Nora Slaughter

She sits underneath a tree unafraid of the world. The wind brushes along her face, and instead of being afraid that this gust might sweep her off and take her away, she welcomes the slight breeze in by letting it whisper in her ears.

One, two, three, breathe. They aren’t staring at you. One, two, three, breathe. It’s okay. One, two, three, BREATHE. They aren’t doing anything wrong. My heart punches and battles as I walk through the bleak hallways of my high school.