Rebel

Chapter Ten

"Do I have to go to school?" I had asked. I was seven years old at the time, still in elementary school.

"Yes you do." my mom had said, "If you want to grow up to be a smart, capable woman you have to be well educated."

My mom was a relatively short woman with a heart shaped face and thick, wavy black hair just like mine. She'd often speak to me firmly, but her eyes were always kind and full of love.

"I don't want to grow up to be a smart, capable woman." I moaned, "I want to live with you forever!"

My mom just laughed, "You will be sick of me within three years! Trust me, the moment you turn eighteen you'll be out of this place in a jiffy."

Just then, the door was busted open. A man wearing all black and holding a gun burst through the entryway. My mom jumped in front of me, holding out her arms to shield me.

"Margaret Cordell," The man said, in a low gravelly voice.

"You are not welcome here." My mom had said in such a confident voice. I am still envious of her confidence.

The man pointed his gun at my mom's head, "Surrender yourself and I'll let the child live."

My mom took in a sharp breath, pausing, "Alright." She said, almost like it hurt, "But if you harm even one hair on her head--"

"I get the gist." The man had interrupted, tilting his wrist as if to remind her that he was the one holding the gun, not her.

My mom took my hand and crouched next to me, "Sage, sweetie, I need you to go with daddy. Stay in your room until he gets back okay? Be good for him."

"What's gonna happen to you?" I asked. I could see tears in her eyes, even though she was smiling at me.

"I'm gonna be alright." She had said, "As long as you stay safe, got it?"

I nodded, then walked in the direction of my room. But before I could make it, the man grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him. I yelped and struggled against him but it was useless. I could feel something cold pressed against my temple. I had seen the look of fear in my mother's eyes. "I said--"

"'Not a hair on her head.'" the man had said, "But I see one problem with that. I am the one with the gun aren't I? So I make the rules. Sit in that chair." my mom had obeyed, though hesitantly. She pulled out a chair from the table and sat in it. "Now," The man said, "put your hands behind your back." My mom did so.

The man walked up to her and quickly tied her hands. I looked into her eyes. She looked solemn but determined. I didn't know why.

The man came back and pressed the gun to my head again. The next thing I knew he had put another gun into my hands. Where he had got it, I do not know. "Shoot her," he had said.

I looked up at him, "What?"

"You heard what I said," He had said, gesturing to my mom, "Shoot her!"

I knew how to shoot a gun. My parents had given me lessons. My dad had insisted that if I wanted to make it through life in this terrible world, I'd have to know how to work a firearm. I had looked into my mom's eyes. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she nodded. She wanted me to live. She would die for me.

"Mom." I choked, tears streaming out of my eyes.

"My baby." She muttered, "Live. Do it for me, okay?"

I positioned the gun in my hands then looked up at the man. He didn't say anything, just pressed the barrel of the gun harder against my temple. I had taken a shaky, tear soaked breath, pointed the gun at my own mother who had her eyes locked on mine, "I love you." she muttered, and I pulled the trigger.