Harry Potter, everyone's heard of him. Even tiny muggle children have heard of his exploits. How he survived the killing curse, and defeated you-know-who. Nearly the entire world has heard his story. But what about me? Where's my recognition? This, is my story.
Like Harry, my parents were murdered. Unlike Harry, however, I remember it clearly. I recall where I was that morning. It was August, the relaxed summer coming to a close. That morning, after a quick glass of OJ I hugged my mom and ran out the door. The warm sun on my back urged me forward, my shoes clickin gon the sidewalk. My destination, you ask? The near by lake, where I often went to skip rocks and clear my mind. Cars drove back and forth on the highway to my right, a park to my left.