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Nobody knows what really goes on in her mind, her life. In school Sarah is always happy always smiling. To everybody that is Sarah. Home, Sarah is a little different. Home, Sarah is sad, lonely, mean. Every day she is hiding, hiding from those mean words, the icy glare, the horrible thoughts.
I can handle Boogeymen. Pitched black darkness? Yeah, it doesn’t send a shiver down my spine. And spiders don’t scare me in the least. My childhood was never plagued with the ordinary fears that come with wiggly teeth and staying up past nine and times tables.
Groping onto the handrail, I climbed the cold, metallic stairs, my leather shoes brushing against it. Filled with anxiety, I scurried along the concrete floor to the other dancers. The world around me was black; the blue velvet curtains created a cloak of darkness, like the night.
The sun beats down on the snow-covered Colorado peak. Two birds have a lengthy conversation, chirping short replies at one another like two young children arguing over who was first in line. Marmots run and play chase, screeching often out of frustration or to mock the opposition.
Mr. Raney was always a favorite of ours. Our neighborhood is one of the loveliest neighborhoods around. When he first moved in everyone breathed a sigh of relief because he moved into the ugliest and most neglected house on the street. We expected great things from him.