Running Home

21 Guns

Author's Note:

Hello my dear friends! I'm sorry that it's a shorter chapter, but I wanted to be on time (11:59 is still technically Saturday), plus I didn't want to get ahead of myself and spoil any of the action that I've planned for the next lots of chapters. This is one of the last wholly calm ones for a while.

I have three items of business to address.

1. Views. I seriously don't mean to sound needy, I've just noticed that the views on my chapters have plummeted, and I want to know why. Please leave me feedback. I don't bite- you can message me, post a comment, post it on my wall, put a sticky note on my forehead, whatever works for you. I would just love it if you guys would talk to me.

2. Timing. I'm getting better. I do still sincerely apologize for my three week delay last time. School sucks. I'll work on it, and I will eventually improve. I'm sorry.

3. Point of View. As you could have guessed by the title being a song reference, we are back on Wren. I'm just making sure everyone gets that. Alrighty. (Additionally, GREEN DAY!)

Okay, thanks for putting up with and reading/skimming the extended author's note. Please vote and comment and I love you all very much!

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I was dying.

That may have been a bit misleading.

I thought I was dying.

It had been about two hours since Jane had started training me. I was exempt from over half of it because of my ankle, but I was already sweating like a pig. Actually, I'll go with sparkling.
Sparkling like a pig.

Jane was anything but amicable. If possible, she (I refused to think of her as an "it") seemed to be averse to benevolence. Every time I tried to strike up some small talk, she'd grimace and instruct me to continue with whatever.

She was very meticulous when it came to my technique, and I didn't really have a technique to begin with. I wasn't experienced when it came to any type of activity that requires movement. I tripped over my feet a lot. During the first week of school this year, I tripped down the stairs three times, and up five.

I was currently doing sit up reps, which was killing my stomach. When she finally allowed me to stop, I just stayed on the floor. She told me to move, and when I didn't respond, she grabbed my arm and pulled me up with ease.

"I'm not going to be cursory with you. Teaching you to fight is feasible, but it will not be a simple task. You are going to learn how to properly use a gun now," Jane stated.

I was led to the shooting range. The last time I was here, I nearly shot someone. My skills had retrogressed since then. I picked up a handgun- which I later learned was a semi-automatic- and pulled the trigger, aiming at the target. There was a small click, and nothing happened.

I looked behind me at Jane, who held up a black box. I must have looked confused, because I swear I heard her sigh in annoyance.

"This is a magazine. It hold the bullets. Your gun isn't loaded," she informed me.

Oh.

She demonstrated how to load the magazine, as well as how to put it into the gun. I followed suit. It wasn't much like the movies portrayed.

After about five tries that didn't meet up to her standards, I finally slid the magazine into the handgun. Jane nodded, and I followed her instructions and then pulled the trigger.