When I woke up, the day was just beginning. Last night he was gone with noises and banging. Detonations and a lot of people running around leaving an echo on the sidewalks and a scare in the soul. All the neighbors took refuge in their homes, afraid to look out the windows. First it was one shot, then two, then it was a lot. That's how we were last night: afraid of falling asleep.

It all started because a gang leader was killed. An 18-year-old boy who was killed by a 15-year-old boy. That's the way young people are around here. At the beginning of yesterday afternoon the news was heard and from that moment people began to hide in their homes, to pick up the children and the dogs, to pick up life. There was no time to waste: the night threatened to come smelly with vengeance and death.

Right now, while I'm drinking my coffee, the news comes in drops. Three were killed: all with multiple gunshot wounds to the back. They say that when the victims saw their executioners they fled, but that death caught up with them on the run. We all looked at each other in amazement: the neighbor's son was murdered. Death still lurks and we are all exposed to it.

I don't know how abnormal this type of event is in other countries, but in our country, Venezuela, this is normal. Every night young people die at the hands of the underworld or die because they are part of the underworld. If we continue as we are, on the one hand, with our young people migrating to other countries and, on the other, with those who are still being murdered, we will be a country of old people and without hope.

Thanks for your reading, folks