When I opened my eyes, I realized I was the only one left. Everything was blurry; it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to waking up. My purple duvet cover was burrito wrapped around me but there was only enough material to barely cover the ends of my legs. It was all ashes. Everything around me was ash. My armor that was passed down to me by my great grandma, my entire wardrobe, my special edition books, my fabulous collection of vintage Vogue Magazines, everything was gone. A pile of black ash was all that was left of the room I had grown up in. All I wanted to do was cry but instead made my way very quickly down the hall to my parent's room to see if my mom, dad, and baby sister had woken up yet and discovered the horrible thing that had happened to our house. There they were, three piles of black ashes. Two in my parents' bed and one in what used to be my sisters ballet pink crib. They were gone, all, of them. Letting myself cry and scream for precisely four and half minutes before my flight, fight, and freeze instincts kicked in was the only appropriate thing to do. I had to know who or what did this. This could not be real.
Remembering last night, I was extremely angry with my parents, and now thinking back on it, the reason was so beyond dumb. Yours truly was upset because I couldn't go to my friend's annual homecoming party because they wanted me to spend quality time together as a family. So instead of hanging with my family, I locked myself in my room sulking and being an annoying teenager. This will haunt me for the rest of my life and forgiveness will never come upon me. The sights, touch, smell, or sound of my family will never be around me again. .
When I opened my front door the amount of black ash astonished me. Every single house in the neighborhood was burnt down and gone. Speedily, I ran to the end of the street but what I thought I would see was just the opposite. Again everything was gone but countless piles of black ash.