The day my father left

At 12 years old my father left to fight in the war. Who knew he was never going to come back. When I go to bed at night I see his face as I try to close my eyes. I dream of blood and bombs hitting the ground and exploding millions of men. I imagined horror in men's eyes as their best friends were shot to the ground. Every day I felt anxiety rush through my veins. I was always excited to open the mailbox and maybe find a letter from my father but every day my stomach drops when I find out that there is no letter and it won't come back up until a letter comes. The next day a letter came telling us that my father had fallen very ill there were two plane tickets in the envelope. That brought us to our father in Germany but my mom had to choose one of us to go with her and she took me. When me and my mom got to Germany there were big tents and inside. Where men ripped and tore open at the end my father laid coughing up blood and it felt like I walked in hell and I couldn't escape. Outside of the tent, there were bombs exploding and guns shooting, fire burning, blood in the dirt. One bomb dropped out of the sky and, my mother, my father and I never returned home.