Are You Listening?

“Are you paying attention, Cecilia?”

My father’s voice was icy and stern. He was not messing around. He made it clear with just his tone that each moment mattered, and there was no time to waste.

This was made especially clear after witnessing his body convulse ever so slightly. I noticed that was the third time in the last ten minutes.

They’re getting closer together. It’s like thunder and lightening, counting each second between each boom.

My mouth feels sticky and dry. I can’t remember the last time I was so terrified. I didn’t want to listen, but I know I have to. “I’m listening, Dad.”

He licks his chapped lips trying his damndest to be strong. I will never be as strong as him. How does he expect me to do this?

With the uncanny ability to read my mind, he speaks, “You can do this, Cecelia—you have to. This rifle is a bit heavy, but you’re a big girl now. You can handle it.”

Forcefully he hands the gun to me and immediately the heavy object scares me almost more than the darkness outside, when I know I should really cherish it.

This cannot be happening. I think again to myself.

My lips involuntarily quiver and I squint my eyes in the flickering light of the kerosene lantern, trying to make out the scratched and worn details of the lethal object in my hands.

I watch as my Dad slowly lifts his arm up to me, dragging his dingy fingers over the long barrel of the gun, stopping at the tip.

“When aiming, make sure that this pointer here matches up with the back one.” He quickly points to the other closest to me, and then wastes no time placing his finger right below the barrel near the trigger. ”Just remember that right here is where you load the ammo. Sometimes it can be a bit tricky, but if you take a deep breath and focus, you should be able to do it just fine. I am pretty sure we have about three boxes left.”

I gulp at the mention of bullets, reflecting back to a memory that happened just days ago. We used a lot of what we had left then, but it wasn’t good enough to save Mom.

With that thought my eyes reflexively water in unison with my trembling hands knowing exactly what my future holds.

“Cecilia! Baby girl, I know this is hard, but it is so important for you to listen, do you understand?” he repeats.

Without my permission my body lets out a sob I didn’t know it was fighting back. I begin to shake my head while letting my eyes commit to memory my Dad’s serious chocolate brown stare that could always see through every one of my childish lies, but could also make me laugh during the worst of times. “Dad, I don’t want to do this!”

He bites back a sob too, which only makes this bizarre scene more terrifyingly real. He tries to disguise his cries with equalizing gasps of breath while rubbing at his soot-smudged face, finding some sense of calm, and I swear I think I notice another convulsion.

“I am so sorry, Baby Girl, but this is what has to happen. You need to do this. There isn’t another way. I know it’s awful, but you’re really being the hero, do you hear me?”

My body becomes wracked with sobs now as I wipe at my eyes, trying my hardest to stop the tears from falling. I heave in a deep breath, and nod through a restrained snivel, knowing that he’s right. I’ve seen what happens when people don’t take action. “I understand.”

Surprising me, my father takes his left hand and brushes my tangled hair out of my face, and tugs at my chin. “I know you can do it. You’re a fighter. Always have been. I’m so proud of you.”

I clench my eyes shut at hearing his words that only have me remembering happier times. Those words were always used at my soccer practices or when I got A’s on a test, making me feel happy and loved. Now the endearing statement scared me to death. “I love you, Dad.” I say it because now I can never say it enough.

“I love you too.” He takes in a deep breath as I witness his body writhe yet again, except this time it is blatantly obvious, causing his body to jolt into the chest of drawers behind him.

“Dad!”

“I’m fine. We are running out of time.”

I nod as my shoulders tense, and I can’t help but take a look around at my childhood home now in shambles. Furniture lay on its side, and the door still barricaded with what once was my bed.

As if regaining focus he continues his speech from before. “Baby girl, this right here.” He points at the end of the gun closest to me now. “This is the recoil pad. You’ve seen me countless times shoot deer. When you take a shot be sure that that part is firm against your shoulder. This gun has quite a bang, so keep it steady and still. You never want a reason for wasting bullets, so make sure each shot counts, okay?”

I’m no longer sobbing, but I have given up fighting back my tears as the silent droplets continue to fall down my cheeks leaving clean streaks of skin in their wake. I take a moment to quickly eye my fathers wound on his now useless right arm, finding it difficult not to cringe. The flesh around it is already rotting away as it begins to give off the sickening smell of death. By its coloration and stench, it is only too obvious what is coming.

“Now, the Johnson’s are held up in their house still. I saw a light on over there a couple of nights ago. I want you to run straight there, but not until dawn. Hopefully they’ll let you in,” he pauses and I think it’s to contain another oncoming jolt. “I love you, Baby Girl. Never forget that.”

My response comes out as a desperate squeal. “I love you too, Dad.” 

I wish I had time to say it over and over again.

 Shocking me, his body begins to convulse longer than the other times, like a body wracking seizure, but he comes out of it …crying.

He grabs for my face and kisses me hard on the forehead, and brings me into a vice like hug. “You have to do it now, Baby Girl.”

I cry into his shoulder, but now being so close to him, I can feel his body clench once more.

He pushes me away, and grabs for the barrel of the gun. “I don’t want to end up like your mother did. This is the only way.”

Causing me to lean back on my knees he brings the tip of the gun to his head, tucking it under his chin.

My breathing is shallow as I try to remember everything he as ever taught me in the past few weeks, let alone my life.

With another twisting and tensing of his body that rattles the gun pressed up against him, and also rattling my state of mind. I want to scream so badly—This can’t be happening.

Grabbing the barrel of the gun more tightly, he presses it forcefully and roughly against him, holding it there as he tries to keep the transition at bay. “There’s no time, Cecilia! You have to pull the trigger!”

“Dad! No!”

“Pull it! I love—“

His words get choked up as his body begins its last prolonged gasp. I watch the horrifyingly familiar fogging of his iris’s, watching the caramel brown fade into a cloudy blue.

I have no choice, and there is no more time.

I pull the trigger before my Dad turns into a zombie and eats me alive.