Stop Snoring Remedies

I’m a big time reader, and I love writing fiction/fantasy. Yeah, and I’m only 10-13. Now here’s my story. (at least as much as i can put in.)
I walked slowly through the swarm of people running in my direction. There were looks of terror on their faces, but I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I tried stopping a few people to see what the problem was, but they were too busy running to notice. Only when I got to the end of the swarm did I see what they were running from. Something totally and extremely bright was bursting ever so closer to where I was standing on the road. It was a large, burning orb of light that almost resembled the sun.
I woke with a jolt, lying on the floor next to my bed. I groaned and sat up, then checked my alarm clock, which was screaming. I reached to shut it off, when suddenly, it stopped all by itself. Everything stopped. My parents snores stopped in the other room, the blinking of the colon on my clock stopped, the crickets stopped making their noises. The night was still and silent, like never before. I froze for a few seconds, my mind racing, unlike everything else. Why had everything just.. Stopped so suddenly? All at the same time? I pulled on my fuzzy pink robe and matching slippers, then quietly tip-toed to the door and swung it open. The hallway was pitch dark. I flicked on the lights, and then I peered into the hallway and walked to my parents door and slowly turned the doorknob. I quickly turned on the lamp and then stared at my parents.
They were lying perfectly still in bed. I tip-toed over and let my hand hover over my mom’s mouth. No breath came out. Same with my dad.
I was suddenly extremely panicked. I ran out and down the stairs and burst through the door. The porch light was on, and there were fireflies in mid-air, wings not flapping, but just hanging there, defying gravity. I ducked under and round them as I jogged out onto the street, where a car that had been coming my way was completely and totally still. I looked through the windshield and saw that the driver was a teenager with his cell phone to his ear, and his mouth open as if he was saying something. His lips didn’t twitch, nor did he blink or make one small movement.
I wrapped my robe more tightly around myself and headed up the street.
There were only a few cars here and there, but each on was frozen still.
The gas station down the long street was open, so I stepped in and was startled when a man was in front of me, but the man was just a stone sculpture, like everything else was. He was in the middle of walking out, his left leg out, ready to step where he wouldn’t for a while. The cashier woman was staring at the back of the man’s head, and she was smiling. That’s when it hit me: Time had stopped.
But how? How was it possible? How come I wasn’t frozen, like everything else? Suddenly, the ground began to quiver beneath my feet, and the tile on the floor of the Gas station cracked, making it like a canyon. I fell through, screaming a scream that no one would hear.
CHAPTER TWO: TIME QUAKE
“Whoa. Young lass, it seems you had quite a fall. Are ye okay?’’
I looked around and then saw that an old woman was speaking to me, and holding a package of ice to my forehead.
“Uh, I.. don’t know. Where am I?” I asked, feeling a bit dazed.
“Why, where are ye?’’ the old woman broke into laughter. “You’ve just gotten through here through a Time quake. You’re mortal, aren’t ye?’’
“Yeah.. I am.. I’m human. Aren’t you..?’’ I asked, staring at the brown-eyed, wrinkled woman’s face. Her hair was snow white, and she seemed human.
“Why, ‘course I’m not human. If I was, I’d be a lookin’ much prettier.’’
“What are you, then..?’’ I asked, shifting my position so I sat with my legs crossed.
“I’m a kitchen maid for Her Highness, Lena. I’m what ye call a scullery maid. Used to be a witch.’’ the woman sniffed. “The names Mary. What can I call ye?’’
I hesitated. Should I say my real name? Could I trust this ragged old woman?
“Ember. So, I mean, where, exactly, am I? What happened to Earth? Am I on Earth? How can you be a witch?’’
“Why, your not on Earth, Sweet pea,’’ said a younger looking woman around the age of thirty. Her red, wavy hair was tied back, and she was wearing a green apron and gloves, and carrying a spade.
“Who are-?’’
“I’m Rosalina, Rose for short. I love gardening. I live right next door, Sweet Pea. Mary here likes to come visit me to get some normal food. Normal food, you ask? Well, Lena isn’t a princess. She’s the snotty brat that lives in this building. About your age, I think. She has her own maids and such,’’ Rose gestured towards Mary, “and she feeds them the worst food. It’s disgusting.’’
“Why don’t you quit?’’ I inquired.
“Not allowed. Lena wont let you quit. You have to work for her forever. But, ‘course, I’m going to escape sometime. When I can through those guards, I wi

I drive my shovel into the ground as hard as I can. It seems as though all my anger and bitterness has been building inside of me, begging to be let out. I want to yell, scream, let myself know I am still alive. I wish I could feel something, anything, other than raw hatred. How can the guards stand there barking at us so nonchalantly? We are humans, too!
I try to regain control over my raging temper. They are only puppets, I tell myself. Hitler’s puppets. The Devil’s puppets. If only they knew this hell we live. Hell. I used to think it a curse word, but now I know better. Nazi should be a curse word, or Hitler, or Auschwitz. There is no curse word terrible enough to describe where we live. Hunger so intense I could eat this dirt. Agonizing pain, day and night. But worst of all are my emotions. Or should I say, emotion, for there is but one. Hatred. I have become immune to sorrow, sadness, even hope. Hatred is all that is left and it is consuming me.
I am in a Nazi concentration camp, one of millions of Jews forced to labor endlessly like slaves. I have no family. I used to have a mother, but not anymore. All I can remember is her screaming, “My daughter, my daughter! Please!” as the Nazis dragged her away to be gassed four months after we arrived at Auschwitz. I used to have a home in Poland where I went to school and had friends, but all of that is just a shadow of memory now. I used to try to remember, but now I know that it hurts too much; it is like pouring salt in old wounds. So I try not to remember, but that is just as painful.
Now I glance down at the number carved into my arm. It is a constant reminder that I am slave; I do not own myself, the Nazis do. I am nothing more to them, or anyone else, than a number written in a book. I stroke the hateful lettering as if I might somehow rub it off, be free of my number and escape from this dungeon.A Nazi guard bursts into my thoughts by clouting the side of my head with his gloved hand and screaming at me .German is a perfect language for him, I think bitterly. It is as harsh and ugly as he is. I resume my shoveling and begin to wonder what exactly I am digging. With a shudder, I push that thought out of my mind. They say that an idle mind is the Devil’s workshop, and our own imaginations are much worse than anything the Nazis could possibly do to us. I can only hope that’s true.
Much later, we are corralled back into our barrack for bed. I curl up in my bed, cold hungry, and alone. I am crammed with seven others into a wooden shelf that serves as a makeshift bed. The splintered wood pokes at my bare feet like thorns, and I toss and turn in an effort to relieve my pain. When my mother was here, she would sing softly in my ear on nights such as these. I try to remember one of the songs she used to sing to me, but then I stop myself. No, I tell myself. Don’t try to remember. She is dead and always will be. I begin to cry in spite of trying not to. At first I cry because I am alone and have no one, but then I begin to cry out of hatred for the Germans. How could they kill my mother? How could they be such vicious animals? How could they tear my life apart so quickly? I close my eyes and feel the warm teardrops slide down my cheeks.
A hand touches my shoulder and I sit up with a start. I look around for who touched me. To my left is an elderly woman, snoring noisily, to my right, a girl around my age, who is awake. I recognize her from the cattle cars we took to get here. She was standing with her mother and father and two little boys, probably her brothers. I wonder what has happened to them.
“Are you okay?” she whispers quietly.
“Is anyone in the camp okay?” I respond fiercely. She does not respond but puts a comforting arm around me. I wipe away my tears, embarrassed that she saw me crying, until I notice she has been crying also. I venture a question to break the awkward silence.