Draft El Secendo (Double spaced and indented somehow - no idea)

Well, this is another impromptu blog I shall create about: Well, I have no idea, but that's the fun of it, right?

WANNA HEAR MY SECOND DRAFT FOR MY HISTORY ESSAY? Someone edit it for me =(

Draft 2

            It was (a date I haven’t found out yet) when everything started, for me anyway. The Redcoats, the Lobster-backs, they were the ones who started it; The American Revolution. Before then we were taxed on nearly everything – teeth, dice, newspapers, legal documents – everything. We couldn’t do anything to stop it, of course. The English had complete control over Boston, we couldn’t put a colonist in an important chair up top, only they. And they were the ones who order the British troops to stand on guard; they ordered them in Boston in the first place. They must have seen it as some sort of an object, instead of a place where living children run and play hide and seek, and apprentices mold wax and cooper barrels. If they hadn’t though of Boston (or any other colony in their control) like that, nothing would have happened. And that I am sure of by my fear of Hell and my love of God.

            I was born into America because of my father, Apollos Riviore. This would have been my name if he hadn’t Anglicized it – Paul Revere. That is the name I hold today, written on the very certificate which holds all my other information. My father died countless years ago, in 1754, and that’s when the family fell into my hands, with the shop as well. I was keeping house as a silversmith, one of, if not the best smith in Boston. I worked on gold as well – rarely, but still skillfully.

As a rich silversmith, people don’t talk much about anything around you. They only talk about you, and that was the trouble; I was a rich silversmith. It was hard to pick up any news on anything by just walking around for a stroll, for people seemed quiet around me, that or the opposite, of course. Hearing little kids yelling your name is very… pleasing, yet not quite so at the same time. At least I had the state of mind (and ear, I might say) to pick up a scrap of information about John Hancock. He was, of course, the richest man in Boston, but he was also known for planning against Britain, which was usually defined as treason.

But it had some sort of spark to it, and that spark lit a very flamingly bright fire in me. The British couldn’t control the colonies anymore, so it was said, and they were going too far in placing soldiers at every corner or every end of every street. So it was simple: rebel and the soldiers will go away. Sit and do nothing, and watch as the lower class starves into nothing, and watch the upper class become more rich until they either die or become hungry for power instead of wealth. Whatever the latter would lead to, the Patriots didn’t want it. And that’s when I became a Patriot.

There it is. I swear to god if anyone steals this I will eat them whole. I'm not finished yet though, still need to add on seven more paragraphs. Well, sorry for the boringness of this post.

Forever yours,

-Alex