Doe hurried home, strapping her bag tighter to her body. A smile on her face, she knew she would be welcomed into the loving hands of her father, once again.

Living in America was often not the big dream everyone had assumed it to be. At least, that was what her father often told her. She was a Nigerian and like many Nigerians, the urge to migrate to greener pastures were stronger.

It was this drive that had brought her father all the way to the Free man Country or the country known as God's own Country.

She loved it here.

Actually, she was born here. Of course, she had to love it. She was a child and many things she did not know. But her father, he would complain of several things.

Talk about racism, talk about how hard it was to secure a job and other things.

She did not want to believe it was so. She had amazing peer group of which she schooled with. In fact, one of her friends' mum had offered tk take them In extra lessons. That is, after school, they would have some extra lessons.

Although this was more beneficial to the friend because in the mother's eyes, it was that Doe could influence her daughter positively. So that she could study even more.

But to Doe, the mother would often try to give them assignments and all that. She was friendly. She found it hard to believe that People could ever be bad.

At least, not in God's own country.

Her father must have been stressed so much.

However, every day, after school and the extra lesson, she was eager to meet her father. Even if their house was not that lively, she was always eager to get back there. To get back to where she lived, her humble abode and tell her dad stories about how things had panned out for her.

In no time, she crossed the road, leading to their house. One sight at the house, her heart missed a beat.

It was a house which she shared with her father and some other men. Two of them in number. They would meet up in the house to shack some alcohol and then smoke and exchange stories.

Sometimes, she'd join them.

But only to exchange stories with them, after which she would hurry to study.

But today was different.

The usual laughter, the usual airy atmosphere that the house exuded was non existent for the moment. She wondered, had they all gone out?

What had happened? Why was the house so silent? Was the house out of booze already?

Her eyebrows knitted closely as she advanced, losing the eager gait she had started with. She patted her hair, licking her lips, even as vehicles drove past her as she walked on the walkway.

A minute later, with her heart racing, her feet exploded in pattering steps, hurrying her frame to the house. The door was broken, chips of wood shattered here and there.

"W-what?" She gasped out, holding her hands to her mouth.

There was blood on the ground. Dried. And smeared. It liked as though someone had tied tk hurriedly clean up the blood so as not to attract attention. It made her heart skip another beat.

One look about, she tried to ascertain what ever had happened. Had someone broken into the house, she panicked? Did her dad get into another fight? Did he fight with the other people whom they shared the house with? What was happening in this place? What was really happening here?

Her heart sought for reasons. A reason why the door would be broken down. She could not find any, leaving to increase in her distressed state. Her mouth hung open as nervous sweat balls began to fall while she played with her fingers, fidgeting as she advanced to the door.

"What is happening here?" She whimpered out, her heart racing now.

"W-who is that?" A weak groan came from inside the house .

The inside was dark, it oozed of sinister energy.

Her chest swollen with nervous anticipation now as she held her breath, involuntarily. Breathing , a Herculean task, her feet heavy as she tried to drag them.

Her instincts screamed within her head. Telling her to get out of there.

But that voice.

The voice of who raised her.

Her father.

It was her father's voice.

She could not just leave him alone. That was her father out there. He needed her help. She had to be there for him.

Swallowing her fear, she forced her limbs into the house. Shaking, she took a panicked breath as she tried to make sense of the whole situation.

The door had been kicked open, obviously. The shards of shattered wood still about. The inside had been thrashed. The center table missing a leg while the others were broken in half.

The light, the reading lamp which she used was shattered in the ground. Paper pieces here and there, along with plastics on the ground, some of them a sorry state.

Through the faint lighting provided by the setting sun, she made out a figure in the corner of the room. The figure wearing a white vest, sleeveless and a blue jeans.

It was the clothing her father had worn, right before he stepped out of the house, this morning. The last time she had seen him in good health.

Her eyes widened as she hurried over, to him. Squatting in front, she looked about, at loss for what to say as she observed the sorry state of the man who she had come to know as father.

"W-what happened?" She whimpered, looking at him from head to toe in nervousness.

"Hehe…" Her father groaned out.

He forced a sad smile at her, his right hand holding the left side of his stomach. His lips having smeared stain of blood, blood that had once streamed out from his nose. His face had patches of red, obvious injury spots which were no doubt, internal bleeding.

He looked pathetic.

Yet, he smiled at her. As if he had all the answers in the world. As if he was going to be fine and be alright in the next minute.

"You have… y-you have to g-go!" Her father said to her, smiling.

The next moment, his face contorted in a series of pain stricken expression. He grimaced, biting down on his lower lips as he gasped, arching his back.

"Hmmm." He groaned out.

"You need to get to the hospital. What about Alex and Ferguson? What happened?" She cried out, at loss of what to do.

"D-do not worry. You are strong. Beautiful and more capable than you can ever think." He said to her, patting her with his bloodied left hand on the head. "You are my daughter. You have the African blood and you will survive whatever comes next."

"What are you saying? What are you saying?" She said, shaking her head as tears began to stream down her eyes. "Don't talk like that."

"T-the police…" Her father groaned, silently. "It's a curse to be a black man out here. At least… That's what I faced out. I'm sorry I could not make your life better." He bitterly smiled.

"You have given me everything I need. I just need you to come with me to the hospital." She cried out.

Her father shook his head, refusing.

"The police will be here. They raided, assumed because we were black, we are involved in the neighborhood robbery. I managed to escape form the car just so I could see you… That's how I got shot." He coughed out blood. "You need to know, Doe… That I love you. That you must take your revenge on the white man society. You must!"

Doe had never seen her father cry.

He was a tough man. But right now, in his bloodied state, her embittered father was a broken husk of a man.

Tears and snot running down his face, he held her close to him.

"Promise me Daughter. You must never have anything to do with any man with a white skin. Swear it to me. Swear to me that all you do is to cause pain on them. Take revenge for me."

Doe cried, looking her slowly dying father in the eyes. She was about to say something, tell him that she was going to swear her rest of her life to his revenge.

However just then, the sound of sirens rent the air. The next moment, the blue uniformed men bursted into the building, guns revealed as they yelled out.

"Police! Get down on the ground!"