Broken Bottles

By Spectral Scribe

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His daddy was scary sometimes, and he didn't smile anymore. He was always reading books with creepy pictures that gave Dean nightmares. And shooting stuff.

The bottles were lined up in a row. Dean fumbled awkwardly with the too-big gun in his too-small hands, summoning confidence he didn't have.

Lifting the gun, he recalled Daddy's lessons on aiming and firing. Squinting at the first bottle, he pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked back in his face, and the bottle exploded into tiny shards of glass. Daddy smiled.

Dean thought if he could keep getting bull's-eyes, his daddy would love him.