When I was younger, I used to play a lot with my sister. We'd just go to the playground near our house and stay there the whole afternoon. My dad was never too concerned as he could watch over us from the window of our living room. There's not really much to say about the house, it was a big one. At least, I remember it being big, but I was never a tall person nonetheless.

Onde day, my mum died, for what the doctors said an unknown reason. I never dealt well with her death, and the huge possibility of a disease, is a dreadful thought. Not that I could think about that at the time, since this was 26 years ago, but not knowing what it is, still scares me.

A week after my mum passed away, my dad had left us in the morning without saying a word. We didn't know what to do as we didn't cook. We played around like we'd normally do and waited for my dad to come.

When we came back home, there was a stranger knocking on the door. We hid ourselves from him as our parents taught. The man left shortly after, and as we walked in on our house, we saw trail of blood that lead to the backyard. My dad had killed a deer, which he was going to cook for dinner.

While we were having dinner, we heard a knock on the door. My dad hated to be interrupted when eating, so he didn't answer, and we were forbidden to answer the door after 7p.m., which ended up in whoever was there keep knocking and knocking for what I reckon at least half an hour.

My dad answered. I had no idea who was but my dad wasn't and hasn't been the same ever since he opened that door, at that time, and I'm still yet to know what had happened there. I just remember looking at him gazing into nothing. He was just standing there at front porch, alone, staring at the horizon.

There wasn't really much to gaze at the horizon, as it was covered by trees and some small rocks, so I had my doubts it was the horizon he was looking at.
Weeks go by and we still have some deers and boars. Dad was a great hunter and he'd always bring home quite a few animals so we could eat.

Weeks passed by and the stranger that knocked on our door had showed up again. My dad hadn't answer this time, as he was possibly scared with whatever the man had or was going to say or do, and decided to pick up his shotgun that he always had in his bedroom. The man yelled. All I could hear was his shouts of my dad's name in a maddened speech. My sister asked him what was going on, interrupted amidst the question to be quiet. We then realised the man was not alone, when we hear our front window cracking, with hole on it. A few more holes started showing up on the same, and other windows as we start seeing arrows flying towards our wooden walls.

My dad told us to hide in the basement and lead us there. We hid ourselves, and that was the last time I had seen my him. The last thing I remember was the cries of my sister and the gunshots from upstairs, as I now write this in the hospital bed.