American Horror Story
“Remember—squeeze the trigger gently. Like I showed you.” Henry’s grip on the rifle faltered as he felt his father’s looming presence over his shoulder. The animal in front of him made an attempt to stand, but faltered as blood – thick, black, arterial – oozed from an existing bullet wound in its thigh and it crumpled to the ground again with a howl of pain.
The animal reached out towards him, silently pleading, and Henry swallowed against the bile at the back of his throat as he aimed between its eyes.
The gunshot echoed through the trees – the animal let out a whimper, and fell still.
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