Nonfiction

DANGER: A STORY OF WORLD WAR Ⅱ



Cabot Spatz

Chapter 1

I become a Nazi
Berlin, Germany

 Fall 1942

He was my age. 
He could've gone to school with me. 
He could've had classes with me. 
He could've been my best friend. 

He was my age. 
He dropped the gun. 

POGPOGPOG!!!

My poem got published in the Addison Independent paper yesterday! Also, I'm the first person in Lincoln to get my poem published!
 

swullocking -- muggy, sultry
welkin -- sky
gleen -- burst of sunshine, or a gap in the clouds
brumous -- foggy
brae -- a steep hillside or bank

One fact about graffiti is that most of the time when you see it, It's done without permission. Most people wouldn't want graffiti painted on their building without permission.

You know when you’re little and your family always did that thing that made everyone happy and now you look back and it’s like where has all this gone? I have so many memories and moments that I think of every once and a while and it’s like wow.

God, it’s finally spring. I can feel my face burning as I read out on the patio this morning. I wish that spring meant something other than an unfounded, unsubstantiated brightness that threatens oblivion and a terrible headache.

My childhood was PBS Kids on weekends and rainbow goldfish for snacks. It was books and reading, warmth and love.

It’s a clear day. The sky is blue. The grass is green. And we are driving down the highway. The journey is marked by spastic bursts of conversation and a chunkily categorized landscape. I press my nose to the glass and point.

A little bit about me
 

BIG NEWS EVERYBODY!

 

Thank you all for the support in your views and likes!
I got word from the admin, that my poem, Old Warehouse, is possible for publication, in this week's Addi Indi Paper!

One time I was with my friend, Henry, and we were in his car heading towards his house to have a sleepover. He told me to guess which way we go to get to his home.