¥+ So sorry! I didn’t have much time again!+¥

I had a treehouse, when I was 12. I played in it every day with my friend Jacob. My older sister, Kate, said it was babyish, but I didn’t care.

One day, though, we were sword-fighting with the wooden weapons we made. Jacob’s wasn’t really a sword, more a spear, but I spent weeks on mine, all by myself. I was so proud of it! Even Kate said it was alright.

Then I heard my sister call us down.

“Hey! Jack!”

“What?” I yelled, defending Jacob’s attack.

“Jacob’s mum is here!”

“But we haven’t even played on the Xbox yet!” Jacob said.

“Just get down here.”

We went down the ladder and Jacob got picked up, but then I played on the Xbox on my own in the treehouse.

———

A few hours later, and mum still hadn’t called me in for dinner. I was getting worried, so I went to go check.

My breath drew short as I rounded the corner to mum’s bedroom. There was blood everywhere and she was lying on the bed, bullet holes scattered around her body.

My sister was next to her, lying on the floor, same scattering of gun shots.

¥+ Please can I have some ‘constructive criticism’, because I didn’t have much time? Thanks for reading anyway! +¥