Rifle

Please, do not read if you are triggered by threats of violence or abuse.

“Kaida, you have to get up! We need you!” Candor pleads, leaning over the sleeping bag that used to belong to my mother.

I mutter something noncommittal and profane at her, and she walks away, throwing up her hands in disgust.

I don’t care that everyone else thinks that I am a wreck.

F**k them all anyway, sending her into battle like that, and especially the 45’s, for being there, for thinking that it might be a nice idea to try and raid our food supply, with guns.

The last week has been a blur, nights spent with a gag over my mouth so I wouldn’t wake the other Colonists, screaming, with the nightmares, and the sobs, and she’s not there to tell me that it’ll be alright.

And they keep trying to tell me that I’ll be okay, but they don’t know anything about my mother and I. Or they’ll tell me that they’re sorry, that she was a great woman, as if I didn’t already know.

Some of them have even tried to stay with me, overnight, or when Bertrand was just so frustrated with me that he didn’t make me work.

Don’t they know it’s their fault?

They let her go into battle with no protection. They let her try and guard the window all by herself. They let her get distracted, they let her try and make sure I was okay, and they never told her that the 45 was there, behind her.

And I’m not feeling too gracious toward the 45, either.

It was their idea, to come here that night, as if they needed more food, and as if food was really the problem they were trying to solve.

I’ve been to their base, they have food, they have more than we do.

They were just picking a fight for no damned reason at all.

And look what they did.

Bertrand’s coming over, now, with his huge rifle in his hands, and he means business.

“Liss,” he growled, stopping exactly too close to me, his enormous hiking boots right next to my face. “Get up. Do your damn work. If you don’t, well, I can’t just keep feeding someone who doesn’t do any work...”

He points the gun straight at my head, and I sit up a little. His aim doesn’t waver.

The grief filling me suddenly sours into mind-wrenching fear, like a knife.

I can hear the crowd that’s gathered around us whispering, nervous, and the tension in the air buckled.

That rifle that I see every day looks a lot bigger now, and, staring up the barrel, the ‘.22 Caliber’ written on the side in silver permanent marker really hits home.

“Stand up.”

I comply, because, at gunpoint, there is nothing else to do.

“Put on your work clothes.”

“Sir, I can’t... I’d have to take off my pajamas, and there are people around!” I plead, scanning the crowd while trying to look demure at the same time. It crosses my mind that I’m being pathetic, and that scares me more.

He removes the safety.

And then realization floods me that this isn’t just a persuasion.

I had always suspected that Bertrand would do something like this, my friends and I have even joked about it during long, sleepless watch periods.

This is an actual threat, something that could very well reduce me to a nonentity.

No matter how I feel about my mother’s death, I don’t want to go with her.

Panic crashes over me like a wave and it’s only the basest thoughts Kaida Kaida calm down no no no rifle people rifle oh s**t what if take your shirt off for the love of god Kaida calm down he’ll shoot you anyway and people can see you and where’s my work shirt where’s my bra oh god get it on quick Bertrand should not look at me like that no no no no no rifle he dropped his aim its right back up and my shirt is getting buttoned too slow finger raised to trigger gonna die gonna die gonna die no no no no no pants take off pants jeans where no no no laundry are they staring is he staring at me can’t look back can’t find out there are my jeans and no no no ripped bloody thigh week old blood night she ... died pull jeans on and bullet hole lines up with red spot on bandage bleeding again s**t s**t s**t s**t belt where no no no rifle there’s belt thread through hands shaking dropped it no no no put it back scream no no bit lip rifle buckle belt shoes there laces okay okay okay put the gun down.

Bertrand lowers his gun, and I’m still not breathing right, even as the panic slides off of me.

His giant paw of a hand wraps around my wrist and he doesn’t hesitate to dig his untrimmed, yellowish fingernails in.

I can’t help thinking that it’ll leave a mark.

I’m being practically dragged along, and even though the adrenaline has faded and the panic has gone, I’m still painfully aware of the hunting gun in his other hand.

And thoughts are still racing, less coherent ones, but I can put together a consistent train of thought, and that’s what matters, that I’m aware enough to keep myself safe.

He lets my wrist go in front of the sinks, and when I lift my arm to examine the damage done by those sharp nails, he slaps me across the face.

“Do the dishes.”

So I do, and I bite back tears, and hope that somebody will come in and tell him that he’s got to back off, that what he’s doing isn’t right, but nobody stands up to Bertrand, especially not when he’s got a gun.

When the dishes are finished, and there are a lot of dishes, my hands are red and raw from the soap and the scrubbing. He grabs me again by the wrist and leads me to the next area, wherein I clean the Hounds’ pen.

It goes on, it seems for hours, and when I finally get a moment to sit down after doing what seems to have been and likely was a week’s worth of work in a few hours, it’s dark outside, and everyone’s heading to bed.

“Sir... Can I have some food, please?” I squeak, in a voice that I was immediately ashamed of.

“Go to sleep,” he growls, and storms off to his office.

And all through that night I feel the cliched fight-or-flight kicking in, because running has become a far better idea of late.

Author's Note

The panic attack is a new thing I have been experimenting with. How did it go?

Reviews

[Krystle Lewallen]

There were a few sentences that stuck out in a way that didn't fit. For instance,

And they keep trying to tell me that I’ll be okay.
Everyone keeps trying to tell me that I'll be okay.

And I’m not feeling too gracious toward the 45, either.
I would drop the 'And' at the beginning.

Bertrand’s coming over, now, with his huge rifle in his hands, and he means business.
This just doesn't read right to me. It sounds different from the rest of the writing. I would try: Bertrand heads over with his large rifle in his hands, he means business.

I can hear the crowd that’s gathered around us whispering, nervous, and the tension in the air buckled.
Buckled doesn't sound like the right word here. Try: ...nervous, the tension in the air is palpable.

And then realization floods me that this isn’t just a persuasion.
This one got me too, just the wording. I would try: And then the realization floods me that he isn't just trying to persuade me.

The panic attack was sort of confusing. I see were you are trying to go with it but it is difficult to understand. I'd use punctuation in here, it reads so much better if you do. For instance,

Panic crashes over me like a wave and it’s only the basest thoughts that come to mind.

Kaida calm down. No, no! Rifle. People. Rifle. Oh s**t, what if? Take your shirt off. For the love of god! Kaida calm down, he’ll shoot you anyway. People can see you, where’s my work shirt, where’s my bra? Oh god get it on quick, Bertrand should not look at me like that. No, no, no! Rifle, he dropped his aim, its right back up...

I like that idea though. When you panic, and I recently lost my grandma who was like a mother to me in every way so I know and this is exactly how I handled it, you try not to think about what the situation really means so instead you just fill your brain with every movement you make just to keep it together. It's an internal panic. You may be moving fast but the panic is within. I have two kids so I tried to hide my panic and this was exactly how it played out for me.

The story: I can't wait to know more of your world. I like Bertrand's name but he sounds like a dictator, he must be in charge. Kaida, I love that name too. She seems feeble but capable. I'm guessing that in the end she will rise above Bertrand and his tyrannical ways. There is a lot of potential for her. I think you may have called Kaida, Liss, once when Bertrand approaches her. Unless I am reading it wrong.

Very interesting piece, I love it.

[Natalie Sherwood]

Thank you for the review! It was super awesome, and I really appreciate your actually telling me about the individual sentences, rather than the thing as a whole, which others tend to.
PS: Liss is Kaida's last name, Bertrand refers to everyone by their last name. Sorry if that bothered you.

[Krystle Lewallen]

No it didn't bother me at all I just didn't remember that from what I had previously read. But I'll remember it now. Thanks!