by Bryce Bengtson | Hope For the Next Generation |
I looked at the page while putting my hands to the keys. I glanced over the notes and started playing. A#, D, C to F#, and so on. I slipped up here and there, but overall I did well. I glanced over the page again and focused on the areas I made mistakes. I looked for the hand patterns, and placement. I started over and played the piece. A few mistakes were still within the music but less than the first time. I started over once again and thought of the upcoming notes, the timings, and the hand placements. Perfect.
by Bryce Bengtson | Hope For the Next Generation |
He kicked again, knocking the other boy down. Jackson took a step back regaining his breath while the other boy stood back up, blood gushing from his nose. Jackson didn’t have a single mark and was bewildered by the fact. The other boy refused to punch back. Jackson took another swing aiming for the other boy’s ear. His thrust was evaded as the other boy touched the cross pendant around his neck. “I love you. God loves you,” was all the other boy would say.
by Bryce Bengtson | Hope For the Next Generation |
He tripped over his feet making his books fly everywhere. It was the seventh time he had been purposely pushed just that day. “Watch out, what are you? Dumbo?” The other boy laughed. “Excuse me? You did not just say that to him,” replied a girl standing a few feet away. She bent down and picked up a few of his books. Others did the same. “He is perfectly fine just the way he is. Why do you insist on bullying him?” she asked. She helped the boy up and handed him his books. “Come on. Let’s get to class,” she advised.
by Bryce Bengtson | Hope For the Next Generation |
“Mocked and Ridiculed she Ghosted the halls,
Nowhere to go, Surrounded by Walls,
She holds her books,
Feeling like she’s on a hook,
She wants to cry,
For the devil hit the bullseye.”
-The Dark Bullseye
Author Unknown
Many know that our words hold power. But few know just how powerful they can be.
by Bryce Bengtson | Hope For the Next Generation |
One, two, three, four, five. Five jagged lines on her wrist. Five lines for a countdown. One- a lash out from her father. Two- lies spread like wildfire about her at school. Three- betrayed trust. Four- the laughing stock in science class. Five- a breakup with her boyfriend. All within the same week. She cried every night, but no one saw…
