Depression Wars

Depression Wars

Chapter 1: The Beginning

“His name is Sunshine, Mother. Can we get one just like him?” I yelled to my mother from a faraway distance.

“Charles, get over here right now, and stop disturbing that couple.” My mother yelled back in shock as she looked around her, realizing I was no longer standing next to her. I had run away from their grasps unnoticeably and roamed to an uncomfortable distance for my parents. The couple with the Labrador puppy was too much of a temptation for me to overlook.

“Oh alright,” I said with a fading sad tone. I nodded at the younger couple, both of which looked more like college students and not park walking people, and I petted Sunshine one last time. “I’m coming over Mom.”

I slowly began to stroll back cautiously to my parents knowing of the trouble I would be in running off on my own. However, my parents were not the yelling and screaming type. They usually talked to me about what I had done in a calm matter. This really did seem best; it had given me respect for them, along with loving them more than anything.

I came up to my mother and father, head down. “Charles, you can’t just go running off on your own like that, OK? You can’t just trust everyone you see. There are some dangerous people out there.”

“But they had a dog. How dangerous could they have been?” I said in a pleading fashion. My father smirked at the comment.

“A Labrador, not that dangerous, but a Pit-bull might have been a different story,” my father said in a joking matter. Of course mother looked in disagreement.

I knew laughing would be inappropriate so I avoided it, but I looked at my mother with the saddest eyes a little boy could create. “I’m so sorry Mother; it won’t happen again, promise.” I knew that would get to her heart. I actually was very sorry for what had happen. Trouble was something I rarely got into, so guilt sunk in quickly when I did do something wrong. But that adorable puppy was my weakness.

“Charles,” she bent her knees to get to my level, “you are such a wonderful bright kid, OK? We both love you so much and we just don’t want to see you get hurt. I am glad you apologized, but you can’t go running off.” She kissed me on the forehead and looked at my with her saddest eyes like she just lost her favorite possession.

Father bent over to join the two of us. “Your mother is right, they may look like innocent people, but not everyone can be trusted. Especially with the profession your mother is in.”

I nodded and began to smile at them, realizing that a moderate level of trust and love was being reached between the three of us. We were back to the loving most amazing family there ever was. Distractions like that could not break the powerful bond we had. These were only hurdles that got in the way of our love.

We began our walk again on this beautiful Sunday afternoon in Raleigh North Carolina, my home all my life. It was such an amazing day, the sun was out, the weather wasn’t too hot, and freshness of the air made the walk even that more enjoyable through the park. We walked passed a tall set of trees and saw the circular deck at center of the park. This was the main attraction of the park, due mostly to the breathtaking design of the cathedral tower on top of the deck and various uses for the deck underneath. The entire structure was painted white and always seemed resistant of dirt and grind. People could set up barbeques or just sit and relax and enjoy the day. Many of the community events were held here and it was a very popular park in the area. Five brick roads connected to the deck and spread through various parts of the parks for miles. Our path led us through various sets of bushes and different colored flowers, all of which were amazing to look at.

I knew the park so well. We made it a family tradition to go walking here every Sunday, at least until I got older my father said, but I could not foresee an age where I would want to stop doing this. My father said in due time, I would want to become more independent and spend more time with people my age. But I felt like my understanding of independence grew more with them. There way of living and general attitude towards life was such an inspiration, that it would be unfair of me not to follow and study how they act. My dependence toward them would be the driving influence for my independence later in life.

I still remember his shocked look when I explained this to him at dinner one day. He said I was too young to be making such conclusions about life and the future me. But I was smarter than most kids, at least at the private school for privileged children that my parents enrolled me at. I was already reading and doing arithmetic two grades ahead of me. I had several meetings with the principal of our school, saying that not only are my grades impressive, but I was well beyond my years.

I always picked up on patterns really well, that is mainly why I succeed in science and math classes. It comes to me, as if my mind is an open infinite space, absorbing all of which was around it. I crave information; I wanted to know more as if my mind craves knowledge. I skip out on athletic events with friends after school. My chemistry book was literally my best friend. I became so addicted to it, that I went out and bought other books, even some at a college level. The word special was used about me, but I took offense to it. Special has too many negative connotations. I thought of myself as above the norm or gifted.

The farther we walked, the more exhausted we got. We rested on a bench, with me sitting in the middle of them. My father began to look up, searching for words to break the silence, “What time do you go in, Sheila?”

