I had a friend who was ten years old when I was a kid, whose name was John Samson.
John Samson was the most popular kid in his town. He was rich, he was cool, and he was nice. People respected him for his kindness. John was a good person to be around.
I went to his tenth birthday party. Everyone cool attended. As I walked up to his mansion, he opened the door and greeted me. We ate, we drank, we played party games, and overall had fun.
After the party ended, and everyone was leaving, I was having a conversation with John about sandwiches. As we crossed the road, a car drove right toward us. It barely missed us. As it screetched to a halt, people got out of it with knives. They were scraggly, as if they were bums who stole a car. They were.
As they piled into the car, taking John with them, I could only stare and cry as I was held back by one of the bums.
That was the last I saw of him. The last thing he said to me was this.
"Please, don't let me die!"
Not that sad, but I tried my best.
