Clandestine

eighty

-julia-

My mother has stepped into the clearing.

She picks up my smoldering sweater and sighs, probably when she realizes there isn't any burnt bones inside. I wonder what would have happened if I had still be wearing that when the bomb set off. Would I have died instantly, the blast stopping my heart? Would I have survived to die slowly, a smoldering hole in my back?

How did I ever think that I owed this woman any loyalty?

She forced me into an occupation I didn't want. She killed a man. She forced me to keep her secret. She planned out a teenager's murder. She bribed and blackmailed me to secrecy. She tried to ship me away.

I lift the hand gun and train it on my mother's head.

Diane puts her hand on my arm and stares at me.

Tears blur my vision and I start to lower it. I can't kill her. I can't kill this woman.

But if I don't kill her, she's going to kill me. She's going to kill Diane.

It's not going to stop until she succeeds.

I refocus the gun.

And I.

Pull.

The.

Trigger.