“Have to be there by nine. Another burglary case. Amazing how people think they can get away with this when they are caught on camera.” she said sarcastically. It was hard to fathom all the lies and deceit she hears in the court room on a constant basis.

“Yea, well maybe they have some unforeseen evidence or they can prove that there is an exact clone of them, running around robbing stores. Ever think of that?” Father always had some witty remark to help lighten the mood.

“Oh yea, that would be better than half the arguments people come up with,” mother went on after chuckling a bit at the joke.

The wheels began turning in my head and they usually did when my mom talked about her cases. I could never understand why people committed such crimes. If I was in need of money, I would not have taken what was not mine. I would work for it. But was there not work for him because of certain issues? The theories began to form more and I wanted to question my parents.

“Why steal? If you need something, then work for it. That is common knowledge. But what if he was unable to get a job? Maybe he was discriminated from getting a job due to race or social status. Survival cannot be achieved without a steady income. Stealing could have been his only option, and who is to say the money they stole would have been used for greater purposes. Often convenient stores sell things that can cause crimes. Why punish the person with jail? Why not try to make them a better person?” I finished this debate and look at both my parents eyes, waiting for a response. They looked lost for words, as if all language and diction was torn from them.

“Charles, the act itself is the crime. All of which you say could be true, but stealing is a crime and what is set in stone....well is set in stone. If laws didn’t exist then people would do as these please.”

“It just doesn’t seem right to me.” I continued to slam in my point. “Research should be done to see what past events made a person do this. Even the future can’t be predicted. They could become a productive person; this punishment could stop their progress in life.”

“You are sounding like your mother when she was an attorney Charles,” father said to again put some kind of lightness into the setting. He also was usually a part of the debates. “You wouldn’t want people stealing your text books just because they are deprived of school, would you?”

He made a point. I have forgotten to include the hurt party of the crime in my equation. They would be violated and would not have deserved their possessions being stolen. Even the clerk, who sold vices to the public, could have used the money on his children. “I guess you are right in a way, Dad. It just seems unfair that other factors aren’t included.”

My mother looked at me and smile, “I’m still amazed at how intelligent you are to this day.”

“You sure you are 10?” Father said which made me giggle like a little girl and made me feel embarrassed. “It is always a pleasure to have a son who is smarter than me.”

“Should I hold back on my currency theory?” I got very disgusted and uninterested looks from them. I had once for a social studies project came up with a theory to eliminate every currency in the world. All currency would be abolished and a system would be set up to give each person in the world what they needed to survive. All of the world’s supply would be mapped out perfectly to satisfy the needs of other nations. I had it all sorted it, in mass detail. The project took several weeks, working about 5 hours a day. Of course this was overboard, but I became so fascinated with playing the role. I took pride in having the opportunity to help the entire world, even though it was theoretical. I received an A grade and also a personal meeting with my teacher to make sure I didn’t receive my parents helps. Of course my parents vowed that they did not help and were in fact tired of me talking about it the project at home.

“Yes, we don’t want to go through that again” Father answered back. “You have all your school work done?” I nodded back of course as it was just a simple amount of homework for the weekend. “Good to hear. Then maybe you can play some computer games when we get back and you can help your Mother with case notes?”

I was so happy to hear that. I enjoyed playing several puzzles games on our computer especially with my Father. We were both pretty good at them and provided a very competitive match up. But more than anything, I enjoyed helping my Mother with her cases. My basic job was to help her organize notes or just type them out for her, but I enjoyed looking at evidence and reading about the unique crimes she had to hear each day. I would try to reach a verdict myself based on the evidence.

I loved my parents beyond any doubt that ever could exist. I loved them with every ounce of my body. They were a perfect fit, they were best friends, they were providers, and they were teachers. They gave me everything and I loved them for that.

“Yea, that would be great, I need the help, I am behind” she said with all seriousness. She was constantly busy, even outside of work. These walks were her release. “Any big surgeries tomorrow?”

“Just some routine bypasses. There might be a case similar to yours out in Florida.” He added on to the conversation.

“Well I know you will be able to help them,” she said with assured confidence.

The stories of how my parents met is one of the most interesting, unique, and tear shedding tales in this world. I have heard it many times over. Not only have I heard it been told to guests at our house numerous times, but a local newspaper even did a story on it. My dad sat me down several times to tell me the story, which made it engrained in my mind.

