• My story doesn't start like many other stories. There's no build to the plot. It was just a simple flip of my life. Just like a sudden change. There were no clues, no hints.

    It was a little cold that day. The wind was biting at my cheeks as we, my parents and I, were just returning from the market.

    It was in the middle of night, about 10:30 pm, I'd say, so not many people were outside. It was quiet, peaceful, almost. Until an ominous shot rang in the air. I could hear the fluttering of birds and their squaking, much like you do in the movies. I grasped tightly onto my fathers coat as a mysterious man appeared from behind a vacant apartment building. A glimmer came from his right hand, and I was more than surprised when I saw a pistol, a large pistol, in his right hand, though I made no sudden reaction for I was petrified in place.

    Although I couldn't get details of the look of the man, I could clearly see he was tall. He had to be 6 and a half feet, towering over my dad by almost a foot. He sauntered towards my parents, his gun ponting down. As he got closer, I could see more detail. He had a long beard, I'd say about one foot long. It was stragly and dirty, like a rag after you scrub it against manure. His hair was dangling down onto his shoulders like a large mass of what could be described, if you were trying to be nice, a tangle of notrorious disaster. He wore a hat of some sort, but at the time it looked more like a scratchy piece of moss than a hat, because, like much of his other features, it was in a tangled mess. He wore a torn up jacket and pair of jeans, as well as a dirty tanktop. You could tell his eyes were filled with anger; his eyebrows were slanted as diagonal as an eyebrow can get. I backed off once he got about ten feet away from my parents. In my sudden fright, I scurried of and hid in an alley, and watched what was about to happen.

    "Where's...the money?" the man growled, staring straight at my father. My stumbled a step backwards, and then gained back his posture,

    "Money?" my dad replied with a hint of fear. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." The man pointed his gun at him.

    "Yes you do, John. Give it. You owe me." My dad looked stunned.

    "Now, Frank, why don't we..." BANG! A shot...piercing my father's chest. He fell to the ground in a clump, not giving out a single noise. Not even a grunt. My mother squealed and ran towards my father, weeping uncontrollably. I was just too shocked to even make a sound. I even tried. Nothing. Another shot rang in the air, and before I even knew it, my mother was dead too.

    "Don't mess with me, John. Don't." he said, as if my father was still alive. Then he walked away, as if nothing happened. As if he didn't just kill two people. I ran over to my parents, my head swirling with questions. Why? Why did this happen? What was going on? Did my father have a deal with a bum on the street? How do they know eachother? And at that moment I thought: I should be dead too. I ran away. Why'd I run away? Because I was afraid. Afraid of getting killed myself. I only wish that I was the one in front of that man's gun. I got up, wiping the tears off my face. The only thing left to do now...is figure out what the heck was going on.

    To be continued...