• Christmas, again. I hated Christmas for a very obvious reason, this was the day my parents had been murdered. I can remember it perfectly. I was five that year. I remember waking up to the sound of breaking glass. I had thought my dad was drunk again, so yawning I wandered downstairs to see if everything was okay. "Daddy...?" I remember saying wandering down the stairs sleepily. I turned the corner on the stairs remembering the white color of our carpet. Following the carpet with my eyes, not wanting to be hit by my father. White carpet seemed to go on forever, then it was flecked with red. I gasped as a scream rang out and the carpet turned crimson. Something dripped. I lifted my eyes slowly, paralzyed with fear. "D-d-daddy...?" I whispered quietly as I saw my father, or at least, his body drop at my feet. I shook uncontrollably and looked up. A man stared down at me. Grinning. He brandished a kitchen knife at me. I screamed loudly and turning I ran toward the stairs. I stumbled but the man made no attempt to catch me. I ran into my parents' room and began screaming "MOMMY!" I stared down into more blood. My mother or at least I think that nameless lump of flesh was my mother. She had been cut up in ways that couldn't be described. Finally the situation hit me, I was alone and they were dead. Tears began pouring from my eyes as I rocked in the bloody mess. The man wandered up the stairs, I can remember counting his steps waiting for the inevitable death that never came. He wandered into the room and stoping with me at his feet said in a friendly voice "Hello." I started screaming again. I pictured my father's gun in its drawer. I stumbled up and ran to the drawer, pulling the 9 millimeter handgun i aimed at the smiling man's head. I shivered uncontrollably. He smiled and said "Are you really going to get blood on your hands?" I remember my courage and control starting to break. I shifted, not even knowing how to use the gun I remembered that you had to pull the trigger. I aimed, forgetting everything. The darkness started creeping over my vision and I lost three bullets. I remember everything vividly. The man's smile as he was shot. He was still smiling as he hit the ground. That's why I hate Christmas, because of all the memories that come with it.