I respected my father with my life. According to them they were the best parents I could've ever asked for. I respected them enough for the others to believe it. It was not because I needed to but because I had to. You see, If I didn't there would've been extreme consequences and the test I would've had to encounter. I was enduring a heavy load with my life, and my parents only added more mass to the load I was expierencing. I guess, that's in my perspective atleast. 

The door was closed one day and I heard my fathers footsteps approaching quickly and swiftly. Now, my door was very old and it didn't have a lock. I wanted the door closed because I didn't want my dad to know what I was up to. Besides, It was none of his buisness. He made me work every single day except for the only Sunday of each week. The door had a terrible screeching screek when you moved it slightly. I would only do this when no one was in the house. My father would come up to my room if he heard the loud door being shut, unfourtuantly.. 

The door flung open. My dad standing in the doorway with his overalls and boots on. 

He says, "Get up son or I'll get you up myself." 

My eyes open wide, and I knew what was about to happen to me. 

Instead of fighting him, I decide to stand up and follow him to my parents room. 

What the hell did I do? 

My dad was a American. He owned a farm, married my mother and worked to damn much. He taught me enough information and life skills about working and respecting others. He lived on a farm and I lived with him for some time. He was tall, had short brown hair and he was really pale, but in his face this was the palest part of his whole body makeup. It was weird to think about now because he was always outside working in the field trying to harvest the family food. I thought he would have a tan by now?

I was walking behind him into the small hallway of our  house. Our house was old, and the house was made of old rotten wood. You could walk outside and stand infront of the field and notice our house had a slight slanting to it's right. We couldn't afford the repairs because the Trial War was fighitng along the cities, and destorying every city within it's path.  Dad said it was unsafe and it was only safe at the house for now. 

We get to the room and my dad begins to turn around to tell me.

My dad's choice of punishment was a bamboo stick. He brought it back from the field one evening during the sunset. He looked at me and smiled, 

"You know what this is don't cha?" Chuckling with a ciggeratte in his dirty mouth. 

I wonder how in the hell he found the bamboo? I bet he planted it.. bastard. 

He proceeds swinging the stick and giving me the worst licks I could imagine. The bed rocked forward he swung the piece so hard. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes and waited for the punishment to be over. Tears at the foreface of my eye's. I wasn't going to show the weakness of the pain I felt to my father. I decided to hold it in and take the punishment at it's face value. I indeed didn't finish the corn so I deserved the punishment. 

One key componet I learned from my daddy was, you should never be disrespectful toward anyone. It doesn't matter if they were broke, the color on there skin, or if they chose to be disprespectful toward you. You should always respect them no matter what the outcome presented.

Saturday was the day I had to be in the field all day with my dad. I planted the potatoes, the corn, the sprouts and the lettuce. I loved me some vegatables. Our supply of begatbles was starting to become lower by the day. That trial war was destroying everything we could, whcich was food. We would work hard from the sun rising to the sun setting. He said it was for learning the responsliblites as I was aging. The act of me knowing I had to plant these seeds so I could eat just like him. 

My mother died in the trial war. The trialer which would come by each and everyones house would pick someone to go fight in the war. I didn't understand why they picked my mother? I had a idea though. See, she had cancer and she had no hair on the top of her head. We didn't know anyting about her condition only that she was deteriotating day by day. Now, I assume that is why they picked her. Dumb asses. 

I hated them all. I wish all of those who would fight in the war would be put to death if they survived. I hated wars, and everything about a war. 

They said, the trialers, the japanese tribes were here to collect America's harvest. If they could not obtain it by peace then they would obtain it by force. My mother was Japanese, so her and I didn't understand why the Japanese ruler wanted to kill other people for the harvest. I beleive they were low on supplies but just as America was also. I guess they wanted to extend there measures and not lel there people suffer as much as America was doing. 

Bofore my mom left to go help supplies in the city she told me I would be getting taken to a village in the island of Japan. I didn't want to go. I wanted to spend time with her before she left for the Trial War. My dad wasn't excited she was picked. He was devastated when he learned she was nominated. We both thought it was rubbish and not correct for a sick women to go into a war. Though, the population was at a all time low so I guess they were determined to eradicate the American's for good. 

Why is she doing this?

TO BE CONITNUED.