It was August 15th 1947, 3 years since the Second World War had finally ended. I was 8 years old at the time, and thoughts of the war were still present in our minds. I had just awoke from my desolate slumber, and was preparing to go outside, when suddenly my father kicked the door open aiming down the sights of his Karabiner 98k, his cider brown mustache twitching as he grits his teeth, burning with anger. "Son!" He explodes, making the walls shake. I know what he's going to say, but he can't know. I sprint across the room, as he fires the first round, it ricochets off the wall. I scamper under his legs, and run down the hall, towards the stairs. He fires the second round at my feet, but misses and sends splinters into the air. I hurdle over the bannister and plummet to the ground, while my father yells, "Get back here boy!". He's pounding down the stairs, and sends a third round straight for my head, sending a bullet through my canvas cap. I run down the hall, looking for somewhere to hide, as the fourth round smashes the grandfather clock sending shards of glass in every direction, grazing the side of my forehead. I stagger to the floor, blood slowly dripping from my temple, a river of blood down my cheek. My father catches up with me, his dark, hazel eyes locked onto my deep blue ones. "Son!" He burns, shaking with fury, "Where. Did. You. Hide. My NANDOS!?" I shiver with fear. "In-n my.. Closet.." I squeal, his eyes widen as he scurries off to find his chicken wings. I try to stand up, still shaken. when he leaps down the stairs with a bucked of chicken. He bites off a chunk of one of his chicken thighs, with a smirk, he groans "Mmm.. Tasty." Sending the fifth round straight through my skull. Black.