At the start of the last Balkan war, I was a young boy. I lived out in the country side, on my Parents farm. We had a small, cottage like house which my father, who was a well-known for working with his hands, built himself. One early morning my mother sent me off with some fresh eggs to deliver to our neighbor which we traded our goods for her fantastic sewing work. As I started off down the road, I heard a thunder-like rumbling coming from the sky. I assumed it was coming from the dark clouds off in the distance and started walking faster so I could get home before it started to storm. However something caught my eye. There was a wispy tangled cloud like stream that looked like a 5 year old trying to tie his shoes. As I started to look forward again a jet, rocketed over me as it was running from what followed. The force of the jet knocked me off my feet and into the cold, wet grass. I couldn’t see what just happened, but I heard a bang. It was so loud I thought it would make me deaf. I lifted myself to my knees as fast as I could, only to see what was left of the jet, plummeting to earth in a flying inferno. The only thing was where it was going, it was heading for my home. It plummeted into my families cottage, and exploded out with a louder bang than what I heard before, and the blast swept me off my feet. I stood back up, and looked at what was left in the fire ball that was once my home. I could only hear the high pitch ringing of my ears as I slowly stumbled toward it. As I continued on, a small, but building sound like a teapot on a stove started in my ears. It built and built until it reached its enormously loud peak, and stopped completely.
“Hector! Hector, get away from there!” I turned to see my neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Landen in their old ford pick-up truck. “Hector, get in the truck we’ve gotta go get help,” Yelled Mr. Landen. I turned, stared, and collapsed.