My peaceful slumbers were disrupted by the sound of a high-pitched scream outside my house. I sat up in bed and stared wide-eyed out of my bedroom window as I tried to find out what was happening and who let out that terrified scream. I heard my parent's footsteps outside my bedroom and I slowly crawled out of my bed.
"Mum? Dad? What's going on?" I asked with a worried tone evident in my voice as I watched my parent's pack their bags in a hurry. My mother turned around and gently pushed me in the direction of my bedroom.
"No time to explain. Please, honey. Pack your bags, we're leaving. I need to wake your brother up." My mother told me with wide, scared eyes and I nodded, confused. I hurriedly packed away enough clothes for a week and met my parents and brother at the front door. Chris, my 10-year-old brother, rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he gently held my hand in his.
"Kat? What's going on?" He asked me in a tired voice and I gave him a small, reassuring smile.
"Nothing to worry about, baby." I replied, lovingly. I adore my little brother and I would die a hundred times over just to keep him alive.
"Don't leave our side, okay?" My mother told us and we nodded still slightly worried at our parent's strange behaviour.
As soon as the front door opened, I was taken aback by the destruction that had occurred ever since I first looked out my bedroom window. At first the night was calm and quiet, but now... I watched as a mob fled from something in the distance. I saw about ten or fifteen silhouettes against the fires of burning, overturned vehicles. I couldn't see their faces, but I could hear them moaning. They were slouching steadily towards us with their arms raised. I could hear people screaming and shouting. Dozens of people, most of them in their night-clothes, all shouting 'Run! Get out of here! They're coming!" The younger faces were asking who was coming, but the older ones just started running. They had a different kind of survival instinct, an instinct born in a time when they were slaves in their own country. In those days, everyone knew who "they" were, and if "they" were coming, all you could do was run and pray. My mother's frantic shouts brought me back to reality.
"Hurry!" My mother shouted and I finally started to run towards the car, but as soon as I reached our vehicle, someone grabbed me from behind and roughly pulled my shirt. I let out a terrified scream as I spun around and came face to face with my attacker. A large man who was undoubtedly heavier than me by a few kilos and covered in blood stared down at me. I noticed a knife protrude from his chest, jammed between the ribs and buried to the hilt. The smell of the blood made me nauseous and weak at the knees. He growled like a wild animal and then lunged for me again. I tried to dodge, but he managed to grab my wrist. Pain shot up through my body at the tight grip and I cried out in pain and fear.
"Get away from her!" I heard my father's angry voice and the next thing I knew, the man was on the floor growling at us. My father roughly pushed me into the car and I stared wide-eyed out of the car window as the bloody man started to stand again.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked in fright as the man slammed his hand forcefully onto my window. I flinched at the loud BANG that jolted the car. My father pulled out of our driveway and then drove away from our house as fast as our car would allow him.
"I don't know, honey. Everything is going to be okay as long as we stick together through this, alright?" My father replied as he sent a stern look through the rear view mirror towards me and Chris.
"Alright." I replied as I stared at the wreckage that was my home-town. I slowly turned away from the devastation and felt a pang in my chest as I noticed my little brother had silent tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. I grasped his hand and he slowly turned his attention to me.
"I'm not going to leave you. No matter what happens, I will always be with you." I told my brother with a small, reassuring smile on my face and he gave me a watery smile in return. Chris then gave my hand a gentle squeeze, before he turned his attention back onto the wreckage we used to call home.