Milk. Seriously? How could I have forgotten milk. Throwing on my North Face, I grab $10 off the hallway table and stumble out the door. It’s beautiful outside but incredibly frigid. This has been the coldest day in Chicago since 1992. The night is pitch black, but the moon light is shimmering off the snow.

Passing by Mrs. Dilberly’s home, I see her husband hasn't come out to get the paper yet this morning. I pick it up and shove it through the mail slot. I always feel bad for Mrs. Dilberly and her family because she has been in chemo for three years. She is practically a second mother to me.

I continue my haste to get milk. I push the corner store doors open and head for the milk. I look for the pink bottle for skim milk. As my mom would say “skim makes you thin.” Yah like I need to be any more thin with all the sports I do, but whatever. I still smell the sweat from basketball practice after school.

Then, I see HER. Her name is Helen, and she is the rudest cashier in the whole world probably. I think she is an illegal immigrant from India but that’s none of my business. I drop the milk on the counter and before Helen can say anything I quickly grab a pack of “5” gum, my favorite, and place it on the counter. Rolling her eyes she said “tvou tventy svis”

Not knowing what she just said, I glance at the monitor and it reads two twenty-six so I throw down three dollars.

I shove my gum into my pocket with my cell phone and carry the milk in my hand. Suddenly, my phone began to ring. I scurry outside and answer.

“Hey baby!” It is my boyfriend Parker. We have been together for a year and a half now.

“Hey!” I'm practically screaming over the Chicago traffic.

“I was wondering if on Friday you would like to come over to have family movie night at my house. AND I want to see you again?”

“You see me everyday,” I inform him.

“School doesn’t count,” he insists.

“Sure that sounds fine. Can I talk to you later, I'm kinda in the middle of something right now.

“O.K. Talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

My knees are killing me from all the running we did today in basketball practice. I continue to walk down the street. There is smoke coming from everyone’s chimneys. I'm dreaming of floating up on one of the puffs of smoke and never returning to this loud annoying city. I suddenly hear clicking behind me and spin around and see a tall scruffy man, who definitely needs to take a shower, pointing a gun straight at my face. I wanna scream, but nothing is coming out!

“Empty your pockets,” he demands.

I take everything out of my pockets and throw it to the floor. Then, I take my cell out and slowly place it on the sidewalk and scratch my knuckle on the cement. It hurts, but not as much as this gunshot will, I remind myself. But the worst part is knowing what is going to happen next. I've watched C.S.I and Criminal Minds. I take two steps back, and he hastily grabs my cell and the money and shoves it into his coat pocket, which was way too big for his figure. BAM!

The shot is coming straight for my head but in slow motion. I remember my friends, my team mates, my boyfriend, and also my mom, who actually didn't do that bad raising me. My heart is pounding. I open my eyes and my chest feel like it is about to cave in. I scream.

“MOM!” I'm made aware she is here. Her feet are clumsily jogging down the hallway.

“What!” she asked.

“You have to hear about my dream.”