Grey clouds enclosed the sky, that day. I remember it very well, for a child. It had been raining that morning, but had stopped around noontime. It was still blustery and the grounds still muddy and wet. We had to stay indoors.
Looking out of the window, I become aware of his face. I would only meet this person once, but that face became an immortal figure, scared within my memory. He was in his forties, I guessed. He wore a black suit and tie. He carefully picked his way through the gravel pathway, evading any puddles along the way.
"Father! Mother! Come here!" I shouted, "There's somebody outside." Visitors never came to our house. I was full of excitement.
My parent entered into the dining room. As they stared out of the window, as the man had come closer toward the house. Once he walked onto the balcony, I heard a thump on the door.
"Let him in," my father told me. I did what I was told. I opened the door, lowering my head as the man entered. I returned to my father's side. He sat down, taking his hat off and placing it on his lap.
"I am here on behalf of his royal majesty, King George. He requests this property," he stipulated.
"But we have lived here for many generations," my father told him. I noticed he fists stiffen. "Where else do you expect us to live?" My mother started to weep. I tried to not shed a tear. I did not want to leave. This place was home.
"I am sorry to tell you this," the appearance on his face told that he had lied. "When his royal majesty demands you to do your duty, you must do it as a proud, loyal and sacrificing servant."
I began to feel ill. I wanted to leave, but decided to stay. I had to give moral support.
"Can I," my father stopped for a second, "talk in private?" I started to leave for my room, before my father added, "Outdoors."
They left the house, leaving us in melancholy. My brother was pestering my mother, but she was in no mood to reply. She bent her head down, refusing to look at us. After a while, I decided to see if everything was alright.
As I moved around the house, toward its side, where the wood was usually cut, I noticed blood merging with the mud. I could feel my bare feet sinking into the mud, as I trampled towards the disturbing scene.
My father was standing, in shock. I noticed he was staring at something. At his feet, I noticed a black suit covered in mud. Blood was pouring from its owner. I noticed an axe in my father's right hand. I took a step back.
As I started to sprint away, the hiccups started to begin. A painfully stinging feeling started to appear within my throat. As I approached a tree, I feel onto my knees. Yellow liquid started to pour from my mouth. Within a few seconds, I fainted.
The next day, I refused to go home. And when my father spoke his last prayer, I refused to attend. I decided to not give moral support.