My father was an up and coming heart surgeon in the Boston area. He grew up in Boston and spent a majority of his life there and, like me, was a very intelligent young man. We shared many of the same looks, deep black hair, sharp eyes, and a very thin frame. But his family had several heart issues. Many of his uncles had heart attacks at young ages, and his own father had several heart attacks before passing about five years ago. So, my father, Eric Sheard, took the matter in his own hands and dedicated his life to saving his heart and then saving the hearts of others. He received his doctorate degree from Harvard and began pursuing his dream.

To this day, my father eats a very strict diet. That is the first key to keeping a heart. Instead of chocolate, he often shoved almonds at me as a snack. But nevertheless, he was helping me stay healthy and preventing me from experiencing this genetic trait. This was another reason I loved him. He was looking out for me, even in the future. He knew of the possible issues that came with being a Sheard.

As my father became more successful and more honored in the heart surgery field, he gained more responsibility. He traveled all over the world, saving people and then implementing ideas and practices with them to prevent future occurrences. Many magazines began doing articles on him, all of which are displayed at our house, and his name was becoming well known. The man knew everything about the heart and how it related to the entire body’s systems. He was also becoming a well fought after specialist and surgeon of rare heart diseases by hospitals and medical clinics. A lot was on his plate.

A call came one day of a little boy in Utah, who was experiencing random rapid heartbeats without stimulus to ignite them. The boy would often be lying on the couch doing nothing worth getting excited over and he would feel his heart almost explode out of his chests. He didn’t experience this when he ran and played or when he felt stressed or unhappy. The attacks wouldn’t last too long, but it alarmed his parents. So my father got the call to find out what was going on.

My father did several tests on him and could not understand the issue. There was nothing wrong with his actual heart, everything was up to normal. He had to see firsthand when the boy experienced this to better understand the problem. It was a late night when they brought the boy into the hospital with the rising uncontrollable heart beat. They lay the boy on the table and my father began running the tests.

The heart wasn’t stopping and his test weren’t finding anything. The longest the attack ever lasted before was around 5 minutes. The time passed the 5 minute mark and my father began to worry. He put the boy under anesthesia, which knocked the boy out but the heart continued pounding until it was too much. It was the first patient he had lost in about 5 years. He was devastated. There was no evidence to why this had happened; it was against all scientific knowledge he had on the heart. My father took so much pride in his work and he couldn’t take a failure.

The next day he went over the notes and records and found something interesting. When the boy was placed into the deep sleep due to the anesthesia his heart was not the only thing that continued to show signs of over use. Parts of his brain, especially the cerebral cortex where memories are saved, were off the charts. The signs of electronic impulses from his brain were those of the levels of a person who was in shock. The boy never mentioned any thoughts or memories he had that caused this to happen and my father wouldn’t expect him to lie about that, so he went and sought the help of a master of the brain at Harvard.

The man, Mr. Paulus, was a Harvard professor and a well-known man on brain functions. My father had classes with him while attending school there and admired his knowledge. He studied what my father had presented to him and came with a conclusion. He told my father to ask the family’s parents if the boy had seen something horrific as a boy. My father did as told and they said they were mugged outside their house when he was only 3. The parents said the boy was very frightened at the time because he was pushed and shoved by the intruder and had to witness the criminal holding a gun to his parents asking for their money.

But the boy couldn’t have remembered that happening, he was too young. Many memories and events are lost to us when we are young or they are just stored away because our brains are not fully developed. Mr. Paulus came up with a theory that the boy’s brain was trying to make the repressed memory alive again, and each time it tried that his heart was the only relating factor. The reflection of the actual memory failed, but he experienced the anxiety of it.

Most people who relive a repressed thought may experience some kind of reaction to it, mostly emotional though. They usually don’t have the exact feeling to the event, as to say their heart won’t reach the levels of it. Even if a repressed memory comes forward in a person’s brain, they won’t go into shock or have rapid heart increases. The person just deals with it and reflects on it. But, this boy’s heart and brain were acting in one to this repressed memory, without him knowing it. The length of how long they would last was random. It was finally decided that what he was experiencing was a rare genetic disorder where his brain and heart where relaying messages based off these repressed memories. He was fighting a disease that he had no chance of stopping.

