January 11, 1919
This was my last week of Winter Break, and the thought of returning to school filled me with dread. Endless discussions about violence and death in history class made my stomach churn. Leopold II had been disturbing enough to learn about, and I knew countless other monsters in the annals of history were waiting to appear. Sitting on the zoo bench with my mother and David, I tried to enjoy the fleeting freedom of break. David, however, seemed determined to remind me why I sometimes questioned his capacity for maturity. “Do you think dinosaurs ever farted? Surely, they had to, right?” he asked, grinning like he’d just unlocked some profound mystery of the universe. I stared at him, dumbfounded. Of all the questions he could ask, this had to be the most brain-dead of all time. I’d be
- Writer
