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I would like to start this little entry by introducing myself. My name is Daniel, and I am 16. From ages 3 to 13, I used to go to my grandpa's house and stay overnight on the weekends. The area where he lived was a rather nice suburban area, with not a whole lot of crime going on. My grandpa has a room that he has instructed me to never enter, because it is the room where he keeps his old war rifle.

Anyways, when I was 13 years old, I was fiddling around on my Grandpa's old iPad (those thick ones from around 2010) at around 1 A.M, way past my bedtime. It was a very windy and rainy night. I had heard about a group of suspicious people roaming around the streets that night.

One of them came to my back door. I was about to go tap on a new video, when I heard multiple bangs on the door. I was startled, but I didn't know what it was at the time, so I did not think much of it.

That changed when I heard my Grandpa opening his bedroom door to investigate the noise. I tiptoed behind him to see what it was. The sight horrified me. A very tall man, wearing all black clothing and wielding a knife in his giant hands, was banging on the door violently. I dashed back into my room, careful not to make a sound. I peered out my doorway to see Grandpa going down the stairs, and opening a heavy sounding... something. I knew what he was doing. I heard him walk upstairs, brandishing his rifle. But by the time he got upstairs, the banging had stopped, and the door was open.

I was still looking out my doorway when I witnessed the man walk up behind my Grandpa and stab him in the chest. I was mortified. The man, however, did not know I was there. He started rummaging through the kitchen, dining room, everywhere in the whole house, looking for something of value. The man ran downstairs. I quickly bolted over to my Grandpa. He was motionless. I picked up his gun, and I knew I had to fend this intruder off.

The only setback, was that I had no previous experience with firearms. When I picked up the gun, I must have been holding it wrong, because I squeezed the trigger on accident, and shot it. I was completely screwed. I heard the man walk upstairs.

"Is anyone there?" I heard a deep voice say.

I made sure not to say anything at all. But I was frozen at the top of the staircase when I saw him, 10 feet away from me, staring directly at me. I ran faster than light, out of my back door. I wasn't wearing shoes, but my adrenaline-filled body did not mind one bit. Holding the rifle, I was constantly checking behind me. He seemed to have vanished. I ran into the middle of a road, unlit houses on each side. I turned around, and saw him. I pointed my gun at him.

"You don't have the bal-

I shot a bullet at him before he could finish his sentence.

It narrowly missed his hoodie-covered face. I am so dead, I thought to myself. I ran into the woods, thinking he would lose me there. I hid behind a thick tree. I told myself that if I died, I wasn't going down without a fight. I heard him walking very close to me. Without a thought, as soon as he walked by my tree, I whacked him in the face with the butt of the gun. He was knocked unconscious. I started beating him with it. I didn't think to shoot him, I just kept beating and beating his head in with the end of the gun. I had to make sure he was dead for what he did to my Grandpa.

This event has made me terrified of the night. Even at age 16, I still hide under my bed at night like a pansy, in fear that something will happen again.