The earliest memory I can think of begins early in the morning when I was around 8. Walking threw one of the many home we had lived in late one night lessoning to the sounds of my parents arguing and yelling trying to keep my mind elsewhere. Stressed and upset to the sounds of anger coming from the other room I get ready to try and fall soundly to sleep so the stressful day filled with harsh words and ill-tempered people would end. I take a long steaming shower to try and wash the hurt I felt every time they argued away. I dress in my favorite pink fluffy pajamas and clime to the top of the bed me and my sister had shared and fall slowly into a deep sleep. I'm awakened a couple of times threw out the night by the deep roar of my father's voice. His voice was, and still is to this day, as deep and filled with anger as the devils must be. .
I'm awaken with a frightened jolt. I look out the window to estimate the time. It was early morning still dark and moist outside from the due of the passing night. My mother had awakened me needing my assistants. The look on her face was of one I'll never forget. Her eyes were filled with pain and weakness and her lips set straight and stern in a way I could not tell whether it was of anger or regret. She whispers for me to come with her. I clime down the cold metal bed frame on to the worm carpeted floor to follower her out into the hall. We tip to in order to not wake my siblings. My mother seemed to walk differently. My mother seemed to with pain pulling down on her. We slowly and silently creep up threw the hall way to my mother's destroyed room. My mother walks limp like over to her side of the bed and slowly sits down. She motions me with her hands to sit beside her. She leans over to her table that sat on her side to pull out a disposable camera that she had placed there the week before. She looks at me with a look of sorrow and regret and states "Kabriel I need you to do me a favor.