Sorry for such a depressing chapter, folks. There's happier ones on the way! Enjoy!

It was cold. That was the only thing going through my mind as my parents and I hiked through the woods on our once-a-year vacation to Europe. It was my turn to pick where we went, so I chose Spain. But boy, was that a mistake; it was only around forty to fifty degrees every day. The only reason I had chosen Spain was because I spoke fluently in Spanish, even though my parents didn't. We'd already been everywhere else I had wished to go.

I grunted as I tripped over a rock in the grass and face planted into the hard dirt. "Can we just go home?" I begged desperately.

My father chuckled as he helped me up. "Hey, it was your idea to come here."

I dusted off my shirt. "I know, but did we have to go hiking? It's so cold."

"Well, then you should have worn pants." Scolded my mother, so I rolled my eyes.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my mom. She was one of the funniest people I knew, she just had this habit of picking out all the little things I did wrong. Take me wearing shorts on a forty-degrees hiking trip for example.

"We've been out here for hours!" I complained again.

My mom sighed and turned to my dad. "James, maybe she's right. It is getting pretty cold… maybe we should turn back."

"Alright…" He agreed, and we turned around and began walking back the way we came… or so we thought.

"I thought you said you knew where to go?" My mother asked my father.

"Me? You're the one who said the hotel was east!"

"No, I said we've been walking east, the hotel was west!"

"S-so we're lost?!" I panicked.

"No." "Yes." They answered at the same time. Now you know where I got it from.

My mother grunted in frustration. "Perfect, this is just perfect. We're over four-thousand miles away from home, and we're lost!"

"Stay calm, Mary. We're going to get home. If we just keep walking straight, we're bound to find a road somewhere."

"But that could be miles from here, dad!"

He didn't really answer me, just grabbed the two extra bottles of water and gave them to my mother and me. Then he turned around and continued walking.

About thirty-minutes later, more than half of my water was gone. I was suddenly reminded of that movie The Blair Witch Project and immediately shook it out of my mind. That movie was proven fake; nothing like that could ever happen. Just then, we spotted four men standing on top of a slight hill.

My father sighed in relief. "Finally… Hey!" He shouted. "Hey, down here!"

All of the men turned to look at us, and then one of them raised their arm, pointing, and yelling the words "Un forastero!" Which I translated to "An outsider!"

"Uh… dad…" I tried to warn him, but he didn't listen to me.

"Hey, fellas. We're kinda lost, so could you point us the way to the nearest town?" My oblivious father walked up to the men, as they were running down the hill towards us.

When the men we're almost at the bottom, I stepped forward a tiny bit. "Eh… Lo siento… Mi padre no habla españo—…"

Just then, one of the men pulled out an axe and swung it, slashing my father across the face. Blood was dripping form the blade and my eyes grew wide. Did that really just happen?

"Dad!" My mother and I rushed to aid my wounded father, when one of them grabbed her and threw her onto the ground. My father shoved me away from the crowd of hostile men while desperately trying to help my mom.

I fell to the ground with a loud grunt, alerting a few of the men.

Now one of them was coming at me with a pitchfork, while the other three were kicking and stabbing my parents. My brain didn't have time to fully process what was going on. I was scared. The two people in the world that I loved the most were getting the life beaten out of them, and I was next. When the man lunged at me, I quickly jumped out of the way. Then while he was distracted, I ran up behind him and kicked him in the back of the knees, knocking him down.

Next thing I knew, I had the pitchfork in my hands. My mind was hazy and my limbs moved on their own. I heard grunts and didn't stay to watch as blood pooled out of one man after the other.

When all was done, I slowly walked up to where my parents' bodies lay.

"M-mom… Dad…?"

It was silent, and I was almost positive they were both dead, until I heard a short gasp coming from my mother. I ran up to her quickly. Her orange shirt was almost completely drenched in blood, and there were multiple holes in it, indicating she was stabbed several times.

"M-Mom…"

I heard you were supposed to apply pressure to wounds, but which one should I choose? I found the biggest one I could, and quickly pressed my hands desperately over the hole, but blood kept seeping out, through my fingers. I didn't know what to do. She was always the one to tend my cuts and scrapes; I never imagined I would be in any sort of situation like this.

"Mom… please…" But it was too late. Her body laid cold and stiff.