I continue to look at him and his dark, blue eyes were burning through me, maintaining contact with mine as they didn't dare move away.
He sure knows how to hold contact.
My body was burning, every inch of it, I could feel it. It was getting way...
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🌷Aurora🌷
"Kill it."
"No, no, I can't. I can't. I won't do it," I cry, tears streaming down my face.
I stare at my helpless rabbit, sitting there, eating her food, not knowing that it'll be her last few minutes of living.
I don't even remember how we even came to this situation. I didn't upset him. I was just feeding my rabbit and he was watching. Everything was completely normal until I heard him getting his gun out from his pocket.
I wanted to run inside as soon as I saw it but I couldn't, I froze. I couldn't leave the rabbit alone.
"I'm going to teach you a life lesson. This is how you fend for yourself when there's no food at home."
I immediately feel sick as he refers to my rabbit as food. She wasn't food, she was my pet and I loved her.
He tried to hand me the gun but I quickly shake my head, trying to show him that I didn't want to hold that or have anything to do with it.
"I said grab the fucking gun and shoot the fucking thing," he screams, forcing the gun in my hands.
Oxygen failed to make its way through my throat as I trembled when the gun was placed in my hand. I've never held a gun before. I didn't know how to use it. I didn't want to. I didn't like it. Guns were bad, they did bad things.
"Please, just take it back, I don't want it," I begged to my father but he wouldn't listen to me.
"If you're not going to do it, then I will."
I hold the gun up and try aiming for her but I drop my hands back down, my hiccuping cries continuing. He then snatches the gun from me and pushes me onto the floor.
He aims for my poor rabbit, his fingers on top of the trigger.
"No, please, leave her alone," I scream.
Gunshot*
I wake up with a loud gasp, trying to find the air in my lungs. I could still hear the sound of the bullet ringing in my ears. It was too hot, too warm, the sweat was making my clothes stick to my body. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't.
I didn't realise I was screaming until the door opens and I hear feet pattering to my side on the bed. I'm still breathing irrationally as I feel a pair of hands pulling me into their chest, their hands pulling my hair away from my face and telling me it was going to be okay.
"You're okay, you're okay. It's just another dream, it's not real."
But it was real. It was a memory that was being replayed when I was 11 years old. A memory of me and my father before he had to go away. A memory of my rabbits death. A memory that made me sick.
