The nightmare always begins the same.  I’m six years old and I’m walking to my parent’s bedroom.  My body had been refusing to let me sleep all night.  I hear screams and hurry to investigate.  I tried to run as fast as my short legs could take me.  I opened the door to find my father’s lifeless body on the bed while I hear my mother’s shrieks as her throat gets slashed.  I let a high pitched scream escape from my mouth and he lifts his head to look at me with a demented smile.  He stares at me with beady black eyes, as if he was a predator and I was his prey.  He grabs my face and pulls my ear close to his lips.  “I guess I’ll have to brand you” he whispers.  I wake up and touch my face.  The scar is still there.