 When I was younger, about 5 years old, I lived in Osaka, Japan. Fairly nice place, with tons of fun and silly neighbors that worked the equivalent of Squidward's point of view of SpongeBob and Patrick in the animated TV series, SpongeBob SquarePants. They were extremely supportive of me and my family when anything went wrong. Regardless, I doubt this is actually any relevance to my story, I just thought it was worth mentioning. I was in kindergarten, at the Aikido Elementary School. It was June 8, 2001, the one and only day I had ever been absent in kindergarten. I remember it clearly, about 9 am, I woke up with a fever. My one, the guardian that she was, kept me sitting in my bed, and told me to stay there until she came back with some medicine and food that I may want to eat. Although she got ready to leave to the nearest grocery store to find the supplies she needed to get me to feel better. Minutes later, my one gave me a kiss, and told me to rest, and she then left. About for what seemed like forever, a knock came at my window. Considering the fact that it was on the second floor of our house, I thought it was a bird who pecked at my window, looking back at it, that was a stupid assumption. I looked up, and there was nothing there, I lay back down to hear the knocking again. I look up to actually see an odd man just sitting there staring at me. He smiled and disappeared. I brushed it away as just a dream or some hallucination of some sort, and went downstairs to get breakfast. I turned on the TV in the living room with my bowl of cereal, and washed some morning cartoons. After several episodes, my one still wasn't home, and an emergency broadcast popped up on the TV. It said something about a massacre at my elementary school. At the time, the word massacre meant nothing to me, I was just excited that my school was on the news. Then the feeling of dread overwhelmed me as I heard the word death saying about eight students between the age of seven to eight years old. I knew none of the kids that had died, and I still felt sad for them and their families. I then saw the face of the perpetrator on the TV. It was that same guy at my window. I immediately switched the channel and found another channel with cartoons, and began watching that. The rest of the day included my one coming home, and got me to feel better. That night when I tried to fall asleep, the face just kept popping up in my room, as if I had been watching a ball bounce around my room. I couldn't sleep that night, and my one never knew, and still doesn't know that I had this traumatizing experience. Nearly 14 years later, the thought of him has come back to haunt me. Just the thought that I could have been a victim, and I still don't know why he could have chosen me to be a victim, makes me value my life more than ever, and to this day, I can never stop thinking about those poor children.