The Bloody Massacre

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“Oh no!” John Middleton cried. “The British soldiers are here, what they want this time?” the skinny kid with blue eyes and brown hair sighed as they came. The year and date was March 5th, 1770. Boston, Massachusetts was where he lived.
“They want tea; they sent a letter this morning,” said his mother, Mary Middleton, angrily.
“Why cannot they get it themselves?” he whispered.
“They are foolish, that is why” Mary said.
Suddenly, loud as cannonballs hitting the ground, they came inside the minuscule brick house.
“ORDER!” one yelped. It was so loud that John and Mary jumped. They looked at each other, scared. Then, out of nowhere, a soldier was looking at John eye to eye. John gulped.
“What. …What do…. you… want…?” he said, stuttering. The soldiers sounded like the devil that just slowly climbed out of hell.
“Go get us some tea!!!” They were saying more than demanding. “Um….. Okay, I guess?” “NOW!! You little twit!” he was yelping louder than before. The others looked onward, secretly laughing and squealing like pigs behind his back. John’s mother was frozen; she couldn’t speak about the brutality that happened to her son.
“Why did you do that to my son?” she shouted. The soldiers said nothing.

Those … ugh!” he said mumbling under his breath, as he was walking on the cobblestone road, “Get me tea ah! Get me tea!” John murmured, mockingly, as he was walking to the store.
“Can I get some tea?” he said politely to the tea man.

“Here sir,” he said grumpily. “Thank you sir,” John said.
In the midnight sky John was walking, unexpectedly, a loud as a gunshot noise rattled John’s eardrum. “What the…?” he thought. BOOM! POW! BOOM! the noise went. John decided to go investigate it.
As he was getting closer, “HELP!!” someone cried out.
John rushed to the cry for help, “What hurts?” He asked the hurt man.

“My stomach!” The… The...” Crispus was grabbing his stomach. That was when John realized he had been shot in the stomach. Before Crispus could finish that thought, he died. Lying on the dusty cobblestone road, John was scared. He looked at all the people lying there dead and all the chilling screams piercing through the air.
“I have to get out of here, this is dangerous!” Suddenly, he felt like falling…. “OWWWW! MY LEG! MY LEG!!!” John looked down at it. It was bleeding like crazy. It was coming up like a fountain. John felt his eyes closing softly. His life was flashing before him. He wondered what death felt like. Did it just flicker out? Did it come slowly? Whatever it was, John didn’t want to die. He wanted to live.

“Oh my Goodness, a lad!” Someone rushed over. “Why is he here? We have to get him out of here!” he said as they were holding the blood spewing out of John’s body. John was hurried to the hospital as fast as lighting.

As soon as Mary Middleton found out, she immediately raced to the hospital.

“John! John!” she said, weeping. “Where are you?” He was still unconscious. The doctor wasn’t sure if he was going to make it, since so much blood was lost. A couple weeks later, miraculously, he woke up! “
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You got shot in the leg.” The doctor said. “You are very lucky to be alive.”
“Oh John!” his mother said. “You are alive!” She hugged him really tight. “The doctor said you will walk with a limp for the rest of your life.”

John frowned. “At least I am alive and here. What about the soldiers?”
“They left for some reason. I have no idea!” she was ecstatic that those “no good dirty soldiers” (as Mary Middleton said.) left to never be seen or heard from in Massachusetts again.

Epilogue

When Mary Middleton said the soldiers left, in a strange twist, they were the ones that shot Crispus Attucks and John! They later got arrested and went to court and put on trial. John Adams, future president and patriot, defended them. They were later found guilty of manslaughter and had there thumbs branded with the letter M for manslaughter. They eventually left to go back to England so they couldn’t deal with the Patriots. (The only reason they told John to get tea was because they hatched up a plan to kill him!)
John and Mary are doing well. John is recovering from the traumatic event that happened.
Boston later made a memorial for Crispus Attucks. It was for his bravery about that day. A first for an African American at that time, for a heroic effort as a Patriot.





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