My best friend Tori and I ran around her back yard. It was dark and fireflies lit up the summer sky. We tried to catch the little flying stars hovering around us.

Tori and I were just two little hyper eight-year-olds trying to make the most of our summer. Our “Best Friends” necklace dangled around our necks and rattled as we hopped up and down.

Tori had messy braided brown hair she had tried to arrange elegantly. She wanted to look like a Disney Princess, Cinderella or Belle. She was always independent. Blue eyes twinkled brighter than the stars. Her smile with dimples showed how happy we were.

When you’re eight you don’t realize that the future may hold destruction and death. When you’re young and among friends you think you will always be as happy as you are then. You always want to stay in the summer with friends and fireflies.