• I sneaked out of bed at exactly 12:03. I went into the kitchen, avoiding the creaking stairs that could wake my parents. I was careful not to trip, or I'd be found. I hopped over the stairs, landing with no noise at the bottom into the kitchen. I went over to our knife holder, and I picked the sharpest knife we had. Thunder boomed as I held the knife to my neck. Rain splattered the windows and the lightning flashed, shining some light on a book sitting on the counter my mother had bought for me. I dropped the knife and picked up the book nervously. I picked up the tool once again and bade it farewell, setting in back into the holder. I gave an uncomfortable glance back to the wooden holder, but I sighed and then jogged quietly to the living room, beginning to read what was the stronghold of my life.
    So therefore, I say, without the intensity of the books I have been reading, I would not be here to tell this.