I arrived from school, my legs aching from the walk, and put my bag down outside the door. I press the doorbell once. No answer. I notice that my dad's car is not there. Mum might still be inside, maybe in the kitchen with the door closed. I press it five more times. Still no answer. I walk across the front garden and look through the window into the lounge to see if anyone was home. I don't see anyone but I can hear the muffled sound of an alarm inside. The lounge looks all foggy. Fire! But my mobile was inside, I was not sure weather to shout or not. I jump in the ground and lie down. I was about to start crying when my parents arrived. I got up and rushed over to them and gestered them out. They rushed in and opened the door. No fire but a house full of seriously thick smoke. We flailed about opening windows and then, being 11, my mother got me to stay outside. I was outside for about an hour and it turned out our oven had had an overdose of crack and flipped. The chicken was burnt.
That was one of the shittiest days of my life.
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