He Had No Choice

I could not move. Every muscle in my body would not work. I was scared--scared of death taking away my life, my family. My eyes were teary but I forced myself to be strong. Will my next move be effective? I asked myself. My eyes were looking around. The room was a mess -- vases, picture frames were broken, blood on the floor and on the wall.

You must be wondering why there's blood.

My brother was shot by a man. A man whom I thought was loving, caring, strong and all the characteristics I thought he was. But I was wrong, he was greedy and selfish. The only thing on his mind was money, money, money. Without hesitance, the man shot my brother in the head. Upon hearing the shot, I immediately ran towards the living room where I found two men. The other one was holding a gun, while the other was on the floor--bloody. "Bryan!" I shouted. My legs became weak and tears fell from my eyes. I can't believe that I witnessed this scenery on the exact day I was born. I was kneeling in front of my brother's body--with his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling fan. I could see the blood stains on his shoulders and his blood on my knees. My brother was dead. Dead, I tell you. I can see some parts of his brain--they were coming out.

I was furious. I wanted to kill the man but I could not. He was holding a gun while I only had myself. My mother along with my two year old sister ran towards the place where we were. The man pointed his weapon towards them. The devil inside me grew. I wanted to stop him. I stand up and slowly, paced in front of my dear mother. One step, two steps, three steps. "Do not even lay a finger on them," I said furiously. The man didn't answer. He stepped forward, pointing his weapon an inch away from my right eye. Fear crept inside me and I was even more scared. I can't stop myself, tears were falling from my eyes. I was biting my lips just to prevent myself from crying but I can't. I just can't. Satan was already inside him.

He immediately grabbed my neck and he forced me to open my mouth. "You'll be happy with Jesus, Hana," the man said. He opened my mouth and pointed the gun inside of it. Blood was everywhere. The man was crying. He killed his daughter on her birthday; he killed his only son. It was the only way for his two year old child and the only woman he ever loved not to be killed by other men. He had no choice.

My father had no choice.