Bethany looked exactly like she had that first Christmas morning when she and Jim both came down the stairs together. It was one of those moments that...you knew was coming but were still shocked when it happened. ‘Huh? Oh, yeah… sure… whatever you like.’ She stared out the kitchen windows as Eliza broke a couple of eggs into the bowl, started to beat them and then tossed in some bread. As the sound of the frying bread filled the kitchen, Bethany looked back to her bedroom, reliving the events of. The youth rammed the pistol painfully into my forehead as he shouted that he'd kill me if I didn't get going immediately. Looking back on it now, I have to saw that it's rather odd that in most stories like this, the narrator now tells his readers in cool, measured tones just what sort of gun it was, which country it was made in, what calibre the barrel was and other information of that ilk... yet all I can recall was it was big, black, dangerous and pressed against my forehead. Terrified, I. More

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