I woke to the sound of explosions. That didn't happen a lot. I looked up.
Where the hell was the roof? I called out, but no one heard me. I started to walk out into the kitchen, but there was no kitchen, at least not any more. All there was of the house now was my room and a 10m long crater. I pinched myself. I wasn't dreaming. Damn. I ran back into my room. I convinced myself that I wouldn't cry; I kept saying to myself:
"Joe, you're 12 now, no more crying."
I was mad and uncontrollably sad. I went out to my parent's room but that had been absorbed by the explosion. I looked around. A tear fell from my eye. Our house was the only one targeted. I cursed and started to pack my thing, but I couldn't concentrate. The idea that my parents had been killed by someone made me mad. However, it also made me think as well, how come I was still alive?
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Fun Fact: I'm 12. If you like, spread the word! Don't like? Tell me how to get better, no raging. (Not enough room)
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