It all started with my ninth birthday, I was sitting at a cherry red picnic table, surrounded by my many friends, and about to blow out my candles that were on top of a Justin Bieber cake, whenever the first shots rang out.

My parents grabbed me and the kids around us by the head, and shoved us down under the picnic table.

My dad yelled something out, that I couldn't understand because I still had a ringing in my ears from the gunshots.

Mother bent down to our level and shielded us as she spoke soothing words like, "Everything is going to be okay." , and "Were all going to be safe."

My father called out from across the yard, bullets firing out at random, my mother looked up, and then back at all the terrified children huddled under that red picnic table, with the cake still on top.

Even at my young age I could tell my mother was having and internal battle, to either go or stay. I watched with curious and scared eyes as my mother took each one of us and kissed our foreheads, when she got to me I somehow knew that after this I wouldn't see my mother again, that once she moved, I would see her lifeless body on the ground, and her blood, staining the green grass below.

When she got to me, I wrapped my somewhat chubby arms around her neck and buried my head into her shoulder. My mother whispered to me, "Every choice you make will affect you, just like this one, but this one will not only affect me, but also you. Stay strong, my little Am."

At that point my eyes were overflowing with tears, and her shoulder was drenched. She rubbed my back, as I let the tears flow, she pulled away after what it felt a lifetime of crying but probably was only just a few minutes. She looked at me with sad eyes as she pulled away from me, leaving me hiccuping, with tears running down my face, as I watch with the rest of my friends, as my mother stood up.

Almost immediately my father let out a strangled cry as my mothers body fell down with a bullets throughout her, but the one that killed her was the one that went right between the eyes, and straight through the skull.

Her once joyful eyes were now dull, and unmoving.

There was my mother, the one who birthed me, the one who understood me, the one I looked up to.

She was gone.

I heard a thump as I turned my head, and saw my fathers corpse fall on the floor, I heard footsteps run away from the murder scene.

I didn't even look to see who had killed my parents, but what I did hear was, "Conner! Lucas! Will! Jason! Come on! We've done our business! Let's go and collect!"

My heart dropped as I heard those words, even though I was only nine, I still knew what they meant.

My parents were murdered.

Cold blooded murder.

The taking of innocent lives for money.

My parents were killed for money.

That was when hate replaced sorrow, and rage replaced grief. That's when I knew that I will kill everyone that has causes this pain to another.

Every tear that has fallen for a loved one being taken away for fun, for money, or for revenge.

I will be the one to wipe away the tears on a person's face while holding a battle ax with my other hand ready to fight the martyr.

Doing that, I will kill, but still comfort those in need.

I will take away lives that has the blood of the innocent on their hands, even if it will cost me my life.