p in my heart that April was all right. That night I could not sleep. I listened through my window to the neighborhood, which grew quieter into the early morning hours. The smell of charred wood and smoke blew into my window with the calm gentle breeze as I lay there thinking about the fire. My parents woke me early that morning and explained to me what had happened. The blazing inferno that lit up our neighborhood had taken the life of my best friend, April. Immediately I started crying. I felt helpless. I had no one to talk to. I ran outside hoping to see April to start our day of fun like she promised. I looked toward her house and saw nothing but a heap of burnt wood and glass. The ashes were still smoking and the smell of smoke was still in the morning air. I dropped to my knees and cried. I finally came to realize that April was in fact really gone. To this day I still live two houses to the west of the empty lot where her house once stood. I sometimes walk outside and picture April, the little red head with skinned up knees, running to my house to start a day of fun and games. April had a deep impact on my life and how I view it today. I now realize that when I hug and say goodbye to my parents that that could be the last time I see them. ...
