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My father could’nt give me his time, so he bought me an air rifle.
I carried the box with the gun into my room and laid it on my bed.  I stood there staring at the gleaming rifle through the plastic window in the front of the box, my hands twitching at my sides. I wanted to touch the rifle but I was afraid of spoiling it’s newness.  The thought of so much as a thumb print on the barrel made me feel sick.
That night I slept like a soldier, with the rifle at my side, still in it’s box.  When I woke up, the room stank of gun oil.  I could taste it in the back of my throat.  My heart was beating fast, I wanted to shoot something.  My parents were still asleep.  The steady, low sound of my fathers snoring drifted across the hall.  My mother, as usual, was silent.  I got up quietly, the rifle tucked under my arm and went into the kitchen.  Shivvering,  in my pyjamas  I opened the cupboard and raked through the bin until I found an empty baked bean can and a crumpled beer can.  I put on my slippers and duffel coat and went outside.
It was cold and grey in the garden, it felt somehow like a school morning, even though it was halfway through the summer holidays.  I took the tins down to the woodshed and stood them on a couple of bricks.  The grass was wet with dew, my slippers got soaked but I did’nt care.  If my father came out now, he’d have my guts for garters.  I was afraid, trembling half with cold, half with fear. Consumed with this terrible need to fire my little gun.
I walked back towards the house and stopped.  Holding my breath, I slid the rifle out of it’s box and held it out in front of me.  It was a beautiful thing, all blue steel and dark wood.  I’d never shot a gun before, but I’d watched my cousin Steven shoot his, so I knew what to do.  Inside the box was a round tin of ammunition, .22 pellets.  I cocked the rifle and put a pellet into the breach, then snapped the barrel shut   My breath rising in plumes, I shouldered the stock and squinted down the sights. The beer can looked impossibly distant, there was no way I could hit it.  I held fast, my finger hovering over the trigger, eyes strained and unblinking.  
Then something started to happen.  The beer can started to change.  It shimmered and hovered in the grey light.  It became my fathers head.  His eyes shone like marbles and he was grinning.  At that moment, nothing else mattered.  I felt no cold, I held onto the rifle and shot his fucking teeth out.