Growing up in my family was no easy task. Usually you worry about your enemies, my brother and I had to worry about the very people we were trusting to raise us up. Daddy... Well, lets just say that he would have rather NOT have had children. To say we were a nuisance is putting it quite mildly. I was the oldest and since I wasn't a boy, I was worthless. Sometimes I think it was that he was ashamed of himself because he couldn't produce a son to follow in his footsteps. And Mother... Well she of course wanted to please Daddy. And Daddy wasn't pleased with a girl, so neither was Mother. Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore and one day she disappeared, leaving me to fend for myself. I worked so hard to show Daddy that I was as good as any boy. If I knew he had an errand to run, I would volunteer. If he needed messages passed to someone down the street, I'd be there, eager to help. Of course he let me, it was easier than finding one of the runners to do it.

Then he met my brothers mom. When my brother was born, he was the light of my fathers world. He would have done anything for that boy... Until he became jealous of the way his wife doted on his son. It was pathetic really. And I was swept aside even further. I got along well enough with my stepmother, but by then I had been motherless long enough that I wasn't going to accept anyone into that role. We all went about our lives, growing older. I watched out for my little brother, he was my pride and joy. When he was a baby, I would dress him up, put him in my old doll's carriages and push him up and down the street. As he grew older, I would shield him from Daddy's bursts of rage. I would stick him in a closet with me and make up stories that would make him smile and forget about what was going on outside of our secret haven.

The older I got, the more defiant I became. I started smoking and sneaking liquor when Daddy wasn't looking, or was too drunk to pay attention. It wasn't hard to do, he never had any idea how much he had drank the next day. I would sneak into meetings that Daddy would hold with the boys and just listen. I was a sponge and I wanted to soak up every piece of information I could. I was determined to show my father one day that a daughter could be just as useful as a son.

But one day, everything changed. I came home from running the streets with my friends. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone to school. Daddy was drunk and in one of "those moods" again. I was about to go collect my brother and go to my room when I heard my step mother screaming and my brother crying. I rushed to the family room in time to see my father standing there, gun aimed at my little brother. I screamed and ran towards him. As I pushed him, he fired the gun. To say that I went blind with rage is an understatement. I shoved Daddy to the ground and began punching him as hard as I could, tears streaming down my face as I cursed him. It took three of his bodyguards to pull me off of him as I kicked and clawed and punched and bit. I spit on my father as they dragged me off of him. 'YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!' And then I looked over and saw my brother curled up in a ball on the floor, bawling. And his mother laying next to him in a puddle of blood. I dropped to my knees and crawled quickly over to my brother. I pulled him into my arms, rocking him, as the tears continued to stream down my face.

The next thing I knew, my father grabbed a headful of my hair and drug me across the floor. 'YOU STUPID LITTLE BITCH!!' he screamed at me as he dragged me through the house by my hair. I reached up and grabbed his hands, trying to pry them from my hair as I flailed my legs. I closed my eyes tight, not bearing the fact that my brother was watching all of this happen. Suddenly we stopped moving and I opened my eyes to see the barrel of a gun staring me in the face. I was petrified. He was really going to do it. He was going to kill me and my brother was going to be next. I had no choice. I grit my teeth and forced myself to let my anger take over the fear. I jumped to my feet and the gun followed me. 'DO IT!!! DO IT YOU SPINELESS SON OF A BITCH!!! SHOOT YOUR OWN DAUGHTER!!!! FUCKING DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' At the moment he cocked the gun, his sister walked in the front door. It took her a moment to process the scene but when she did, she ripped the gun from my father's hands and pointed it at him. She started screaming at him.

I wish I could tell you what happened from there, but I went into shock. The next thing I remember was waking up in an institution, my aunt sitting next to my bed praying and crying. When she noticed that I was responsive, she grabbed me tightly. 'Where am I? Where's Johnny??' I tried to sit up, starting to panic. She pushed me back down and began to explain. She and my uncle had brought me to live with them. 'What about my brother??' I asked frantically. She didn't say anything and my heart stopped. I began to cry. My heart crumbled slowly. Then she explained that he was fine, but that he was still with my father. I tried to jump from the bed. 'He can't! He'll kill him!! I know it, I watched!! He'll... Oh my God please help him!!' My aunt grabbed me and held me in her arms as I sobbed.

When I went home with them, I was withdrawn. I didn't want anything to do with anyone. They were patient with me... At first. Then they put their foot down, insisting that I go to school. I stayed inside my shell, attending classes, keeping my head down. At home I didn't speak at all. They tried to involve me in conversations at dinner time, but I would either nod or just ignore them all together. I would write my brother letters everyday, telling him how horrible it was and how much I missed him. I wondered who was protecting him from Daddy...

