𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟓𝟔 | 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥

Another fight for life had just begun.

Once again, we were where were before. When will we finally get out of this devastating place? If ever, will we get out alive? Or are we gonna die under fire by these people?

Shooting in poor visibility was more difficult, but not impossible. During the training, Lucifer really thought of everything.

I remembered dad's armory and those long hours of target shooting in poor lighting until the particular circles of the target hadn't merged into a one, huge blur.

BEFORE

„For God's sake, Ria, keep focused!" dad grumbled every single time I missed the target. Didn't he realize that situation gets worse every time he yells more? How am I supposed to concentrate, while he roars at me like a wild dog?

„Again," Lucifer hummed relentlessly. I wanted to complain, but I knew, that it would have no sense. His dark eyes caught me and they rejected to show any understanding, nor even any pity. They flashed me with imaginary, sharp whips like they were waiting for me to fail, so they can punish me for not being able to hit.

There is nothing left but to give up.

I took a deep breath, so I can cool down my inflamed lungs and I subsequently clenched M4 tighter in my hand. I stepped into the first compartment, approaching the first target. I slightly closed my tired eyelids and waited for the moment, I was calmer. As soon as my chest started to lift up in regular intervals, I finally opened them. I gazed at red circles far ahead of me and I tried to imagine them right in front of me. I couldn't figure out, what is all of this good for. Handling a weapon, fitness training, self-defense... Is my father that scared for my life? And if so, is there any reason why he should be? Is there danger and I don't have an idea about it? Is there something that will make me fight or is my father doing it because he wants to have a human killing machine at home? Or maybe the idea of him dictating me satisfies him. Perhaps, he likes seeing his daughter suffering from exhaustion. Dad, why are you doing this to me?

I pulled the trigger. I wish I had a normal childhood.

A bullet flew through the middle. Lucifer didn't even blink. If you expected, he would praise me, you probably thought of something unreal. I fired again.

I wish I was born into a different family.

Another precise bullet pierced the target. I didn't mind my father, who was breathing down my neck. Suddenly, all around me stopped existing. I had only one red dot in front of my eyes to focus on. Something inside me moved and I began to shoot uncontrollably like life would have depended on it.

I wish I had a different father.