After I left the safe haven my dad and I had made for ourselves, I began to realize just how sheltered he had kept me. I saw people getting raped and killed in the streets, and nobody gave it a second thought or tried to help in anyway. I found out why when I moved to intervien. The assailant was an older man, probably a few years older than my dad was. But what set me off was who he had chosen as his victim. A young girl, she couldn't have been older than 13, and she was screaming. I learned how to kill that day. I took my revolver and blew that bastards brains out, but I don't consider that murder. All I did was put down a rabid beast. The murder came when the young, 13 year old girl asked to see my gun. I should have known better, should have seen the look in her eyes as I handed to her. But i was young and naive, and I didn't know jack shit about the streets. So I handed her the gun, and in the blink of an eye, her brains joined her rapists on the wall. I was stunned, I couldn't believe that someone would do that. A few hours later I figured it out. She thought I was going to finish the job that the first bastard had started. Its not as if I knew better at that point, but I still blamed myself for her death. If i had been more street smart, I wouldn't have let that weigh down my shoulders as I continued heading north. Call me a moster if you want, but I have never helped a scream or a shout or a cry since that day.
