What is time? Time is fluid. It speeds up, slows down, like a river in different seasons. I am staring into his eyes. Brown like dead leaves, no sign of mercy, life, or a conscience. How do I look right now? Are my own brown eyes unmasking me?

Fear pumps through my heart, it courses through my veins, it races through my body. In another world, I would be sneakily calling the cops. I would be kicking the gun aside and dauntlessly tying him up with the courage I have always craved.

But I am frozen. My fingers don’t move. My legs don’t move. My arms don’t move, they betray me and I can’t do anything but stare down the barrel of his black gun. I am a deer thrown into the middle of a highway, facing a car speeding towards me with no intention of stopping.

What is my mother thinking? Does she think that I am safe at home doing homework? Will she cry for me? Will my dad come to the funeral? These are all questions and thoughts that he doesn’t think of as his eyes glint with an emotion I do not know, that I can’t identify.

The gun is cocked. 

The trigger is pulled.