'all like this. I wouldn't exactly call this a fiction, because, even though if is not a real story, it is not a fantasy I guess I'm trying to say. So anyways, please critique! It's not that long so it doesn't take that long. I got the inspiration and wrote it in about ten minutes. Give me ideas though, please. If there's something that ought to be changed I will do it. (You can edit these after they're posted, right?) anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Grey clouds blanketed the sky. Darker clouds loomed ahead, warning of impending rain. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
A dirt road wound its way through the countryside. Trees lined either side of the well-worn path, offering shelter should it be needed. Autumn had worked its wonders, and the trees were now boasting bright orange and crimson leaves.