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It’s July 1993. I’m 12 years old. We are watching television in the living room. I hear a bird chirping outside the window of the living room. I pull the curtain wide open to see where the chirp was coming from. I saw a baby bird limping on the sidewalk, it must have fell out of the tree, I thought to myself. My instincts told me to go outside and bring the bird inside before a cat gets to it and eats it up. I turn to my brother, who is just sitting in the dining room next to me, and yelled out to him, “There’s a bird outside limping, lets bring it in the house until it gets better and then we’ll let it go.” My brother and I dash to the door to get the bird. As we both got to the porch and ran down three painted red steps, the bird began to hop towards a bush on the side of the house. Every time we got closer to the bird the louder the bird began to chirp. As the bird reached the bush it was a lot harder to grab it because of all the thorns sticking out of bush. When I finally got hold of the bird and began reaching for it. A loud bang sound had gone of within the neighborhood. It sounded much like a firework that had gone off. I startled from the sound and dropped the bird out of my hand. My brother looked frightene