I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock, decently set to 8 AM. I got up off of my mattress and turned the radio on, and got ready for the day, I grabbed my .357 Model 66 Smith & Wesson revolver, personally handed down to me from my step-father, and took a box of .357 APC bullets hand-made by him. My step-father said I'd need them someday, but I never knew what he meant by that. I was a 13 year old, living in New York.

I had blue eyes, dirty-blonde hair, and I had an odd desire to take my one dog with me everywhere I go. I was living alone inside a house, my uncle always was tending to my siblings (I didn't mind, I enjoyed being left alone), my mom was on vacation, and my dad had died due to cancer. My dog, named Adam, was a Golden Retriever, so far, he's saved my twice, both times someone was trying to mug me. I work at a small gas station, getting payed at $3 an hour, but I enjoyed working there, so I couldn't care if I was being payed or not.

I had a decent stock of ammo inside my dresser, because my father knew I loved to shoot the gun. I walked down to the gas station, and as I walked in, the owner handed me an english muffin with cheese. He was one of the nicest people, every time I came into the shop, he gave me different types of food. One time, it was grain cereal, another time it was a large half-foot sub, with bacon, cheese, pickles, lettuce, and an odd but tasty spice. I gladly turned the TV on, and got to work stocking the shelves.

I glanced over to the TV, and saw something really odd, a 20 year old man picked clean to the bone, the owner said "Yeah that's kinda odd." and took a sip of his root beer. I continued stocking the freezers, shelves, and the refilled the soap and toilet paper in the bathroom. I muttered "New York... Yeah..." and walked out of the bathroom. I sat down on a chair that the owner set aside to me, it was a spinning chair made from leather. The chair was severely worn, but that made it feel even more homely.

I asked the owner "Would I be able to have another root beer?" He replied, "Sure, and take a cheeseburger while you're at it." I did so, and then sat down, I waited a decent 5 minutes before starting on my soda and cheeseburger, and right after I took the last bite, a warning from the NWS came on screen, "Severe Thunderstorms". The owner said "I think you better get going, the storms may not be too threatening, but don't take chances."

I wished him good luck, and then walked out of the station, my hands inside my dark-grey hoodie pockets. I strolled home, and my Golden Retriever, Alex, came to greet me with open arms. I gave him a small bellyrub, and took him into my room. He sat down on the bed I made for him, and I sat down on mine. I always get tired during storms for some reason; it could be because I find them peaceful, or because the sky darkens. I started to slowly drift into sleep....