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Different People


Describe two different people
George was polish. He owned a shop. He lived alone. My dad didn’t like him; he thought that George didn’t belong here; I had thought so too
    Here, we don’t have a pleasant community; we can’t go out unaccompanied, even parents don’t go alone, the only exception is when we go to school.
    There are, where I live, many horrible monsters. They snatch people away. They kill people! Children in my class vanish like the months of the year. One day my dad, to my bitter amazement, told me he was one of them – A MONSTER!. He didn’t have a choice, nor did most people in his undesirable position. He was because of me blackmailed; “Join us or we will take your son away,” they said, so I don’t blame him for what he did, I blame myself…
    Everyday I pass George’s shop and I see him smiling merrily inviting people. Nobody really does into his shop, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was different. There wasn’t anyone like him; he was happy; I haven’t really been happy since my mother faded into the darkness and my dad and everyone who has lost someone feels the same empty-fuel of sadness and anger dying slowly in our hearts.
    There are nasty people, people who don’t want anyone different staining their pale grey buildings with bright menacing colours, people who spat and swore as they passed George’s shop were frightened, which I believe is pathetic, by a change to blank monotonous lives.
    George’s neon red sign illuminated the grey soulless barriers and the dark crumbling sea that lead to my school. It seemed a pink spill of ink in my dull grey life. I longed to enter its welcoming doors to bathe in the colours see all the sights it had in store; “foreign stores don’t last long in this town,” said my dad, “sooner or later the Polak will have to go”.
    I wanted to go in, I really did, but I knew doing that would be equivalent social suicide. I would be bullied, beaten, my skinny bones would be snapped and my small broken body would be thrown into a dumpster to be crushed in the morning pick up truck – but maybe I would go – worst case I would die – who wants to live like this anyway? Waiting for something to go wrong