They developed a medication, now called the Paulus-Sheard antidote. They were able to pinpoint the exact impulse that went from the brain to the heart which caused this boy’s heart to react. The medication would prevent the process from ever happening. It seemed good on paper, but they had no subject to try it on. The disease was very rare, they only found a few possible occurrences from the past, but they were too late to save them. This is where my mother comes in.

Sheila Carpenter was the law in Raleigh, North Carolina. She brought people the justice they deserved and put bad people behind bars. She was the most feared attorney in the state. She grew up in a large Mexican family of 10 except for her father who was a German and Polish mix. She came out with the dark hair, but a fair mix of the brown and pale skin color due to her parent’s mixed race. She also had the greenest eyes I have ever seen, and was the one obvious trait I got from her. She learned how to fend for herself while growing up in such a huge family. They had little, but they survived and did their best to give their children an education. On visits with her side of the family, I learned why she had such a stern attitude. Everyone was so opinionated, but loved each other of course, and they were well educated. Their family was often ridiculed for being a couple of two different cultures and races, but that made them stronger.

My mother always felt obligated for them and to this day she does. I never understood why, maybe because they had nothing and she knew she owed them something for raising her. Either way, she gave so much money back to her mother and her siblings. Being one of the top attorneys in North Carolina paid off well in her career.

My mother said Raleigh has both the greatest types of people and the worst kinds of people. It was night or day when it came to the city. As an attorney, she did a brilliant job of putting “scum” as she called away for a long time. I loved my mother for being brut about how people were, but she was still respectful to those who deserved it. The crime rate of the city went down and the city was prospering because of her. She then got the honor of becoming the first female judge in the state’s history and was a capstone on her career.

One downfall of this position is the political and direct intimidation you received. She received many death threats during her time because of the high powered criminal operations she was stopping. She would let me know about them, she knew I could take them since I was so mature. There was never any physical harm ever made against her yet, but our house was in a gated community and we had several home security systems. She was often bribed by political parties for their candidates who were caught being unlawful. She never placed anyone above anyone else; if you were guilty she made you pay for that action.

A week before becoming vowed in as judge, she experienced rapid heartbeats on and off during the day. She did exercise to eliminate stress, but she didn’t have the attacks until long after leaving the gym. It could have been from stress, knowing the new amount of responsibility and increased hours she would experience as judge. But she was a confident women, she never felt stressed about her job. Being weary or self-judging about her work would have not gotten her to where she was today.

She began seeing doctors and it could not be explained. They told her to be more relaxed, but she already was. The attacks became more numerous and lasted longer than previous encounters. One night, it became too unbearable and she had her father drive her to the hospital to which they could not help her. They put her to sleep but the beating continued and her pulse was off the charts. My mother got lucky, the heart rate lowered to normal, but they could not take a chance and kept her in critical care.

There was a young gentleman who was in the operating room that night. He was in medical school and was there for internship to fulfill credits. He recalled reading about a former Harvard graduate who had developed a cure for a rare heart disease. The young man found the article and gave it to the lead doctor on the case and immediately contacted this Mr. Eric Sheard. Mr. Sheard stated on the phone how eager he was to find another case and that he would fly down immediately. His timing was of the most importance, for within a few hours of his flight, my mother went into the heart attack.

My father contacted the hospital from a pay phone once he landed. He heard of how her heart rate was higher than ever. He was against all odds and time, the chances of him saving her where slim. Luck was his only companion. The distance between the airport and the hospital was very short and seemed to be a good sign, for there wasn’t much hope. My mother suffered that night; she did not want to be put to sleep because she wanted to see her last moments of living. With a majority of her family at her side, including her parents and many of her siblings, they witnessed what they thought was the last few seconds of Sheila’s life.

The pain became too much, the doctors thought. There was only a few more breathes in her until finally my father showed up. He threw open the door with such haste that it almost took some of the doctors and family members out. Her heart was near exploding and only seconds were left in her life. While running through the corridors of the hospital, my father ready the needle with the antidote to be fully prepared. Everyone moved to the side as this stranger rushed towards the hospital bed.

