The door slammed onto the floor. “You shall leave, NOW!!!” A man in a tuxedo with a rifle in his hands and barely any hair chasses us out of the house. Shooting the rifle at us, I duck down. My friend is shot. “NO! Michael!” I scream. I knew if I didn’t get out of the garden now, I was sure to end up like Michael. Crawling like an army man, I struggled to the road. I was safe. The man stopped shooting and went back into the house. Who was he? And why would he have an assault rifle?