BANG

The sound of a gunshot echoing in the darkness. Elzo know the sound. It was the sound of a rifle, a hunter’s rifle, un-muffled. An amateur’s shot. The shot of someone who was just going on their first hunt. The smell of deer musk didn’t exist. The smell of freshly turned earth, of evergreen trees, of river water. The smell of camp, cinders, ash, canned foods. Wilderness infected with a case of humanity. The smell that brought memories.

BANG

Greens and browns. Bright reds and yellows. Natural and scienctific. Ancient and modern. Wild and tamed. The horrid stain of their multicolored wear and gear breaking up the harmony the world around them. This was something he saw once. Only once.

BANG

The sound made him twitch. Flinch. A jolt of ice along his spine. He knew this place, this time. He knew it.

BANG

He hated it.

BANG.

“Headshot.”
“What?” He was 14. A man to his father, a child to the world. Puberty hadn’t set it. The realization of just his place in the world, of the Xanis name, having sunk in over the last year. Brothers in name, in spirit, with watered down lies for half of their shared blood.
Giovanni took the gun from his hands. Aimed at the neon target.
“You aim for the head like this is a game. It’s not. We’re killing Elzo. We kill with shots to their flanks. A headshot is risky, wastes bullets. Besides, it’s not like they’re people or anything.”
“Giovan-“
”Father.” He was cut off.
“Pardon?”
“I am your father. You’re real father. You will call me such.” Giovanni pointed at the neon target. The gun was shoved back at him.
“Now kill it.” Marlo sat alone behind them, a bruise on his arm. He didn’t flinch.

BANG

The sound of door breaking. Wood splintering. “Maria’s gone done it again, chased away Gio’s newest pet.” “I hear she poured bleach on her head.” “Lit her dress on fire.”
Accusations whispered in the kitchens. In Italian. Broken words and phrases he couldn’t fully understand.
BANG

Fear an ice cold chill along his spine. The memory was a blur, a rush of ice in his veins. Silent screams from the kitchens, gasps and whispers. Feet ran across hardwood floors, sock slippery on the polished surface. Cracks in the wood, spider webs extending from the hinges. Light poured out into the black hall. Inside he could see Maria, sobbing.

There was red. A color for the large velvet curtains, staining the ground. It rushed out from under the door. The door swung open. Memory and fear. Fantasy and reality. An arm pulled him side the red room, Maria was still sobbing.
Red curtains hung from tall evergreens. Books lined the trees in a scattered array.
Marlo sat in the open field, a bruise on his arm.
“Now kill it.”
The gun was in his hands. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot. His hands trembled. It wasn’t right. It’s wasn’t fair. Giovanni made a sound, Elzo’s eyes widened.
“If you can’t kill it Elzo-“ The gun was torn from him. Marlo looked up from the earth, eyes soft, a small movement in the tall grass.
“I will.” Giovanni took aim.
Elzo’s eyes flicked back and forth, Maria wasn’t sobbing, her eyes were lifeless, cold, even while she breathed. Marlo was still looking at Elzo, eyes soft, caring, trusting.
“DAD NO THAT’S-“
Marlo smiled.

BANG
________________________________________
Elzo woke up, his face was wet. Fingers had dug into his palms in his sleep, blood flecking the sheets. A thud as feet hit the floor. A crack as doors were flung open. He found him in his room, the same expression, the same soft sky blue eyes.

Elzo wept.