I entered and turned left, following my usual walking path along the corridors. I started with Dodge Vipers and Lamborghini model cars. I turned right into the section of outdoor toys, golf sets, Frisbees, baseball bats and soccer balls, looking and imagining what I could do with them. Not entirely impressed, I walked down the hall, slowly, waiting for something to catch my attention. There's definitely something about this heavenly toy store that a six-year-old would go crazy for. I made another right turn scanning my surroundings and lo and behold, my head hadn't even turned all the way before I saw the most magnificent, glorious toy. In an essay written by Anwar Accawi titled The Telephone, the author sadly and sadly states, “I'm still looking for that better life.” This quote contrasts perfectly with how I felt because I was reacting as if I had just found what Accawi was still looking for, that better life. I stood in front of this beautiful toy and admired the freshly stripped paint of the orange and blue tiger. This magnificent toy gun was bright with colors that stood out like a sore thumb, perfect for the imaginative warfare I conjure up in my mind. It had a full supply, complete with a permanently attached clip that I spent a few minutes trying to remove. I got this beastly machine gun still attached to this horribly rigid box. He seemed so restrained; I needed to get it out. Squeezing the trigger produced images of cops and robbers that danced in my mind as I listened to the chirping sound of the repetitive "click, click, click." My mother quickly joined me as I held this machine gun above my head. eager to show my friends there was a new sheriff in town. My younger sister followed my mother with the same old Barbie doll into... the middle of a sheet of paper... on the driveway while we each took turns sipping from my water hose. I was facing the ground with the hose in my hand drinking water when I faintly heard my father say that he was going to run to the store and would be back shortly. Then I heard it, the sound of a horror movie echoed through our place of worship. It was a sound no boy should ever have to hear, especially compared to the joy he felt before. I heard a loud crunch, pop and crack. My dad was backing my toy into the driveway. I immediately started screaming for him to stop, a flash of tears streaming down my cheeks. How could this happen so soon, I cried to myself. My sense of joy, my confidence, all the praise I received were gone. My summers of greater confidence and nights of fun with my friends were now over. Oh, how quickly our material possessions leave us faster than they meet us.