Prologue

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I  wake up to the usual Dawn Chorus of gunshots. I try to close my eyes and fall back to sleep but my brother is crying. I roll out of bed and pad over to the sofa to comfort him. I kneel down next to him and start singing his favourite song but halfway through, he interrupts me with:
"What if they come? What if they shoot you? Or mum? Or dad? Or me? Or the baby?"

I have always told the exact truth. But is it always right? After all, it would be a white lie. And white lies are good, necessary lies.

Aren't they?

"Stop worrying! You'll be fine! That's the kind of thing that doesn't happen to us. It never, ever would! I promise" I laugh, stroking his short, fuzzy hair and resuming my song. His huge brown eyes almost immediately close.

But something's wrong. It's too quiet outside.

The door, smashed.

Dada!

Guns.

I hug him tight. Shot in the arm. Carry on protecting Dada.

Unprepared.

Dada's awake.
At first, he doesn't think it's happening. Because I told him it wouldn't.
"Play dead,"
He doesn't.

A piercing scream.

My fault.

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