She's Hit

SHE’S HIT



Surprisingly, the shock of the icy snow beneath my body didn’t prevent me from sliding down into unconsciousness. I welcomed it; the pain in my shoulder huge and overwhelming. I had never thought about bullets being hot, yet the one that had just demolished my left arm sent fire through much of my upper body. Tendrils wrapped themselves around my chest and searing heat licked at my neck, scorching my chin. The world around me dissolved into darkness, and I dove in gratefully. As I did, I wondered how I got here.



It had snowed steadily all day. White flakes spiraling their way down to earth, silently piling up on themselves to blanket the world in frosty whiteness. My feet were soaked and freezing when I stomped in the door after school, hearing the yelling even before I’d stepped into the hallway. I shuddered, wanting nothing more than to creep back outside. I took a few steps backwards, but the cold was too intense. I felt it fingering my neck and slipping down my spine.



Taking a deep breath, I entered the house, closing the heavy front door as quietly as I could. I tiptoed through the living room towards the stairs, slipping my boots off as I did. At the bottom of the narrow staircase I paused, peering around the doorframe into the kitchen. I could see the back of my brother’s blond head, bowed under the assault of my father’s words raining down on him.

“You don’t even try!” My father’s voice was hoarse and I knew that he must have been yelling for a while.

“I do!” Mark protested. “You just don’t want to see it!”

Dad stepped forward then. “Don’t talk to me that way!” He punctuated the sentence with a slap that sent Mark’s head rocketing against the wall. I stuffed my fist into my mouth to keep from crying out.

“No, Dad. Please…” Mark was backing away now, getting closer to me, hand cupping one side of his face. I ducked down beneath the banister, teeth slicing into my knuckles as I struggled not to make a sound.



The dull sound of a fist hitting something solid came to me and I winced. I heard Mark stumble, hit the side of the staircase and thump to the floor. Certain I would be discovered, I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I saw constellations exploding behind my eyelids. For an eternity I sat there like that, cowering, expecting a blow to come at any second.



“You talk back and you’ll get another!” Dad’s voice was further away again. I peeled open my eyelids and cautiously peeked over the banister. My father held Mark by the collar of his shirt, dragging him back into the kitchen. Blood trickled from the corner of Mark’s mouth, very red against the pale skin of his chin. I realized suddenly that I was tense; fists clenched into balls, every muscle in my body taut and ready for action.



The sound of another slap sent me flying up the stairs, not caring now if they heard me.

“Alice?” Mark’s voice wobbled as he said my name.



I ran, tripping on the steps twice, but not stopping until I found myself in my parents’ bedroom. I stood, panting a little as I looked wildly around. The closet door was slightly ajar and it was to this narrow slice of darkness that my eyes were drawn. I was no longer in control of my body; never made the decision to cross the room, to slide open the closet door, but yet I stood there, in front of the gaping darkness. My hand reached out and found the barrel of my father’s hunting rifle. The metal was cool against my palms, the wood smooth and smelling of some kind of oil.



The gun was surprisingly heavy. I struggled with it a little before finding a way to carry it that was not too cumbersome. At the top of the stairs I paused, listening to the voices that still rumbled below. My feet made no sound as I padded my way down once more, ducking to keep my head below the level of the banister, the rifle awkward but reassuring in my arms.



“You’re a fool!” I heard my father hiss as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve learned nothing from me!”

“Nothing good, anyway!” The defiance in Mark’s voice surprised me. He stormed out of the kitchen, starting as he saw me crouched on the stairs cradling the rifle.

He reached out as if to take the gun. “Alice….”

“No!” I stood up raising the heavy barrel of the rifle so it was pointing somewhere over the top of his head. He paled, the new bruises on his face standing out like punctuation.

“Put it down, Alice.” His voice was gentle, the kind of voice you use with a spooked animal. “You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I do!” I swung the rifle around so that it was pointed at the kitchen doorway where my father stood, face contorted in fury as he came after Mark again, fist already raised.



I kept the gun on Dad as I made my way into the kitchen. He was frozen, granite, a statue of my father petrified inside the kitchen door. He turned slowly, not taking his eyes of the barrel of the rifle.

“Alice… Don’t. Please?” Mark sidled into the room, ignoring Dad’s immobile presence in the doorway. I hefted the gun on my shoulder.



Mark dove. His arms came around my legs, tackling me and dragging me to the floor. I reached up instinctively, clutching at the nearest object to keep on my feet. It was the back door-knob and turned beneath my desperate grasp, the gun no longer in my grasp. The world exploded around me and I tumbled through the now-open door.



Surprisingly, the shock of the icy snow beneath my body didn’t prevent me from sliding down into unconsciousness.



999 words