Her mouth was turned upwards in a half-smile. The trails of dried tears on her cheeks stark against the muddy background of her face. Her black hair billowed around her, mixing with the delicate fabrics of her ivory wedding dress.
Mud was splattered on the hem.
“Clara!” A man’s gruff voice carried with the wind.
Her smile vanished, and she slipped into the rust-red barn. Paint flecked off as she closed the door behind her. She hid in a corner under the loft. There was hay sticking into her back. She ignored it. Her hands were trembling.
No no no.
The door creaked open, and then slammed shut.
“I know you’re in here.”
It was her father’s voice.
There was the sound of a shotgun spitting out a used casing, and the insertion of a new bullet.
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