haze (2025)

Light Mode

Eil readjusts his sunglasses, in a rather futile attempt at reducing the glare from the cursed desert sun. His eyes try to focus back on the scrawny boy crouching a few meters away from him, with an old rifle in his hands.

Though the kid had the steadiest hands when it came to stitching people up — something he himself could personally attest to — Eil could see his arms shake under the weight of the worn-out firearm, struggling to keep it steady as he looked through the scope. He hopes he’ll be able to land the shot into the wall of rock in front of them at the very least, or else risk having it fly into Sefors’ shop — or worse, into the nearby water tank.

After a moment of silence, a loud bang cuts through the relative quiet of the shooting range, followed by a distant bleat from one of the goats prowling around the Ranger Citadel. 

Eil turns his head to their makeshift target — a can placed precariously on top of a stack of concrete blocks, visible even from meters away — which had not moved an inch from its original position nor were any holes added to its already decrepit state. A miss, in other words.

“Try again,” he says. The two had been at the range for what felt like hours on end, baking slowly in the semi-radioactive Arizonan heat. He’d already asked the boy if he wanted to take a break approximately twenty-seven minutes ago, but he had refused, despite warnings of dehydration and whatnot, not wanting to leave his position until he got the shot right at least once.

“Fuck!” Theo exclaims, one hand letting go of the rifle in an attempt to slam it onto the wooden table out of frustration, only to flinch in pain at the sudden movement. He lets go of the firearm completely to nurse his shoulder, pushing down his collar to inspect the skin underneath. Neither of which was a good sign to the older man, who decided that this was an opportune time to cut their training session short.

Eil walks over to him, before picking up the rifle to inspect it for damages. It had already been in less-than-ideal shape before they began using it for practice, but it didn’t hurt to check if it was causing any issues for the boy. “...Don’t you think it’s time to stop for now?” 

“No,” Theo huffs, letting go of his shirt to lift a hand up to wipe away the sweat that had been beading up on his forehead for the past couple of minutes. It gets replaced almost immediately. “I — I’ll be fine, I promise.”

The older man sighs, still focused on the firearm in his hands. Nothing out of the ordinary, he notes. Can’t blame the firearm for the kid’s bad aim.

“You’re going to break your shoulder like this, you know.” From the corner of his eye he could see the beginnings of an angry purple blooming at the edge of the boy’s collar, presumably from both bad posture and the gun’s recoil. Something to fix later.

“‘S’just a bruise,” Theo says, pouting. “Nothing a few painkillers won’t fix...” 

Eil grimaces. He’ll get himself killed with this kind of mindset someday, he thinks. 

“...Theo,” he starts, voice stern. “We’re taking a break. We’ll continue this when you’ve recovered.” 

He hears Theo huff, irritation clearly bubbling up to the surface. “Just because dad told you to go easy on me doesn’t mean that you have to,” he mutters, standing up. His knees are caked with dust from the ground, and he doesn’t bother to brush it off.

“Your old man has nothing to do with me calling it off,” Eil says, setting down the firearm on top of the nearby crate. “You can barely lift the rifle as is, and that bruise isn’t doing you any favors, either.”

The boy meets his lecture with a downward gaze, silent. He watches Theo kick a rock into the nearby gate, kicking up a cloud of dust alongside it. The rock clatters against the wire, breaking his silence, while a breeze blows all the dust away. It does little to alleviate the desert heat, however.

“...I get it, I get it.” Theo says, voice dejected. “But I’m going back tomorrow.” He finally meets the older man’s gaze, a twinkle of what seems to be determination reflecting in his eyes. Or stubbornness, rather.

Eil resists the urge to roll his eyes, a voice at the back of his head reminding him that the boy’s headstrong attitude was quite typical for someone of his age. Not that it made it any less annoying, however. At least he’d finally gotten him to agree to rest, of all things.

“...Fine.”