Standing in front of my truck, an unfamiliar sound traveled through the air. The sixth sense I had developed from war immediately took over as my instincts dropped me to the ground. Debris flew past my body as the roof on the building behind was ripped asunder. I felt the wind of a disabled airplane as its propeller narrowly avoided removing my head. Death had repeatedly knocked on my door but I refused to answer. Once again I had cheated him out of his prize.
My name is Errol. This is My Story of America.