I was sitting in my room, trying to teach my little sister how to play the hookah. The moment I lit the first cigarette, I felt a strange vibration through my arms. Then came the kaboom! It sounded like a missile hitting the ground.
I looked around and saw a big explosion in the distance. A red flash lit up the sky, followed by a deafening roar. I screamed, "Kablaow!" and then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was back in my room, but there was a hole in the wall where I had been hit. My grandmother was lying on the floor, her face covered in smoke. She muttered, "I'm sorry, son... I didn't mean to." But I knew she was still alive, though she was going to be out for a while.
Every time I light a hookah, I think about her. Every time I hear a boom, I remember the day we got hit by a bazooka. I try to tell my little sister about it, but she just laughs and says, "You're so dramatic."
But I keep going. I keep telling stories, I keep making memories, and I keep hoping that one day, I'll get another chance to share them with her.