#losmuertcs

A gun firing. Then for the second time. For the second time there is a scream linked to it. The gun drops, thumping against the wooden floor loud. The young girl stands there, hands shaking, pressed tight on to her lips in order to stop another cry leaving her lips. Pure panic. That’s what was running through her mind in the dark little cabin, dropping to her knees.

Mariana carried a gun with herself for a long time. There wasn’t a single occasion where she had to fire it, however. Her hands weren’t steady. Her mind wasn’t set to killing yet. Her aim wasn’t perfect. She knew she shouldn’t have fired the gun. The moments were repeating in her brain on a loop - Muertos attack them when they are searching the place for anything useful. It’s dark. She still sees that one is on her uncle. He yells shoot. She raises her hand, panic in her mind. Her hands are shaking. The target is moving too much. Mariana pulls the trigger. She still hears groaning. She pulls it again. The noise is gone. As she opens up squeezed eyes and tilts her head to where she was aiming ---- She screams. 

        “Javi!” The young girl cried after dropping down to her knees, crawling close to her uncle on all fours. A wound. She shouldn’t have fired that gun. She should have steadied her hands. She shouldn’t have squeezed her eyes shot. Mariana moved her hands off the ground, sitting on her heels. The shaking didn’t stop. The panic didn’t go away. Her heart could tear her chest open with the speed it was beating.

        “Uncle Javi! Javi---- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--- I didn’t-- I’m sorry!” The girl cried, by the moment tears veiling her sight - Still, violently trembling hands trying to find where exactly the wound is and put pressure on it. Or at least, that’s how far her mind got. That’s what she needed to do, right?