It was the middle of the night when it all began-I mean, when else would an event like that happen?

My room was completely silent and my parents’ steady breathing could be heard from the next room. The door was slightly ajar and the only unsettled thing was that the rain was pouring outside. Any other night, I would’ve slept easily. But that night, something was very wrong. There was something there, in the air around me, which just made me feel sick. I realised why when I went to look out of my window and saw that all the lights were out; not just the ones in the houses but the street lamps as well. Masking sure it wasn’t a power cut, I switched my lamp on. I was wrong; the power was fine and a gentle yellow glow immediately filled my bedroom.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            So what was wrong?

In the month leading up to that night, I had come to a new school, due to the fact that we had moved house for my mum’s work. The school’s students didn’t hate me, or bully me, yet they never really took notice of me either, and I had missed my friends from Richmond Hill Secondary. I’d got into several bad fights, enough to get me suspended. I told myself that the real reason was that no-one understood me, but this, I knew inside, was just plain ridiculous.

I was separated from my thoughts, however, when I heard a noise outside my house. It sounded just like a helicopter; at first I thought it was merely an air-born vehicle passing overhead. But, after a while it became louder and louder, getting closer and closer. Hearing a click coming from my parents’ room, I relaxed, thinking that my mum had woken up. Then, a noise sliced through the silence, a noise I shall never forget.

The loud rattling of machine guns and piercing screams, all before the tramping of heavy boots coming towards my door. I picked up my radio and placed it in front of the door, then sat myself down and began to scream for help. Suddenly, I saw the doorknob turn out of the corner of my eye, so I pushed harder against the door with my back. Please let this be a dream…

“Don’t fight us, Ebony;” a soft voice told me, “We only want to make your life better for you.”

At this I did something stupid- relaxing my muscles, therefore letting the men burst in. Scrambling onto my bed, I pulled the duvet over my head and waited for something dreadful to happen. But nothing did. There was only silence. I peeked at the men from underneath my bedclothes. They didn’t wear an obvious uniform, but every one of them had an identical dark blue jacket and complicated black watch. They stood, machine guns on the floor, panting and staring at my direction.

“Um… what do you want?” I asked, trying to make myself feel braver. It didn’t work. One of the men took me by the hand and helped me out of my bed. “Just come with us, and you’ll find out.” I stared up at him, but he took no notice. Instead, he shot at my window, smashing it. Still not speaking a word, he grabbed my hand. I struggled to get out of it, but his grasp was firm and strong.

The next thing I knew was that he was pulling me out of the window, and I screamed and swore as he let go of my hand. I braced myself for impact, muttering. This is it, this is it, this is the end…

There was a thump. I felt pain in my hip and I opened an eye. It was dark, buy I was not laying on concrete. Instead, I was on a hard chair, being strapped in by several of the men I’d seen before. Looking out of a glass panel, I saw I was in the air. Flying. In a helicopter.

“What the hell is going on?” I cried to them. The one who had pulled me out of the window sat down next to me and said, “We want to make your life better f…” I moaned in annoyance, signalling that he’d already said that. I needed to distract myself; I looked out of the window and at the houses below. In the distance, there was a fire. A house on fire.

“I’m sorry…” the man said, “Orders are orders…”

“And my parents?” I asked, letting out a whimper and a tear. The man next to me sat up straight, and began to explain everything. He told me that the killers were criminals, terrorists who hated community and sought to destroy millions of innocent lives.  It was they who had taken my parents’ lives, not the men. They had come to me and tried to defend our homes. They were somewhat unsuccessful, but they were good, honest people.

Or so I had thought up until then.