It's Hard to
Look Back
By: Paul R.
It was Sunday.
Girls and boys were in church.
I heard a blast.
I looked outside, the church had blown up.
I was speechless.
My sister was in that church.
I felt a great deal of fear.
I ran to the church in my socks. I searched for her.
I saw her lying in the dust
Right under a swinging bell.
I called her.
She didn't hear me.
I walked up to her.
She didn't move.
At that moment I realized...
She was dead.
I cried.
I wanted to retaliate against the people who had thrown the dynamite.
I couldn't.
My mother had taught me that all people are good...even the white
people.
I held my temper.
The hate inside me grew.
I laid beside her and wished I was dead too.
I got up and walked home.
I tried to forget.
I couldn't.
The next day I came home from school to play with her.
Again I realized she was dead.
I cried.
I shut myself in my room for two days.
I came out the second day.
I tried to act normal.
I 've been trying for a long time.
It's hard to look back.