not a bad shot.

She tried to be light on her feet as she stalked toward the man in the corner of her grandparent’s old barn. A horrid, stomach twisting scent of pennies, dung and mildew hung in the stale air-- he’s been in here way too long. Pieces of old straw crunched and shifted under her filthy sneakers; only a few days ago they were pastel pink, instead, she traded them in for an unrecognizable cake of brown in multiple shades and layers.

The hail and rain dancing on the roof of the barn were oddly reminiscent of a drumbeat; her heartbeat shifting to match the rhythm of the weather outside. It was safe to say that every time her eyes got the pleasure of drifting over to him, he ignited the nerves she tried so hard to repress. Strands of thick, onyx hair hung in damp clumps in front of her face. One look at her, you’d be haunted.

Soon everyone would return from vacation and thrusting themselves back into the renovation of the family’s farm. The youngest of the family stayed back; she used an excuse of wanting to tend to the ageing property so the demands and protests from her parents and siblings didn’t move past their lips.

A grunt mixed with a soft cry escaped the cracked lips of the man sprawled against the straw and hemlock that helped keep the barn’s wavering shape. Easily, you could’ve confused the man with a mortally wounded farm animal instead of someone with the ability to run away or shout for help. It was almost a miracle that she was able to drag the dead weight of the man who single-handedly ruined her life halfway across the countryside.

“If you scream…” the first words spoken between the duo in three days, “… I won’t hesitate to blow your brains out.” A trembling hand reached out to grab one of the bolt action rifles they kept in hiding. She admitted everyone including her knows how bad of a shot she could be— having anger burning behind her eyelids wouldn’t be enough to save her terrible aim. It was more of the girl talking the talk and not daring to walk the walk until the last moment.

Dried blood was painting her nostrils with a deep merlot, streaks trailing down to meet her split lip. A fight was broken out to get them this far, the girl originally struggling to hold someone of his stature and frame off. Somehow, the appearance of her bloodied and bruised as he stared down the barrel of her grandfather’s gun caused the man to smile. He knew with every breath he was still lucky enough to take, that she didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. Slender fingers accented with polish decorating the nails in shades of black and deep purples, shaking as they pulled the bolt in the rifle forward as to prepare to fire.

Seeing that smug, shit-eating smile from him threw the girl back into the worst night of her life-- her chest felt heavy as it seemed the phantom pain of his weight crushing her returned with shortness of breath. Cries that ripped her throat raw echoed through her ringing ears-- the sting of his grip on her flesh and the heat from his breath against her ear, they were all here to remind her of why she has him half-alive in her grandparent’s achingly old barn house.

“You violated me.” The tone was venomous, almost as if the tears and saliva that escaped as she yelled could burn once in contact with him. Her chest heaved as the gun was still aimed toward the man. “I put my trust… all my trust in you… and you still chose to abuse that power.” The nerves that once laid in her bones and the blood in her veins boiled and contorted into a feeling of vengeance and adrenaline; the browns of her eyes shining in the low-light of the barn as her eyes were focused to the point of looking as if they were going to fall out of their sockets at any moment.

Speckles of a blotchy crimson splattered onto the dry, beige hay beneath his dying body as he coughed into the atmosphere. “Freddie…” a croak from his tired body although still carried a tone signalling that he thought he was the best. The cool metal tapped his forehead with force, causing him to jut backward. “Freddie… don’t you think someone is going to miss me soon?”

“First off, it’s Winifred to you.” There was an authority in her voice as Freddie’s grip tightened around the base and the trigger. “Secondly, I don’t think you’re going to be missed… at all.” Teeth ground against each other as her jaw clenched and one eye shut-- a soft inhale through her nose and an exhale leaving her lips before the pointer finger finally clicks the trigger back.

As his body moved into a limp, lifeless pile onto the bloodstained interior a smile crept upon Freddie’s face; she wore his blood like freckles upon her cheeks. Her breathing evened as she dropped the gun to her side. The only thing she had to figure out now was how to clean up this damn barn before her family got back. Not a bad shot after all.