I loved the snow. I had always loved the snow. It's white and fluffy and I has loved playing in it. I've liked making snowmen and snow angels. Until one day…
My parents had always loved me. I was spoiled rotten, due to the fact that I was the only child.
"Hey mom, it's snowing outside," five year old me called. I had just entered the door right after school. It was freezing outside and I had entered right after a snowstorm had started.
"Hey Bella, how was school?" My mom asked from the kitchen. Dad was at work and wouldn't be home until later in the day.
"Fine," I smiled and said. That was the last time I showed any sign of joy. My dad came home in about two hours. I greeted him and went out to play with my friends. I loved playing with my friends. They were the second greatest set of people in the world, my parents were the first. That was when I saw the snow melt around me and there was a reddish glow to the snow. I turned around and saw a big fire, it was much greater than the bonfire that my dad had made in our backyard and it was burning my house. I ran towards my past home, as if I could put the fire out. My friends ran after me, they caught up with me and restrained me from entering. I started crying, what would you expect? I was five. The fire department came and put out the fire, they were too late. But never mind that, it was eleven years ago…