Drake Merwin // prequel to GONE

Chapter 2

"Aim higher!" I hiss at myself, angry at my poor aiming. I fire, missing the target by a metre. Great. Now I was getting frustrated. My dad was fiddling with his badge absentmindedly, which only made me more mad. "Dad! A little help here?"
Dad grins at me and looks up from under his sheriff hat, raising an eyebrow. "Have patience."
Helpful. Helpful, helpful dad. Hm. Sarcasm in the air.
I fire yet again, closer this time, but still not good enough. I curse under my breath.
"Hey Drake, why don't you take a brake from practice, ai?"
I laugh. "Alright then."
"Go for a walk. Hey, why don't you go down the street? Get active, y'know?" Suggests dad.
I shrug. It's better than nothing, and certainly better than failing shooting and all. Once out of dad's view, I venture the gun cupboard curiously. Yeah, we have a gun cupboard. Just a thing for the Merwin's. Gazing up and down, I notice an Air Rifle. Sweet. A nice choice, Drake Merwin, I praise myself.
Slinking out the house, I trudge down the street, gun hidden stealthily under my coat, hands in pockets.

After a while, on my way back to the house, an unfamiliar voice breaks into my thoughts: "Hey kid, what's up?"
I ignore him, just some guy. I think he was pestering me, but I didn't have the time. I had better things to do. Like train. Train to be the best. That's what it was all about.

I grin my sharky grin as my steely grey eyes focus on the gruesome horror movie, blood splashing out due to my 3D glasses. This was the life. Practicing to be the best, and getting better every day, no doubt. As the credits roll, I toss the 3D glasses aside, and gaze out into the black soaked sky. Dark. No practice for me. I swear. Loudly. "Drake!" My dad warns. I ignore him gracefully, a skim the stairs, slumping into bed. Tomorrow I would train. Train hard, hard, hard. All I think about is training, as I quietly wait for a wave of starless black to invite me to sleep...

Smack. Whack. Screams. Screams of agony and pain. My mother... My mom... Beaten, crying.... Dead. I clench my fists. Blood everywhere. All because of him. My step-dad. Not my dad. Because if it was, he'd be dead already...

I shriek. A nightmare. "Pull it together, Merwin." I hiss to myself. I brush my ragged hair out of my eyes and leap from bed. The blazing sun was licking the horizon, welcoming morning. I smile. Training time. I snatch my firearm from the shelf and slip into the garden. Aiming carefully, I close my eyes and pull the trigger. BANG! I don't even wince. I was too eager to know if I had hit it. Yes! Got the target right in the middle. I try several times over, never failing, and loving the sensation of the gun in my hands. Dad was leaning against the wall, sighing as I fired. I growled. "What now, dad?"
"You're so like your Grandfather."
"You mean the one I was named after?" I ask carelessly.
"Yeah. Ambitious, strong-willed, reckless..."
"Mhmm." I murmur, not paying attention. BANG! Smirking proudly, I run a finger against the firearm, "Dad?"
"Decided to listen now?" Asks dad, twiddling his county sheriff badge obsessively.
I decide to ignore that. "Thanks for your training. You know, on the firearm and stuff."
BANG! On the target. Dad winces. He then tuts, "Your always on about that gun."
I shrug. "I'm a Merwin, dad. And this Drake Merwin is the first, the best. Granddad was number two."
Dad sighs. "Ok then Drake." He then slips away. My dad, he was always quite suspicious. I mean, he didn't take on the reputation of being named after Drake Merwin the second- my grandfather -and he was never a one with guns. He only knew how to use a firearm. In fact, I don't even know what my dads name is. I just remember always calling him dad. Was it a secret?
BANG!
I grin. I was getting better. I try to let the dad stuff slip out of my mind. After all, I had bigger expectations.