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Description
You can feel your heart palpitating behind your eyes. You think palpitating sounds uh-pro-pree-ut (it means ‘just right’), even though Sissy said it meaned the badump of your heart. You say the word again and again in goldfish gasps, and you try not to cry. The gun in your hands is hard and it’s enormous, but you don’t have Teddy. Your fingers are too small to hold the grip right, but they are big enough to pull the trigger. If you see hard enough, you can hear footsteps running around you in circles, trapping you by yourself. The sounds crawl down your arms like fire ants, and you have to hug the gun really tight to stop from scratching your skin. Sweat drops down your arms.

“Palpitating, palpitating,” you whisper, your eyes trying to catch a picture of what was behind the corner. You stare so hard and big into the black that your eyes start to hurt. You don’t dare blink, but when you think you hear a step in the dark, you curl up like a turtle. You can’t stop crying, even though you said you won’t. You need to be a man for Sissy. Sissy won’t have sent you out here if she didn’t think you weren’t a man. She knew you could do this. Your bottom is wet. The footsteps are getting nearer, and your breaths are getting faster. The gun in your hands is hitting your chin. The darkness isn’t important anymore because you’re crying so hard the nose of your gun is shaking.

“Palpitating, palpitating,” you squeak.

Then the footsteps rush you. It makes you scream. Your hands trip over the too-many gun parts and you gasp as your finger finds the trigger. “Point and shoot!” You scream, not even realizing Sissy’s words coming from your mouth. “POINT AND SHOOT!”

Description
You can feel your heart palpitating behind your eyes. You think palpitating sounds uh-pro-pree-ut (it means ‘just right’), even though Sissy said it meaned the badump of your heart. You say the word again and again in goldfish gasps, and you try not to cry. The gun in your hands is hard and it’s enormous, but you don’t have Teddy. Your fingers are too small to hold the grip right, but they are big enough to pull the trigger. If you see hard enough, you can hear footsteps running around you in circles, trapping you by yourself. The sounds crawl down your arms like fire ants, and you have to hug the gun really tight to stop from scratching your skin. Sweat drops down your arms.

“Palpitating, palpitating,” you whisper, your eyes trying to catch a picture of what was behind the corner. You stare so hard and big into the black that your eyes start to hurt. You don’t dare blink, but when you think you hear a step in the dark, you curl up like a turtle. You can’t stop crying, even though you said you won’t. You need to be a man for Sissy. Sissy won’t have sent you out here if she didn’t think you weren’t a man. She knew you could do this. Your bottom is wet. The footsteps are getting nearer, and your breaths are getting faster. The gun in your hands is hitting your chin. The darkness isn’t important anymore because you’re crying so hard the nose of your gun is shaking.

“Palpitating, palpitating,” you squeak.

Then the footsteps rush you. It makes you scream. Your hands trip over the too-many gun parts and you gasp as your finger finds the trigger. “Point and shoot!” You scream, not even realizing Sissy’s words coming from your mouth. “POINT AND SHOOT!”