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& I am just some sort of conquest

Four years old.

Every day, during the summer of 1997, I would go to the beach, wearing pink and white. The violent winds tugged at my short cocoa curls. I carried a seaweed-colored bucket and a plastic shovel, the color of the sun overpowering the clouds.

Sitting by the water, I built sandcastles. Tall and strong; I believed that they could never, ever be conquered.

As the summer wore on, older boys, who openly feared communism, would run through my castle--my world--conquering it; conquering me.

That summer was how I learned that men will always, always conquer me.





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12333 said...
Apr. 13, 2011 at 8:50 pm
wow this was shockingly deep..... and intense. it doesnt gieve a close description at all of what happend, but enough for a general idea... wow
 
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