A New Beginning

Treacherous Eyes

"Your aim's good, pumpkin. Hold steady'n when you're ready, you pull the trigger."

"Will it be loud?"

"You'll hear it, all right. But the hankies in your ears will muffle the noise."

Your arms are inflexibly locked into a shooting stance, with your dominant hand sandwiched between the grip of your uncle's gun and your other hand. With alternating thrill and trepidation, you work up courage to send off that first bullet. Will the handkerchiefs in your ears really muffle the bang? Will it hurt when the gun goes off? The thumping in your chest rises with every second of procrastination.

One faint, but shrill toot later, you are no longer aiming at the empty canister your uncle had set up. You drop your arms. "Uncle Bry, can we wait till pa gets home? Please."

"He ain't comin' back for a few hours, hun. You know how yer pa's like when he's at the farmer's market. Now, what do you say we find that aim again?"

You do as he says. A moment later, a deafening roar fills the air simultaneously as the gun flies out of your hand, smacking you clear in the face before dropping to the ground.

"It's just the gun kickin' back. You're all right."

"The gun kicks back?!" you yelp, clenching your nose.

"Hey, what are you two doing out there? Why is <y/n> crying?"

Your father's sharp tone makes your chest hurt. The look in his eyes is one that you have rarely seen. Ignoring his younger brother's response, he rushes up to embrace you. When he speaks again, directly at you, his voice is warm. Gone is the anger in his eyes. He is the kind and loving father you have always known.

"What happened, angel? Why are you crying?"

You hesitate to answer. You can easily sense the tension between the two brothers that are your closest family. Though you don't understand why your father is angry, your tummy starts to ache as you realize it has to be because of you, and you conclude that your uncle is in trouble because you had dropped the gun. Your father cups your cheek, swiping the tears away with his thumb.

"I-I tried to shoot with uncle Bry's gun," you sniffle, "but it- hurt my hand, I didn't mean to drop it."

"Angel, go inside, please."

"But pa-"

He hunkers down, bringing his face level with yours. "Jefferson's' hogs got loose, so they had to close the market early. It was quite a sight." He chuckles at your twitching brows. "I got you some of them sweets you like so much," he smiles, though you can sense anger behind the mellow guise. "They're waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Now, go inside and let me talk to uncle Bry, okay?"

You do as he says, though when inside, you remain by the entrance.

"-thought I had made myself clear! I don't want her shootin' no gun! She's too young!"

"You always say she's too young, or too small, or it's not for girls. She ain't no child anymore."

You don't catch your father's response, but whatever it is, it does exactly the opposite of assuaging your uncle. "Listen, your idea of protecting her-"

"She's all I have, Bryan!"

There is a brief pause. You hear pacing. When the talking resumes, the voices are low, making it hard for you to catch all the words. You glue your ear to the door, "-won't hear of it! After I lost my dear Nancy, I swore-..."