When i was but four, my father was a signal core officer in the united states army. He had been
off duty for over three and 1/2 months. He recieved a call. My mother came out of the house with a
pale look on her face she handed my father the phone and my mother gave father a blank look.
He picked up the phone and whispered quietly. He then hung up and gave my mother the same pale look.
All of a sudden a turquoise pod shot over my head and blew a whole in my play house. I was only
four then. Not old enough to realize what was going on. The next pod shot by and blew my father in half.
my mother, frantic started running. She too was caught in the sliced into quarters by a zealot.
But me, I had been lucky enough to have picked up by a group of travelers when the carnage was all
over. I was only four then, not old enough to realize the concept of death. But i was old enough
to remember that first hit. The hit that blew my father in half. The other thing that i remember is
my mother's pale face. Her face was normally so bright and colorful, but at that time she looked
like a ghost. Almost dead. Those 2 things stuck in my mind, torturing me, haunting me, enraging me.
That was when i was but four.