Robin J. Harrison

With my hands held behind my back and a knee keeping my on the ground, there isn't much I can do about the gun pointed to my head. The man in front of me reads from a book in a language he made up, one hand holding the book, the other holding the gun steadily between my eyes. I want to beg him to please don't kill me. Please don't pull the trigger. Please, just let me prove that I can still be useful. But my voice won't work. I'm not sure if it's because of his conditioning, or out of anxiety, but I can't speak to save my life. Literally. I can't believe I'm dying at 14. The book slams closed. The prayers over. He looks at me, nothing but hatred in his eyes. "May your next life treat you better than this one did."  He pulls back the hammer. "I'll find you again once you've reincarnated." His grip tightens. My mother and sister look away. I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. The door opens. "Hey! Is Lee home?...

Knock... knock... knock... The little girl looked up from her book. Had that knock come from the window?  She looked outside. There wasn't anyone there.  She opened the window and looked from side to side. Still nothing. Just the smell of sulfur. Confused, she shrugged and closed the window back, going to finish her book. The next day, her father seemed... off. Irritable, even.  The trend continued for about a week, with her father just getting angrier and angrier, until he finally snapped and back-handed her mother. They fought while the girl hid in her room, crying harder with every glass breaking, and every scream or shout. She woke up the next morning to a hole in the master bedroom, but her mother otherwise unharmed.  Knock... knock... knock... Her head whipped to the window. There was the face of a small boy, around her age, staring back at her. He waved. She shook her head. Knock... knock... knock... He rapped on the window. She shook her head firmly. She'd ju...