So yeah, I've got Fog finished... except for the next chapter. I'm still working through that. I haven't been very focused as of late.
But this idea came to me while I sat waiting for the power to come back on during the hurricane.
Hope everyone is safe and sound!
a psychological disturbance caused by prolonged exposure to active warfare, especially being under bombardment.
The first time Ziva fires a gun, it's with anticipation.
She feels no fear, no unease.
It's her 13th birthday when Eli announces over breakfast she would be joining him and Ari that day.
They arrive at the range, and Eli leads the way up to the ominous entrance where security waits to receive them.
She skips past an unusually quiet and solemn Ari, a contrast of her demeanor; she's all wonder and bright-eyed curiosity.
The range isn't tremendously far, but it's no child's distance.
Ziva remembers her father chuckling at her confidence as she planted her stance; him leaning down,
murmuring careful instructions softly to her as she took aim;
It's one memory that has stuck with her all these years.
Now, Zivaleh, the most prudent rule of commanding a gun is to learn how to master your emotions,
because reacting rashly and impulsively is what turns this gun into a weapon.
Her eyes snap to the next stall as Ari fires six times systematically from the next section over, a controlled mask settled over his features.
She shifts her focus back, breathes deeply, squints, and fires.
Her first shot meets it's paper target, and then some, landing in the bulls eye as the lingering echo bounces off the walls.
Her own grin is mirrored in her father's face.
Ziva searches for Ari's reaction, pride washing through her.
Her older half brother observes her from where he stands, reloading his rounds, a distant look in his eyes that are laden with a sadness she, at the time, didn't yet understand.
"And so it begins," he whispers under his breath, as he brings his loaded weapon up to eye level, firing off another succession of rounds.