The medicine was administered. Everyone was calm and quiet. This Mr. Sheard could be the savior for this woman. Against all odds and destiny of life and death, my mother’s heart rate decreased. My father was relieved and began to cry along with the other family members. This was special compared to the other people he saved. My father was having a hard time dealing with losing the fight for the boy’s life in Utah and this felt like a victory over his grief. He hugged all the family members like they were his own and they thanked him in abundance. My mother was smiling, yet weak from the experience, but she thanked the man whom she had never met.

Fate has a way of bringing those together which may seem to be on opposite sectors of life, whose worlds have no common bond, but it still attracts them together against all odds. I always found it sort of weird how a patient and a doctor could have fallen in love and one day marry. The doctor is supposed to serve and better the health of a patient, not entice them with personal appearance and commonality. The patient is supposed to receive the help, and only be concerned about their own self. Patient gets better and then goes home and the doctor goes on to save another life.

They began to talk a lot each day. My father was mainly interested on seeing how long and well that antidote worked and how often to administer it, but it became far more special than that. My mother could have just ignored this, but she too was guilty. She had also fallen in love with him and really couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was the irony of the situation, that a man would do anything to save her against all the odds. Or maybe this was the way fate brought those two together.

In my opinion, it was circumstances and not fate, but who am I to judge how a great and unique love story is written. My mother became judge and continued to see my father who used the excuse of extensive research on her condition to be the reason to stay in Raleigh. The more they got to know each other, the farther enticed they were. My mother continued to get better and my father continued to watch over here. My mother had to receive the antidote once a week for the rest of her life and my father was obliged to administer it to her.

He eventually moved his practice down there. They were of two different worlds, one who saved lives and one who judge and condemns the outcome of them. But they shared various personality traits. They were good at completing each-others thoughts and ideas, they both loved humor in light of any situation, and they both loved making the world a better place. They were a perfect yin to yang match.

They married in 1989 and had me in 1990. I was there only child and would be from the sounds of it. The stress from their jobs was too much to handle, but they said they were lucky to have a son who could take care of himself. I know the story very well and have presented as a speech in English class once. I felt honored to be that son, who within a split of a second may not have existed. That made my love of my parents that much stronger.

We continued to sit at the bench; admiring the blue sky and beautiful day we were presented. It was becoming boring though and it felt to me that it was time to head back to the house. I began to speak up, “I’m ready to go home mom and dad, are you?” I said this in a very young adolescent tone, one often kids of my age used to get what they wanted. I stole it in times when I needed my way in desperation.

“Yea I guess so,” father chimed in as he slowly lifted himself off his seat. “You ready honey?” She didn’t have much of a decision in this process since him and I had already risen from our seats.

“Yes of course, we should get back home and get to work, Charles,” she said with a small smile, knowing the fascination and excitement we both had with working the cases. I smiled back of course and we began to walk on our merry way. I had the walk of a king, being in the happiest point in my short life so far. The amazing feeling of knowing within in hours that I would do something I enjoyed so much with the people I loved the most, made me enjoy that moment in present time even more.

Our path back to our car took us back to the middle patio, where there was still quite a gathering of people. Someone’s high school graduation was being celebrated and it drew a big crowd. I heard barking in the background, the same bark I heard on our arrival to the park. I turned to the left and saw the young couple with the greatest dog in the world, Sunshine. This time was different.

The couple was completely ignoring the dog and its barks for help. It was an extremely warm day, one that would not benefit a dog being in the sun for long. Any observer could tell the dog needed water, with the dog’s tongue hanging out as far as it could possibly go. It had constant cries for attention and satisfaction of water or a comfortable cool environment. But yet the couple ignored it and was more fascinated with each other and how close they could get to each other. The man began to yell at the dog, things like “wait a minute” or just “shut up for once.” I began to feel rage.

I had moments of rage as a child, one trait that I disliked and many others found wrong about me. I just hated seeing something uncivil and inhumane and just wrong with the world. Once this year, during the school year, I missed a school day due to an awful cold. I came back the next day to find that there was a partner quiz in our math class, and the person that I was assigned with did poorly. That would have been fine with me, but they gave me his grade as well. When the teacher told me this was the ruling, I became dumbfounded beyond belief. This did not follow any kind of logical reasoning, especially coming from a teacher of mathematics, a subject that is pure logic.

I cared so much about my grades. This ended up leading to my first ever F Grade. I approached her after class, ready to debate my position. I laid it out to her that I was not pleased with this and that I would like to take the quiz on my own. She responded that this was only a partner quiz and there was no one left who has not taken it. I began to boil, and my face was extremely red. I pleaded that it wasn’t my fault I was sick and that there was an unannounced quiz that I had no knowledge of.

