It was 1886

by Victoria Rosillo

It was 1886, not exactly a typical Sunday, I was in a crowd surrounded by livid strangers shoving and shouting. I covered my ear, I new {knew} shouldn’t of {have} listened to Tobias. How could I had {have} let him drag {me} into this mess. Maybe it because of {his} charming good looks and pearly white teeth. 

Yes, I’m a nineteen year-old girl who accompanied Tobias, the “drop dead gorgeous guy at school.” I felt bruises swell up on my pale skin from everyone that’s trying to move forward. A {one} girl in particular yanked my midnight {?} curly hair with so much force was sure I had a bald spot.  Where can Tobias be? I lost a living person. Suddenly the crowd started to speed up, some clashing forward shoving people left to right, it had all seemed like we were at war. I spotted Tobias’s brown curled hair helping out a woman who has been step {stepped} on by many people. My dark brown eyes quickly shouted, “Tobias Rur!”

He didn't get a chance to look me in the eyes for the last time.


My heart dropped I stood their shocked not wanting to believe that Tobias was dead along with seven others. Ears popped, body trembling from both fear and the running crowd. I was knocked to the floor thanks to the crowd, red converse shoes {converse shoes in 1886?} stepping on my ankle like a big twisting in the process. 

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