I was raised in a village where violence was not a fear. At least it was for a time. I remember one day i was taking a walk, they had a cold dead look. The once nice welcome became a death stare. My mother upon returning home, sent me to the nice doctor next door to to pick up some thing. When he opened the door he was wearing a mask, and his white cloths stained in red. When i asked him why was he stained. He laughed and said that all would soon be reveled. 

The next day, the village was in uproar, and they became hostile. They decided to take their anger out on a little boy, that little boy was me. I was alone, so i ran to the house of the doctor. While i was inside, the room was pitch black, the scent of fear was all that i could smell. The fear of never seeing the sun, or the fear of death it self. I saw a dim light, and underneath that was the doctor. Without missing a beat he grabbed me by the neck and pinned me against the wall. He held a knife to my neck and started to cut, laughing while he was doing it. Before i faded out i saw the mans face, it was my dad's.
 
I awoke with a shock, i started to think about what my father did. He would kill one of his children for his own survival. Then i realized, the world has taught me a cruel lesson. What a cruel world we live in.