August 18th, 2004.
1:23 PM.
It wasn't my fault. Or maybe it was, I could never be sure. I don't know why you needed to know, but it's good to clarify.
I had the option to run away; if I really wanted to. And I will admit that, albeit I couldn't have known it was going to happen. My dad took my sister - Melody - and I out to the woods again. It was a common hobby of his, to grab his favourite collection of rifles and drag us to hunt for whatever he felt like on a Wednesday afternoon.
So it was routine by then.
Melody enjoyed any time she could spend with him and went along willingly. I couldn't really say I was bothered, but I much preferred to watch them going after rabbits in the brush rather than do it myself. For me, it was just a rational distaste for murder.
Even if it was only an animal or two; be it a deer, bear, or even a small rabbit or squirrel; it was watching the light die in its eyes, the deafening "pop" that the rifle made when Melody pulled the trigger, the triumph in dad's eyes when he noticed the animal could no longer move, the splatter of crimson red on the green leaves that made up a wreath around its corpse.
Call me a wuss, but I couldn't find the thrill in it.
"Come on, Ica," Melody shoved a magazine at me, clinging the gun to her chest as dad turned his back to us, bending over the body of a deer lying at his feet. "You can shoot the next one, it's fun, I promise!"
I was sitting on a rock by our bags, scrolling through my phone in silence, and enjoying the serenity around us.
I hadn't really said a word during the whole ordeal, not since we got in the car and said goodbye to mom.
"No, thanks." I shook my head, handing her the magazine. "You know I don't have good aim."
She pursed her lips but didn't say anything more. Shrugging her shoulders, she loaded the rifle and handed it over to dad, who marched away into the bushes in search of another victim, beckoning us to follow him.
"Just shoot the damn thing!"
Dad shoved the butt of the gun into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. He pointed in the direction of the rabbit grazing in a field nearby, but I didn't say anything.
"Just do it," Melody whispered.
"I can't though..."
I could tell he was growing impatient with me by that point. So, without another word, he threw me out of the way and grabbed the gun, pulling the trigger in the direction of the animal.
A bullet whistled over the left ear, and the terrified creature scurried away and disappeared.
Melody frowned, taking a step back when dad fired another bullet to release some steam. But he turned to me and brought the butt of the weapon on my head. A cold bubble burst in my stomach, drenching me in the unbearable dread. I felt like the animals he killed every weekend; I knew they had to have felt like this when he arrived.
They dreaded his appearance, and now I knew why. A wave of pain travelled from my skull to the tips of my fingers, and I folded my arms over my head in case he bothered to strike again.
As he did.
Again and again, ignoring Melody's screaming at him to stop.
"He's bleeding!" She shrieked, waving her hands around blindly. "Stop already! You're insane."
I closed my eyes when the pain stopped, releasing my arms. I thought to myself, this was great. He had decided to stop, and I hadn't gotten much more than a gash this time. But I opened my eyes and couldn't quite understand what was happening.
Dad was still waving the gun towards me, and striking my head, but without any impact or pain.
Melody was still screaming, but I couldn't hear her over an incessant ringing in my ears. Something wasn't right. But did I really want it to be? I couldn't feel anything, so this had to be a good thing. Then the motion stopped. Dad looked from my face to the gun in his hands, stained red with my blood.
"Shit." He dropped the weapon as if to touch it would burn the skin off your palms, turning to my sister. "Quick, we can roll him into the river, and you bury the gun while I clean this crap off my hands."
She didn't argue, but her hands trembled as she lifted my arms, and carried my body to the river. I laid on the ground there, watching them toss the corpse into the water and let it sink; only catching a glimpse of the deep dent in my body's forehead, and the blood dripping down my cheeks. Dad dipped his hands in the water, cleaning off the crimson on his skin. Melody passed me without noticing I was watching her, digging a hole in the dirt with her hands, and burying the gun as she was instructed to.
They finished relatively quickly, and I stood up to follow them when they hurried back to the car.
"Melody," I called to her, but she couldn't hear me. "Mel?"
"Melody!" Dad pulled her to the side of the car, and she flinched when he held her by the collar of her shirt. "No one hears of this, right?"
She nodded mutely.
And he climbed into the driver's seat, and they disappeared onto the main road in minutes, leaving me alone to think, as a hand coiled around my ankle, pulling me through the dirt and the stone underneath until I was falling through rings of it.
I heard a voice, announcing my arrival, but couldn't make out the words as I landed on my face.
Even if I cared where I was at this moment;
I didn't know where I could be.
But I knew I couldn't get back.
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