11:11; make a wish

   --------------- chapter one -------- 

A   l   a   r   i   c   e    '   s     p  .  o  .  v

What if every 11:11, birthday, and shooting star wish came true?

I ran up into my room and quickly turned on my big television, I switched through the channels until I reached my local news station. Sure enough, Barbera Santima, the head anchor of the show, was located right there, on Witty Avenue.
Where my church is located.
And, once again, sure enough, the report was about the tragic fire that started in the church kitchen.
I panicked and threw my TV remote, turning off the TV accidently. What the hell? I ask myself, as I quickly change myself into sweats and a t-shirt.
I sat on my bed and turned on my Mac laptop. As I waited, my mother called me down for the toast I started earlier today. I  walked downstairs and grabbed my toast, a glass of orange juice, and walked straight back upstairs.
I quietly closed my bedroom door and proceded to my laptop. I typed in 'Facebook'  and signed myself in. As I expected, everything was about the church, because this church was one of the only churches in town, so everybody went there. Including HIM. That was really the only reason I was sad about the church. Because of him.