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ARTHUR
One. Two. Three.
Arthur counted the seconds passing as he laid down on his bed -or rather the dusty mattress that he had to sleep on just like the rest of the militia- his legs pushed up against the wall as he occasionally kicked his feet against the wooden surface.
Four. Five. Six.
Arthur's eyes fell on a spiderweb on the corner above his head, but he couldn't see the spider who made it. The thought that it could be anywhere in the room made him feel like a thousand spiders were crawling all over his body. He stopped thinking about it.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Arthur mindlessly played with his fingers as he stared at his dirty boots, the worn shoe laces falling down along his legs as he let them dangle. The feeling of the strings brushing against his skin was slightly uncomfortable. He didn't stop dangling the shoe laces.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Arthur knew there was death in every single life. There had to be at least one death in everyone's lives -their own. But usually there was more than one. If someone saw death only once that meant they lived a very happy life or a very empty one.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Arthur remembered the heavy feeling of the gun in his hand as he stared at the cow's big brown eyes. Jeremiah thought it would be a good idea to teach a fourteen year old how to butcher the cattle.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
Arthur had quickly learnt that there were two places to shoot the cow to make it quick: above their eyes to hit their brain from the front or behind their head to hit the spinal cord and the back of their brain. If the gun was between their eyes the bullet would have missed the brain and the cow would have suffered.
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty one.
Arthur didn't understand how the cow wasn't suffering if a bullet hit their brain but he didn't ask. He just raised the gun. The shot went through the cow's head and it fell to the ground. Blood spilled on the ground and it quickly soaked his shoes.
