2.

The picture is Tristan.

  I loved my family so f*****g much.I wasn't spoilt, I lived in a middle class family, I had all the love I needed, all the care and I was raised well. I had friends, good ones at that, and I never got into trouble. I was the captain of my football team, I feared nothing and I did well in school. Very well actually. I couldn't wait to grow up, to show other boys how to treat a girl right, to get into a football team, to be known and loved by so many people, I couldn't wait to grow up, because I knew I'd have my hobby with me, my mates, and most important, my parents.

 

18th of April, I was nine years old, a fan of football. I had gone out to the park and had a game of football with my friends. At the time, my mum was cooking dinner. I was my favourite - lasagne. And my mother cooked the best lasagne known to mankind. My dad was a heavy smoker, but at least he wasn't an alcoholic.

After saying goodbye to my friends I started to walk home, once I walked through the front gate I could smell dinner. It made me smile like mad. But apparently at that moment, the gas cooker was on. I had no idea that my dad lit a cigarette as I walked up a lawn until I heard a big, screeching BANG.I remember being thrown back, screaming my head off. Then in a second, I heard a pop inside of my ears. Things around me became blurry. I remember seeing my house, the one I grew up in, on fire, the flames reaching high. I saw the people run from their homes, screaming, pointing, and crying. I saw the police sirens and the ambulances.

But all I could think of was why I couldn't hear any of them. Why I couldn't hear the firemen yelling at me to get away. Why I couldn't hear my neighbors crying and chattering. Why I couldn't hear the flames as they rippled through my house. All I could hear was a faint buzzing noise. 

My life went from great, to down-right dreadful.I was told how my parents had died. And it made sense. My dad always smoked before dinner. I was also told how the impact of the explosion busted my ear drums. Leaving me completely deaf. I was left at a foster home, where I learnt how to sign. I got miserable and depressed. I soon enough learnt how to lip-read. It was impossibly difficult, but I got the hang of it.

Now fifteen, I still have my friends, but I lost interest in football. I got people who started to hate me. I started to turn to a different style along with my friends. I got piercings, but I never dreamed of smoking like the rest of the people had started. The sight of one cigarette makes me feel sick. 

I wish I could have my parents back.

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[Avangeline]

please write chapter three