It was a beautiful evening. My father had returned from the war and told me he would be with us until the end of the summer holiday. I was so happy because he had been a very busy soldier.
We went to visit my grandparents; my aunt was also coming from another country. She was one of my favourite people! But when I arrived, a very loud voice sounded outside. I was startled and ran to the window. The view was horrifying. There were a lot of people with guns outside — and even worse, they shot my father.
They all had one eye (the other was blind). They came in and murdered all my relatives, but there was a girl about my age among them, and she helped me hide. “Do you know why they are here?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“I’m Joy. What’s your name?” she asked. I simply said, “Carrie.”
Her mother told me that my dad had accidentally killed someone from their family during the war, but Joy seemed less violent than the others; she looked as if she knew murdering us would be wrong. They left, and I was alone in the house. I called my aunt.
My aunt took me in and raised me. We spent our lives trying to survive and hunting the one-eyed people. I trained with a brilliant sword and became very skilled in battle. They called me “the cute murderer” because I cut out their hearts when I killed them — but I didn’t want to do it. Hate was never a part of me; it’s something that’s learned.