I remember,

pretty lights. Once upon a time I wished to be a hero, do some good in the world. I was a small boy around the time my dream transformed into an endless nightmare, between the age 5 and 6. Everything was red, black, and blue, my father was holding a knife. My father asked the heroes to kill him, he last spoke, "I don't want to hurt anyone anymore." I heard the powerful sound of gunshots for the first time. I realized the true meaning of a hero, I saw the evil of bloodshed. I did not grow hatred for the police, but I learned the difference between good, neutral, and evil. I learned sometimes you must use one of the three just to survive or evolve even if you don't want to do it. My little brother has no memory of our father, he was an infant at the time. At least I get to say "I remember." All my childhood moments will be lost in time like tears in rain. Time to grow up.