Life went on that way for a year. And then I turned absolutely rebellious. I started cutting school, stealing, smoking, drinking. And it was during this time that I fell in love. Actually that is an understatement. I fell into a wreckless, wild, crazy love. I had never experienced anything like it before. And it was completely forbidden. Which made it all the more sweeter. I came home early one day, cigarette hanging from my mouth, daring to be caught. But no one was there. It was the first real time I had been alone in the house since I'd arrived. I began searching through cabinets, looking for my aunt and uncles liquor. I pulled open one of the drawers and there it was. I stared at it for a moment, the fear trying to well up in me from my first encounter with such a weapon. I swallowed and reached into the drawer, wrapping my fingers slowly around the grip and I felt little tingles of ecstasy shoot throughout my body. It was so... empowering. I felt invincible with that revolver in my hands. I raised it up and pointed it at the mirror, staring at my reflection.

I walked slowly towards the mirror, twisting my hands and the gun to the left and then to right, watching how graceful my tiny hands looked wrapped around it. I raised the gun up in the air, making silly little poses, kissing the air. I whirled around and pointed it at different things in the room, shouting obsencities at my targets as I pretended to pull the trigger. Oh that trigger... How cold it felt against my warm finger. How I longed to just give it a little squeeze... Suddenly the front door opened. I looked around frantically. I could not be caught with a gun... I jammed it in my waistband behind me and untucked my shirt, covering it up. I rushed over to the drawer I'd found the gun in, grabbed a box of bullets and disappeared to my room.

For weeks, I slept with the gun under my pillow, holding it tightly in my hand. I carried it with me everywhere I went. I would sit for hours, just staring at it, working up the courage to fire it. And then I got my chance. My aunt and uncle were going away. I patiently waited as they loaded their luggage into the car. I kissed their cheeks and waved from the porch. The minute they were gone from sight, I raced to my room and stuffed my hands under my pillow. A smile crossing my face as my hands found the treasure they were seeking. I still felt that rush, that thrill from holding it as I did that first day. I grabbed some bullets from the box and shoved them into my pocket. I rushed down the stairs and practically flew out the front door. I ran out behind the barn and found some old tin cans lying on the ground. I set them up on the fence, shaking in anticipation. My finger was twitching slightly, aching to wrap around the trigger and pull... POP!

I took a few steps back, pulling the gun from my waist. I raised it slowly and aimed it at one of the cans. I closed one eye, staring it down as if it had somehow wronged me. The gun felt like heaven in my hands. I lowered the gun and pulled a single bullet from my pocket, slipping it slowly into the cylinder, as if it were some sacred ritual. And yes, I was that confident that I would hit my mark. I once again, raised the gun. I closed one eye as I slipped my finger over the trigger. My whole body was tingling with anticipation as I squeezed my finger against the trigger and ... POP! The can fell and I squealed with delight, dancing around in a circle. WHAT A RUSH!!! I had never experienced anything like that in my life!!! The power, the release, the excitement! I quickly slipped another bullet into the cylinder and shot at the second can I had placed up there. Oh God that felt even sweeter.

Suddenly my life had meaning, a purpose. No longer would I be destined to a life of solitude and loneliness. I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I spent the whole weekend my aunt and uncle were gone shooting at random targets, the giddiness never lessening. And when they arrived home, I pulled my uncle aside. I told him that I was determined to follow in my family's footsteps. He was shocked at first, angry even. How dare I... A child and a woman at that. I told him I hadn't been a child since the day my father shoved a gun in my face and even long before that. I begged and pleaded with him to teach me. I told him what I already knew from all those times I had snuck into daddy's meetings. When he told me that he wouldn't help me... I was... devastated. I knew I was meant to do this. And then he placed his finger under my chin, raising my face to his as he placed a ticket in my hand.

I looked down and saw that it was a ticket to America. I looked up at him with tears as he smiled at me. He told me that while he could not teach his only niece the way of this life, he had many connections there and he would make sure that I was taken care of. I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. But suddenly my heart sank at the realization of this. I would never again see my brother. Not that I would if I stayed... It was then I decided. If I could go, learn the ways, then maybe one day, when he was old enough I could send for him. That eased my heart and mind.

And that is the story of how I fell in love and ended up here in this thing of ours. And I couldn't be happier about it.

To fall in love with a gun....

I think I can speak on he behalf of plenty of people to say, we have all experienced this... love affair.

lol true

True

Its really good, ^_^ your really good at writing

Have to say very well done, and very true

Gaius smiles and inhales on his cigarette deeply.

Well written, enjoyable. I hope to see more of these.

Well written story line.

True and Inspiring :D.

Well done Cassiopeia  :D.