That’s life. Her argument came down to that point. One has to remember, when you are going to a private high priced elementary school, the faculty are paid well and sometimes the greed gets to their head. She thought she was better than the students and school systems. I responded with a childish response of “That’s Not Fair!” Something I rarely said, but I was so caught up in the emotion of hate at that point. I had too much of my mother in me; she knew the difference between right and wrong.

Of course, I was taken to the guidance counselor and pleaded my case to her which seemed irrelevant. All teachers and adults at that school were on the same team and discriminated against the children on morality issues. She hardly even listened to my case. They brought my mother in, who lay the law down, and I was granted my own quiz which would then be averaged with my partner’s to make it finally fair. My grade was perfect; his was not, so it averaged to a C. I was finally relieved to get justice.

“Mother look,” I said getting back the matter at hand with Sunshine. “Look, it is Sunshine, they are ignoring him. He needs water; we should go tell them to help him.”

It is of people’s nature to ignore someone else who is being abused, especially as adults. They are too selfish to help. My parents were feeling this at the moment. “Charles, I’m sure they will give him water soon, you don’t have to worry so much about other people.”

“But this isn’t right, all I have to do is go over there and tell them to use the fountain right next to them.” I tried pleading with them. I never won in these fights. The blood began to boil inside of me and my emotions were taking over.

“Look Charles, we can’t tell everyone what to do.” Father said this to try and calm me down. With each fleeting second, I inched closer to the couple on a mission to give Sunshine water. With each step, I could feel the pull of my parents to leave this fight.

“This isn’t right, why can’t I go say something?” I was making a scene as I began to look around the park. People were noticing and staring at us, making small snickering noises in their private conversations. I did not realize that my emotion was expression such a loud response. My parents became embarrassed as I saw the upset looks on their face. I was a distressed child at this point and wanted nothing but to care for that dog. My face was filling with red emotion and temper. I had bottled my rage for awhile, ever since the incident at school, but it was coming back again.

“We have to go now Charles,” Mother said, beginning to pull at my back with her hand across it. The couple finally gave in to Sunshine’s cry and took him over to the fountain where he appeared to drink as if he just traveled the Sahara. I was finally satisfied they gave him a drink, but then I blushed. I knew discipline from them was coming.

We walked away from the crowd on the path to our car. “Charles,” as my mother kneeled down to me once again and put her hand on the back of my head, “you have to keep those personal agendas you have to yourself or at least not share it with everyone around us.” She was very strict when I wanted to try and fix someone else’s problem. “This was an animal, and I know you cared about it, but you can’t let the world know about. You need to remain relax and just let us know, OK? We could have kindly gone over there and asked them to give water to the dog.”

“We were very embarrassed back there,” father began his side of the argument. “You can’t judge so loudly like that. If you see a crime against another human being that is one thing, but a dog that needed water is something you shouldn’t go that crazy over. You should have just told us first and not abruptly gone into a public tyrant.” This was a lot more anger I had ever seen from him that usual. He was never a screamer, but he came in the crest of exploding with that comment. He still was under control though.

“It makes us look like bad parents, that we have no control over our child.” Mother again nailed in another great point. I began to tear up a little bit. I just didn’t understand the emotion behind why people cared about what others think of them.

Then again, I could not go against my parents. For the 2nd time today I said I was sorry to my parents. I did often say it, sometimes to just have them off my case, but I did mean it. Anytime they were affected by a situation I had caused, I did feel sorry. A couple tears rolled down my face and I received a hug from my mother. It was a firm hug; I think she knew where I was coming from.

“We love you Charles, we are happy that you are so outspoken and emotional, but you need a limit.” My mother had the best advice and outlook on situations for me and my endeavors.

“You know what?” My father came out of nowhere with a very high pitched, enthusiastic question. “That didn’t happen. Let’s just forget about it and go home and enjoy the rest of the night, Okay squad?” Why he called us squad, I had no idea, but that was the first time ever. He then began to tickle me in my weak point and I submitted to laughter. My mother began to laugh in the moment.

“I’m ready to go home,” I said out of breath from the tickling, “We have a busy night ahead of us.”

