Now ten years old, Aimee-Lee glanced out of her bedroom door, holding onto the door frame, to lighten her weight on the old staircase. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her brown eyes were sharp in the dim light. She stepped carefully, remember the times she had snuck into the kitchen for a glass of milk, late at night. She winced as the stairs creaked a little under her bare feet.
She poked her head around her eldest brother's, Vaurien's, door. His whole room was clad in a dark greens and blues, except for his rifle, sitting proudly by his bedside. She entered, the feel of woolen carpeting under her feet. She gave a gulp, before taking up to gun. She felt a gasp leave her. It was heavier than she expected, and colder. It was much easier than she had expected; her brothers and father had left the day before, going to work. She didn't know what they worked as, but she wanted to know where they went.
Once she had lifted it, she checked for ammunition. With that, she moved quickly, out of his room, and down the stairs.
She unlocked the door, and ran outside. She lifted the gun, just like she had seen her brothers do. She closed her left eye, before pulling the trigger.
The noise made her ears hurt, and the recoil hurt her body, and sent her falling. she laid there, gasping for air, her body shaking. When she finally sat up, and found her mother running over to her, she decided something.
She may have loved her dancing, and her cooking, and she may have adored her Papa Flo reading to her, but right in that moment, she decided that she wanted nothing more than to learn how to shoot a gun.