We keep walking through life with an untold story, like a middle name that we are all afraid to share. The class of triumph is a victory of beating the odds of all the people who told us we couldn't do it. When they pushed us down and caused us to scrape our knees, our hands continued to write. What they don't know is that the scraped knees that were forced upon us became our battle scar to show our children that will to live must come from within. Such as a children's book describes the happy endings, perhaps, this is the happy part. The phrase sticks and stones may break my bones ,but words will never hurt me became the biggest lie when I hit eighth grade. He is dead still echo in my head like a scream in a hallway. Each day we walk leaving behind our bloody footprints that show how far we've come. Some peoples footprints will have an ending far before the journey is over but we keep going because to beat the odds we must beat our own miss first and perhaps the names we were called in school will die like the hopeless kids who were too tired to continue to the end of the story and got lost when the snow covered their path. Maybe this is why people hate snow. The cold reminds them of the world we live In where hope dies before we are five. It's a place where barbies don't talk and games are all pretend. Maybe this is why the stories close too soon because we can't glue the pieces of the harsh world we live in back together. Our minds circle in an endless scribble waiting to be untangled, but the possibility is near impossible. When we finally hit the year of we did it, we made it past all the people who said we couldn't do it. It brings the hope we once had as a kid back to show us that we do have a place in this twisted world. I imagine the words, "Congratulations class of we did it", because that'll mean we won. You won. We have the power of the pen to write our own stories, but the stories of the fallen will always be the erased marks that wouldn't erase. It's a stain like emotion that won't leave your mind no matter how hard you push them away. By next year, I will be in the class of we did it and teach all behind me that you are strong and your place in this world is important. We, as a whole, are important. Each lost soul represents one less piece of rice in the bowl and it adds up. It seems like no big deal, but before long we will run out of rice. This leave us starving. We will starve, we will die, and we will be forgotten. We must stand as a whole to carry on into the future of what uncertainty. The possibilities of the future are all in our hands. Will we share the power of the pen to flourish and attempt to fix the broken?