Write a story that will end with this statement I know no man can be trusted

        I was told to meet my friends at the 3rd alley in the town. I hated that alley. It was dark and creepy, and my friends knew it. So why do they want me to go there? I asked myself. As I walked, I slowed a bit. I felt someone watching me. When I got to the alley, I saw dark shapes, standing there. "You said you wanted to meet me here?" I called, walking over.

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        I started running. My thought-to-be friends had betrayed me, and now they were after me. George, Melissa, and Sammy were gaining fast. I knew I couldn't outrun them, but maybe I could outsmart them. So I ran as fast as I could towards the river, calculating it's depth and length. "Please say I'm right," I muttered to myself, and dove right in.

        The water was cold, and my feet were already numb. I swam for the surface, and saw Sammy staring at me. His scowl sent a shiver down my spine, and I quickly swam away from him. I don't know why they had chased me, but I do know one thing- I'm never going into that alley ever again.

        I had to swim further upstream to lose them, then I climbed out of the river and walked home. The front door was locked, so I had to climb through my window. I found my dad's ladder, and lay it on the side of my house, then climbed up. It creaked under my weight, and almost broke a few times. When I made it up, I looked at my clock. It read 4:57. At least I'll get some sleep, I thought.

        My siblings woke me up at 5:00. I didn't get any sleep. My mom and dad had heard I was out last night, so they banned me from going outside for life. I didn't really listen to their lectures, because I knew what they were going to say before I went to sleep. I thought to myself, Now I know no man can be trusted.

You can make as many changes to this as you want. I did my best to correct mistakes, but you might have to go over it again to be sure.

it was surely an odd creature that one made up by reading the historians first and the poets afterwards a worm winged like an eagle; the spirit of life and elegance and charm,   in a kitchen chopping up suet. but these creatures, monst'r however entertaining to the imagination, hast no existence in fact. what one might doth to bringeth h'r to life wast to bethink poetically and prosaically at one and the same moment,   thus keeping in toucheth with fact—that the lady is mrs martin, ag'd thirty-six, did dress in blue, wearing a black coxcomb and brown shoeth; but not losing sight of fiction eith'r—that the lady is a vessel in which all s'rts of spirits and f'rces art coursing and flashing p'rpetually. the moment, howev'r, yond one tries this method with the elizabethan mistress, one brancheth of illumination fails; one is did hold up by the scarcity of facts.   one knoweth nothing detailed, nothing p'rfectly true and substantial about h'r.   hist'ry scarcely mentions h'r.   and i did turn to professeth'r trevelyan again to seeth what hist'ry meanteth to that gent.   i hath found by looking at his chapt'r headings yond t meanteth.