I apologized, knowing the pain I could be for them to discipline in moments like this. But they loved me for that and took pride in correcting me and making me a better child and future adult of this world. We approached the parking lot and left the scene behind us. Our car was parked to what seemed to be a mile away. Father just bought a new Mercedes, and didn’t want any dents in it from parking next to people and their careless driving. To say the least, we had a long walk ahead of us still.

We began walking on the hard asphalt, as I daydreamed with each step I took, wondering of the night ahead of me. The steps I took were soothing and relaxed my mind for the long unnecessary journey ahead of us. My legs did grow tired from the lengthy and demanding walks of the day and I’m sure as did my parents. As we reached the halfway point of our destination, I heard a loud sudden scuffle to the right of us in the trees. I saw nothing as I looked towards the direction of the noise. I looked up at my parents and they had not looked either as if that noise was either mute or only meant for my ears. I let it be and continued the mission.

We reached the car at last. “Alright, everyone in, time to head home and rest a bit.” Father said barking out obvious orders, as if we’re just going to stand next to our doors not knowing how to get inside. I laughed a bit and unhinged the passenger’s side back door. I jumped in the car with glee with a huge smile on face, thinking over how great this day was and how even greater the night was going to be.

I sat there for a few seconds and noticed that my parents had not gotten in yet. I began to wonder what could have taken so long. They were probably just chatting with each other about some off topic issue or just maybe about me. This began to concern me and like the 10 year old I was, this made me grow curious. Maybe they were planning some sort of punishment for what I did in the park. I couldn’t resist and got back out.

My mother wasn’t standing next to the front passenger’s side door anymore. She was now up in the grass area right in front of the car along with my father. I ran up closer to see what they were doing. Standing about 5 feet in front of them was a man. He was dressed in dark clothes, with black jeans and a long black overcoat. He had a senile dead look in his eyes; his eyebrows were slanted in a way to express fear and power. He had light brown skin, long black hair that looked drenched, and the sense of his anger could be felt through the air. Chilling was the only way to define him. He had a dead on stare to my parents and didn’t even noticed me at first. Suddenly, he took a quick glance from his lifeless eyes at me and then quickly right back at my parents. Who was he and why did my parents stop to talk to him?

He placed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a handgun. The movement was in slow motion. All eyes were concentrated on him and now the new threat. All thoughts and all emotions I had up to this point had vanish, they were taken from me and replaced with anxiety and extreme fear. All I experienced in my life up to this point did not matter; I was in the direst situation of my life. He raised the gun in dramatic fashion, trembling more the higher the gun went. It was pointed straight at my mother.

“Don’t do this! There is a better way! Please put the gun down, do not shoot my wife!” My father said with an outcry. His voice cracked and shrieked. The women he loved, and my mother was in the greatest danger in her life. My father said those words with tears flowing out of his eyes and passion coming from his soul.

I looked up at my mother. She gave a quick look at me, with water filled eyes and a sad filled expression. “I love you,” she said whispering to me. She glanced back to the man.

“This is your punishment!” the stranger said. A shot rang out, loud and fierce stopping the heart from pumping. There was no sound; silence filled all voids left by the resonance of the bullet. I did not think, because I did not want to register what just happen or accept what just happen. I remained motionless, staring straight at the man. My mother dropped to the ground.

“You will die with her, as she has killed mine, I will kill hers” the man said to my father. The bullet rang out again. This was not happening, it could not be. There was no reason for this. My father dropped.

I looked dead on to the man’s eyes. I finally got the courage to look down at my parents hoping to see that they were OK. That this was some bad dream or trick they played on me. It was not. The bullet wounds were on each of the foreheads and they were motionless. I fell down to my knees and began to accept what just happen. “I will spare you, kid. This is what you get in life when you mess with the wrong kind of people.” the man said while shaking the gun at me. He placed the weapon back into his pocket and ran back into the forest.

I began to shake my mother trying to get any response from her. It was no use. I crawled over to my Dad and again I failed. I began to shed every tear I possibly could and I cried my entire heart out. My head fell right into my hands and I let my palms soak up the water. “Why!” I cried out. Why did this have to happen? They were everything to me and they were taken from me by one person for no reason. I sat in the middle of them crying uncontrollably. I just wanted to go back in time and stop him and save them. Why did this have to happen to me, oh God why?

I had lost the only people I loved in my life.