When moving into a house you always believe that you will be safe from the outside world. Unfortunately, on July 17, 2000, my thoughts of being secure in a home completely changed. A reckless boy had driven his car into my house, driving through the kitchen and reaching my bedroom. All I could hear was screaming and crying. As I opened my eyes, I saw a black car that was entirely destroyed and white smoke crept through the demolished bedroom. Shattered glass, jagged nails, torn clothing and chunks of wood covered the carpet. Then I smelled gas, which began to grow stronger. The smell was so heavy that I felt it covering my entire body and felt as if I was being pushed to the ground. Just as I thought there was no way out, my father broke my bedroom window with his bare hand to give me a chance to escape. As I walked through the broken glass, wood, and nails, I could feel them scraping into my feet and entering my skin. All I wanted was to get out. Finally, when I reached the window, I held onto the frame; and looked back. I could not believe what had happened to my room, a room that was utterly shattered into pieces. Although I made it out alive, I truly felt that my life was going to end that day.
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