January 25, 1932

Dear diary,

Today has been an awful day. Papa lost his job at the shoe store. Mr. Patternsin, his boss at the shoe store, said that there was a job opening at the grocery store, so Papa went there in his car after the noon meal, and came back home about an hour later, walking. I rushed over to him, on the verge of tears.

"Papa," I choked out.

Papa put his arm around me and led me to the front porch.

"Clara," he said,"I'm going to tell you ssomething that even your mother doesn't know as of yet."

I looked at him through my tears.

"Next week,"Papa began slowly,"we are going to be evicted."

I looked at him, shocked. Just yesterday, our neighbors had been evicted. A big sign was put up on their front lawn, and all of their possessions were thrown out on the ground. But at least they had family members who lived nearby and with whom they were going to live. We have no family members to live with. Neither Mama nor Papa have any living siblings.

"Where will we live?" I asked.

Papa took a deep breath."There is a place just down the street for homeless people--"

"The poorhouse?!" I interrupted.

"Clara, we have no other choice." He took my hand, and together we slowly walked into the house.

Mama sobbed when she found out, but Papa explained that he would continue to look for work, so living in the poorhouse would only be temporary.

So, dear diary, the next time I write to you, we will be in the poorhouse, but I guess that's life --always so full of changes.

Goodnight, dear diary.

Affectionally yours,

Clara

toppington

I remember it like it was yesterday. But I still can't believe it. I can't believe I was the start of the American Revolution.

I lived on a farm in Lexington, with my mother and brother. Father had died the winter before due to influenza. Peter had left to meet the British with the Minutemen, so it was just Mother and I, alone on the farm. We'd been anticipating war for a while now, though even with this potential confrontation, war still some abstract, far off concept to me. Until I fired.

I was determined to protect the farm, even if I had to do it alone. Mother was inside, afraid of what was to come. She was willing to give up the farm and our things, money, food, anything to keep ourselves safe. I wasn't so ready to roll over like a dog. I sat in the field, ears straining for the hint of soldiers. The gun was loaded, ready to be fired at first sign of danger. I was in a firm position, eyes open, wary of everything.

And I was an absolute wreck.

My nerves were shot to pieces, my heart pounded in my chest, and sweat trickled down my forehead. I didn't really want to shoot anyone. But I'd do as needed.

Suddenly I heard something. To this day, I don't know what it was. An animal, a rogue soldier, maybe one of the local village boys wanting to get an eye on the action. Whatever it was, I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed what seemed around the world, shattering the silence. In the distance, gun shots rang out, and I knew, I had started something. Something big.

*********************************************************************

So, this was sort of a take on who fired the Shot Heard Round the World, since we don't really know who did.

April 9, 2211

Dear Journal,

Another monotonous Bright City day. An All-Good glanced at me and said "Dirty Imperfection". I wish our ClearSphere wasn't so divided! Just because of my too-large nose, I can't do ANYTHING the All-Goods do.

Luckily Blaze was there. He's the best.

Til' tomorrow,

Micah Bellerophon 

My bad!!!!!

You see, I only read 'diary entries', had an idea, and typed it out. I didn't see the historical part!

Why is it always historical fiction...?