It was a fine, sunny day. Everything was fine, no clouds, no storm to worry about. The plants below our house were all green. The leaves of the plants were swaying invitingly. It was still early, the rays of the rising sun just touching the top of the mountain peaks and my mood equaled the serenity and brightness of the day. I put on some music and I went into the kitchen. Breakfast was ready and everyone was already seated around the table except me. My father was silent, as if thinking deeply, I didn't mind because my father was really a quiet man in his fifties. My two younger brothers were seated at the right side and my younger sister at the left. I sat beside my sister. In the absence of my mother who died when I was still fifteen, I was in charge of making sure that my siblings were taken cared because they were still youngsters. I was already a teacher that time and I was on my first year of teaching.

We ate silently as was our family's practice. Nobody was allowed to talk while eating. An old tradition that had affected us even if we didn't like the practice. After breakfast, my younger sister washed the dishes while I went to the other room to gather the laundry that we were to wash that day. Everything was quiet and I even hummed a song.

I heard the first shot. It was as if I was awakened from a dream. The loud music was still playing as I tried to peep through the window. I put off the music when I heard my father shout. "Go out! Go out, children! We are being attacked!" I felt my limbs go weak. I almost collapsed. I saw my younger siblings run outside and my father ranting words I couldn't understand. I ran out from the house and we all lay down on the ground. Bullets kept flying over us. I was in shock but my body wanted to run and find out what was going on. As I tried to stand, my father grabbed me down.

"Get down! You will be shot!" His voice trembled but it was with force. I regained my position on the ground and we waited while the bullets kept flying from somewhere we couldn't see. The source of the shootings was above the hill and was blocked by our house.

After a while, the shooting has stopped and we stood. I ran inside the house and I changed my skirt into pants. I remembered what I heard that these military men often turn their wrath to civilians if they didn't have their way to the rebels. I feared the worst for my father and brothers. Women were often spared but men were not.

I

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