I skip across my yard filled with flowers. I stop and walk toward the rose bush. The roses were white, they had thorns. I kneel down to get one. I then listen. I hear a noise. It sounded like gunshots. Military jeeps fly down the road. The people on the back. My father runs towards me. Then I heard the most terrifying noise I would ever hear. My father screaming. His body flopped onto the ground. Gun wounds in his chest. I squeeze the stem of the rose and drop it. Blood trickles down my wrist and it drips of my arm on to the rose dying it blood red.
