Head to “Blogs I Follow” in the Reader. Scroll down to the third post in the list. Take the third sentence in the post, and work it into your own.
Third From the Top
Thank you to The Life of Lexe
“No, they weren’t going for the fun of it; they were going to be mean.”
“You’re a Chink! A Jap! Remember Pearl Harbor!” they chanted as they surrounded her. Peter was the de facto leader of the gang. He was smart, and a natural leader. But he also had a twisted sense of fun. He hated all Chinks. Tears fell down her cheeks as they dragged her by her hair to an old outhouse out in the field and locked her in it.
The sounds of her banging on the outhouse door could be heard as Peter led the gang to a dilapidated ranch house which sat on the border of the field. “Sonny! Sonny! There’s a raccoon in the outhouse!” Peter yelled. The group entered the house slamming the screen door behind them. Sonny put down his beer and turned from the TV. His rifle was on the floor beside him, and he grabbed it. “A raccoon, you say? Where?”
“In the outhouse!” Peter bounced up and down on his toes pointing to the outhouse.
Sonny followed them out, cocking his rifle. No, they weren’t going for the fun of it; they were going to be mean.
The banging on the inside of the outhouse was all the evidence Sonny needed. He lifted his rifle. Shots pierced through the old planks of the ancient structure. Splinters flew. He shot until the banging stopped and all was quiet.
The boys watched, now filled with horror at what they’d caused. Sonny approached cautiously, listening, his rifle still raised. He kicked off the piece of wood that locked it from the outside and, still aiming his rifle, pried the door open with his foot. Stench poured out but no girl.
Inside, mewing, was a tiny kitten — a newborn, eyes still shut. The girl was nowhere to be found, not even in the cesspool. Sonny turned to Peter and slapped him hard upside his head, “You asshole!” and then he stormed back to his world of TV and beer.
Shaking, his eyes glistening, Peter very carefully and gently picked up the tiny kitten and nuzzled his nose in its baby-soft fur.
The papers had said that a deaf and mute 8-year-old Korean-American girl had gone missing. She was never found. She had gone to a place far away — a place where she would not have to grow up apologizing for being different. In her stead was born a creature created out of compassion, who would never know hatred or prejudice or the muzzle end of a rifle.
You see, Peter took the kitten home and nursed her and loved her. The kitten grew up to become the only true friend Peter would have for many years. When she died 20 years later, he had graduated from law school, was engaged to an Asian-American, and was doing pro bono work for Asian immigrants.