Little Hillary sang a little song for us about an hour ago.
She sat there, distraught about going to the park, for the creek that runs through the park is where her brothers corpse lay lifeless.
John pulled a small paperback novel out of his fannypack
Ink was smeared apon parchment and now that parchment bear his message.
His Victorian home lay in a state of disrepair, with planks of wood on the porch rotting in places, and a yard that looked like an abandoned graveyard.