Ronja

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She stared at him as he aimed the gun at her face.

 

Was she supposed to be scared? She was petrified.

She realized all the things she loved about her life. Suddenly her concerns, fears, and disappointments were petty.

 

Was she supposed to stop talking and moving? She was frozen in place.

She wanted to live. She wanted to keep breathing. Her mother and father. Her best friend. Their faces were blurry in her memory. What color exactly were her sister’s eyes. Brown. But what shade, and what did they do when they were happy, sad, angry? She wanted to see them again. She couldn’t remember them well enough! If he pulled that trigger, would she be just that kind of distant image for them?

 

Was she supposed to beg for her life? She was undecided.

It seemed silly to plead with someone who had already made up their mind. And she was stubborn, why beg for something while she still stood tall. But she knew there were ways to break her, that would make her plead and scream.

 

Was she supposed to hate him? She would not do that.

Hate leads to revenge. Revenge leads to more violence. She could not do that to a world already full of anger and violence. So she would stand still, and cry, and beg if needed. But she would not hate.

 

So she studied his face. Looked for the humanity in the light of his eyes, the lines around his nose and mouth. And she looked to the sky behind him. Perhaps it would not be so bad if she could just see the blue of it all, and white of the clouds, the birds circling by.

 

Better to leave this place seeing the beauty of it all, than to feel hate as her last emotion.

 

She was scared as she stared at the blue beyond, but she was determined.

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