That Is Death - Shifting From "is"

Then Drew Shuffles Into The Dining Hall. I Drop My Toast, And My Mouth Drifts Open. Calling Him “bruised” Would Be An Understatement. His Face Is Swollen And Purple. He Has A Split Lip And A Cut Running Through His Eyebrow. He Keeps His Eyes Down On The Way To His Table, Not Even Lifting Them To Look At Me. I Glance Across The Room At Four. He Wears The Satisfied Smile I Wish I Had On.

Sometimes, All It Takes To Save People From A Terrible Fate Is One Person Willing To Do Something About It. Even If That "something" Is A Fake Bathroom Break.

I Should Wonder What Courage—which Is The Virtue They Most Value—has To Do With A Metal Ring Through Your Nostril.

He Stares At Me, And I Don't Look Away. He Isn't A Dog, But The Same Rules Apply. Looking Away Is Submissive. Looking Him In The Eye Is A Challenge. It's My Choice.

It's Stupid To Miss A Thing When There Are So Many People To Miss Instead, But I Miss This Train Already, And All The Others That Carried Me Through The City, My City, After I Was Brave Enough To Ride Them. I Brush My Fingers Over The Car Wall, Just Once, And Then Jump.