“Lucky” they called her. When she was six, her house caught fire while she was on a field trip. The people of her town called her lucky for she didn’t have to see the flames or hear the screams of her mother and father. She couldn’t look in the mirror because the color of her hair reminded her of the lit ashes of where her house once stood. The hues of orange and red, deep browns and hints of yellow reminded her of the trip her family was planning to take to the Grand Canyons. They were supposed to go the week following the fire, though that was seven years ago. Now she found these rocks by her aunt's house, at the bottom of a ravine a few yards from the house, there’s a creek and stepping stones with a beautiful bridge across the creek where her cousins fish. She found peace in between these two rocks. She fit perfectly, like it was the only place she belonged. She slept peacefully when she lay in the rocks, thinking of the trip to the Grand Canyon, and what could never be. She found the rocks extremely comforting, it reminded her of her parents and her own home. Her old room was filled with posters of rocks and mountains. She found science and nature fascinating. She loved the outdoors and always felt drawn to rocks. She’d climb, sit, and lay on rocks whenever she was near them. They were her home, as her old one was taken from her.