I remember the moment pretty clearly, though not as clearly as I’d like: four to six pm, me and my dad sitting on my parents’ bed, myself on my laptop and him watching TV, when my mom came in.
For the meanwhile, I get lost in thought on how I ever made it this far. I remember the first time I had ever held a firearm. I was eleven years old when I was dragged to a hunters education class by my father. He made us sit in the front row which I opposed all the way. Since my father is the way he is, I was volunteered by him to go up during one of the activities. Mentally, I was screaming at my father while he sat in his chair with a smug face. I took a deep breath and just went with it. My duty of the activity was to stand in front of hundreds of eyes and show the different ways to hold a firearm safety while basically chanting the number one of firearm safety—Treat every gun like it is loaded. I remember holding a grudge against my dad for making do that, but now that I think about it, I know I will never forget how to hold a gun safely. I remember the first time I shot a firearm and how I missed every shot. My dad repeated over and over again, just keep trying, you’ll get it soon. I remember it after half a box of twenty-two ammo before I finally hit the target. My dad was right. I just had to keep
I walked in and saw mom on the floor bleeding. I looked up at James and saw him starting to cry. I’d rush at him with the mindset to kill him too, and I knew he was gonna shoot me that night. James and Dad went outside to talk about what just happened. I cuddled mom until she took her final breath. I went outside when I seen James and Dad talking to some boys from the Hawks. James looked at me and pointed his eyes to tell me go back in the house. The hawks players pulled out some guns and shot James and Dad for shooting ken at the party. Uncle Bob tackled me to
When it is my turn to shoot, I am in control. All I have to say is “pull” and in an instant a bright orange clay is flying through the air. My shotgun is up and my eye searches for the clay. As soon as I find it, I pull the trigger and instantly feel the gun’s kick on my shoulder, as if it’s punching me. The loud bang of the gun firing echoes through the woods and lingers in the air. For a split second, I see the flash of the shot shell as I look down the barrel of my gun. My shot shatters the clay into a thousand shards and the tiny pieces fall to the ground like rain. The metallic smell of burnt gunpowder fills the air as I finish by pumping the shotgun to eject the empty
All these thoughts were running through my head when all of sudden I heard a door slam. My heart stop for a minute my breathing got heavier she open the door I stood in the corner of this tiny brown cupboard praying that she wouldn’t see me, she finally shut the cupboard door. I could hear her footsteps as she slowly started walking away, relief took over my body as I heard the door close I stepped out of the cupboard when he all of sudden someone hand was covering my mouth I started to kick and scream but it was no good she pushed me to the bed and pulled out a gun and pointed it at my head I shut my eyes as my instincts kicked in when suddenly I heard the gun go
My fist went flying into his jaw and then into his throat, and he was knocked out cold. I turned to face Jack, and we took off taking the police’s gun with us. Just when we thought we were safe I am forced down onto the ground. That’s when I hear gunshots and feel warm blood on my neck. While in the process of getting rid of the police officer Jack shot me in the neck, and I am slowly dying. I am just laying in the middle of the field, praying that the test and the system will somehow be stopped, even if I am not there to watch it happen. Jack starts bawling, but then stands up wipes the tears off his face, and starts laughing.
I was awakened by a big bump, like I had just landed from the sky, and wondering what just had happened. What really happened was I just landed from a plane. As soon as I had forgotten that I was on a plane. As soon as I woke up completely, my mom was shouting,
Shots pierced around me. I scurried across the grass for somewhere to have cover. My leg bled constantly, while pain was shooting throughout my leg. The blood oozed. I found a tree that had a wide trunk. I went around it, and there in front of my eyes was an opening that was big enough for a person to fit in it. I didn't know if it was a trap or safety. I had to take the chance, the piercing pain in my leg was too much. I walked through and I was able to stand up in it. In front of me was a curtain. I pushed it to one side. “Hands up or I’ll shoot.” I stopped. The voice didn’t sound much older than me. “Please,” I begged, “I just need help with my leg.” I cautiously turned around and there behind me was a girl around my age, 15. She was around
My mom by some miracle had let me out despite the oncoming blizzard. I stepped out of the cab and ran from the cold into the kitchen through the back porch. I was met with a ginormous hug and excitement that matched my own “Happy early birthday dude!” She yelled. I chuckled and turned towards the basement. No object or person there didn't have a story,begging to be told.The lights twinkled and the colors popped, it was a place of magic that no words could do justice.. I breathed in the comforting smell of burning incense, and eyed the liquor on the desk.As she locked the door behind us I felt a bit uneasy but I shrugged off the feeling and sat down next to her as she poured a shot. She popped in my favorite movie and I smiled she just knew me so well. 30 minutes in sadness hit me like a freight train at full speed. It was an uncontrollable, overwhelming feeling and I suddenly felt very….desperate. I reached over and downed the shot she noticed chuckled and kept on pouring me more, she wouldn't stop pouring me more, like an animal she could sense my fear, my desperation and my self doubt. My inner demons surfaced and whispered in my ear with each shot she shoved down my throat. You're worthless.shot No loves you .shot.You will die alone.shot.youre a failure.shot. As the cold liquid , left a burning sensation as it ran down my throat, I tried to stop but it was already too late. I was numb.
Dad was hovering over me and with a grumble of his voice he said, “We’re going on a road trip.”
I crouched behind the car, trying not to make a sound… I had one hand on the back corner of a silver colored Impala, and the other hand firmly gripping a pistol. I had been waiting on this moment, for what had seemed to be life-long, but in reality, had only been a month. I felt my blood boil more and more with every breath I took, in my attempt to wait patiently behind the car. I was ready to kill this man, but I had to wait for the perfect timing, in order to execute the plan perfectly…
I woke up hearing the infuriating and pulsating ring of my alarm, I checked the calendar, another Sunday, just like any other, hunting day. I assembled my weapons into my reliable black duffle bag; a silenced handgun, a military-grade pocket knife and my SR-25 sniper rifle. Wearing a pair of ripped jeans as faded as erased blue pencil markings, and a grey hoodie that hugged every crevice of my muscular torso, I headed out to my black Ford pickup truck. Throwing the duffle bag into the passenger seat with the force of a raging lion, I hopped into the driver’s seat like a swift cougar. While starting the engine, it made the sound the all too familiar sounds; kch, kch, kch kch kch kch kvooom, I thought to myself “I should really get this
"Ha, ha," I said dryly and entered the bathroom and shut the door. It was okay for my dad and me to joke about it now because all Saturday evening and throughout Sunday he had relentlessly grilled me about the validity of the situation. Asking if I was kidnapped or if I really had been Gwen. Now that he was past the denial an anger stage, I think he was jumping to acceptance--and humor. Humor was the only way to stay sane.