The Sins and Virtues of Gunslinging and Love

Blood and Broken Frames

"Carlo! Carlo Moreno!" A strange voice calls your father from outside the wooden shack's door. "Open the door! We know you're in there! Come out," venom drips from the voice. Your parents quickly jump from their squeaky, metal-framed bed. It clangs against the wall as your father grabs his repeater by the door.

"Sansia, Y/n, get down. Don't come out until I say so," your father says sternly. You and your mother oblige and scurry to the corner. Your mother holds you against her. Everything is too silent. Your father leans against the door and the only sounds in the room are the loud thumping of your mother's heart and your father's heavy breathing. He huffs through his nose like a bowl and he leans to peek out the window.

"Shit," he mutters to himself. "Don't come outside. Stay in here until I tell you to come out," he says in a hushed but serious manner. As he opens the door, the voice sounds again.

"Put the gun down!" You can now hear the Italian accent that peppers the male voice. You're still able to see your father as he drops the repeater to the floor. Stepping out, he lets the door close behind him.

The men yelled at each other for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or two. Your head pounded with the rushing of blood making it virtually impossible to make out what they were saying. What you were able to hear was the sound of a shotgun's forearm being pulled back. In an instant, your mother let go of you and flew out the door, directly disobeying your father's wishes. Now the men's voices were joined by your mothers and the sound level doubled.

Despite your debilitating fear, you managed to let curiosity lead you to the window. Peering out the corner you were able to see two masked men holding your mother as she jumped at the man holding the shotgun. The shotgun was pointed directly between your father's eyes. She screamed for him, for you, for the men to stop, to keep them from breaking your family like a piece of glass, shattering it on the ground. But her pleas were futile.

The crack echoed through the rocky valley of the west. Stopped your heart and froze you in place. You couldn't look away. You wished to drown out the sound of your mother's blood-curdling screams. You couldn't look away. His head was gone. Nothing but a neck. You couldn't look away. Your mother's face spattered with blood when the men dropped her to the sandy ground. She crawled to the corpse. You couldn't look away. She held him. She wailed. For him, for you, for god, for anyone who would listen. His brain was splattered against your front door. You couldn't look away. She looked up at you, eyes wide and bulging. Tears the size of bullets poured over her bloodied cheeks. You couldn't look away.

Once more, the crack of a gun sounded. Darkness flooded your vision.

Your eyes fly open. Your breathing is labored and your body is coated in cold sweat. Fuck. That memory often plays in your mind on nights like these. Nights when your body aches, nights when you long for the warmth of another. When you long for your mother and your father. Their laughter as you read them a silly passage from a book. Your mother's warm smile as she teaches you to knead bread. Your father's strong embrace as he held you close to him atop a horse, taking you to town for candy. Your mother's smile as she watched you practice your writing. Your father's grin when you gave him the drawings of your family. Nothing you could ever dream of would replace them. Your Mama and Papa.

A hot tear stung at your eye. You hate crying. It makes you feel weak as it erodes the walls you spent all these years building. Your face screws into a distorted and red mess as you harshly shove the palms of your hands into your eyes, damming the tears. You thread your finger tightly into your hair as the sorrow begins to morph into rage. Your body jerks at the aching pain in your leg which only fuels the fire burning. Why does this have to be so goddamn hard? It's been years! Your mind works overtime trying to rationalize everything. Trying to make sense of these god-awful flashbacks. You try to think of something, anything to get them off your mind. Why isn't this working?! Without thinking, you grab the framed photo next to your bed. The carved wooden and glass frame holds a photo of your parents. You launch it across the tent and watch as it shatters. Disregarding your injury, you fall to your knees next to your bed. Grabbing the exposed print, you rip it apart like a hungry wolf. The shreds become nothing but a pulp as you grind the film into the dirty, rocky ground.

Your chest still rises and falls with fury. Your mind goes blank as you limp out of your tent headed for the hitching posts. You're not sure where you're going but it's anywhere but here.  

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I know this is short but thank you again for reading! Comments and critiques are appreciated < 3