Dad forces the gun into my reluctant hand. “I’m tired, son.”
He places his warm hand on my shoulder. “I need help. I can’t keep doing it alone.”
I stare down at the weapon, attempt to drown out their groans with thoughts of how things were before. Ten years old is too young for this.
“Point and shoot, just like I showed you.”
I’m not ready. Not for this.
“Remember, they ain’t people. Not any more.”
I raise the gun and take a long, deep breath.
“It’s not her.”
If I pull this trigger I’ll never see mum again.