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My Best Friend: Alan Outen Whoever would have thought that Alan was the sort to turn and spit such hatred? I hadn't seen it coming, Just ambled, smugly humming that life's progress would be smooth. This youth was not uncouth, he had learning and smart ties. I showed him all my soldiers. The things I told him were not lies. We clapped in time, and things seemed fine. I taught him all my games. Was he really always the boy who would take such joy in the misery of others? I never thought I'd see such evil glee. I had thought us more like brothers. Perhaps I should search myself to find the fault in this. I was taller, he was smaller. Was that all it took to split us two apart? There was no art in me to make him feel the lesser of the pair. Yet his deep-sworn plan of vengeance was to drive me near despair. It could not have been my girlfriend, for I had none, but the games we played were mine. Perhaps I was not the cause of malice. Perhaps that was merely Time. But did he need to go for the throat? Was all my trust a must to be exploited and destroyed? So, I could be hurt, but did Outen have to go spouting spite at every outing? One school year of woe was mine, but one now long ago. The years alone will heal my wounds, they say. My sister ran into him just the other day, and told me of the gorgeous girl he had. Thanks, sis. You ran into him, but not on a steamroller. Now that would have made me glad. |
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