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I put up flyers everywhere, hoping someone would return it. My Dad knew I was upset about losing my special ring and said he’d get me another if I couldn’t find it within a few weeks. I prayed and prayed to find it because it had such a special meaning to me; I hadn’t heard any word on it for almost a month and a half and was starting to give up. Finally, a friend of my friends found it and called me up. It was a little scratched, but still perfect. I hugged her so tight she thought I’d suffocate her. I’ve been wearing it on my ring finger ever since, I won’t let it out of my sight. My Dad said I shouldn’t wear it on my left ring finger, I told him I was using as a promise ring, and that I won’t have sex before marriage. My Daddy loved that and gave me a huge hug, one that took my breath away and made me cling onto him. My life and family were almost perfect, that was until my mom got sick. She started to sow signs when I was 17. She said it was nothing and went to the Dr. for. I did have other thoughts. My next one was a sentence fragment. What in the---?Something very strange was happening. I was breathing. Didn't I just die? Dead people aren't supposed to breathe. I was lying on my side with my head propped on something very different from the hospital pillow. There were no bedclothes over me and under me no mattress, just a hard floor. I also felt hair on my head. Hadn't I been bald only a little while ago, because of the chemotherapy? I struggled to open my eyes. My eyelids were heavy. Through the cracks I could see daylight. I forced my eyelids completely open. I was not in that hospital room any more.I sat up and took in the dismal sight. There was no furniture in this room. The floor was littered with trash of every description. There was a heap of black ashes and scraps of burnt wood in the middle of the floor, with blackened floor tiles around it. The walls were disfigured with spray-painted graffiti. The window had neither glass nor a screen, and.
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