Riley woke up to the sight of a rifle, its cold metal glinting in the dim morning light. His dad stood at the foot of his bed, expression as hard as the gun he held. He tossed Riley the rifle, followed by a box of bullets that landed with a heavy thud on the blanket.

“Go out and kill something.” He said, then turned and left the room without another word.

There would be no cake, no presents, nothing to mark his thirteenth birthday except for the rifle now in his hands. Riley wasn’t surprised; celebrations weren’t something his dad did. But still, a part of him wondered if the rifle was meant to signify something. Maybe turning thirteen—officially becoming a teenager—made him more important in his dad’s eyes.

He knew how to use a gun. His older brother, Drew, had taught him years ago, back before he stole their dad’s truck and ran off to marry a boy. Drew had learnt back when their mom was still alive, and their dad was a different man. He’d been a good man once—someone who loved his family, his job, and, most of all, his guns. That last part hadn’t changed.

Riley remembered the story he had told him, the one about when their dad took Drew into the woods for the first time. Drew had been six years old, still just a kid, when their dad shot a rabbit and handed him the gun. “Shoot it.” he’d said. Drew didn’t want to. The rabbit was still alive, twitching and helpless. “It’s innocent.” He argued, but he wanted to make his dad proud more than he wanted to care.

So, he pulled the trigger and, that night, they ate rabbit for dinner.

Before Drew left, he’d told Riley something their dad said that day, something that had stayed with him ever since.

“Nothing is innocent.”

Riley thought about that every day. Was it true? Maybe today he’d find out. He dressed quickly, grabbed the rifle and his backpack, and rode his bike into the woods. There was a tree he always climbed, one he’d been climbing since he was seven. If there was anything Riley was good at, it was climbing.

This tree was more than just a tree to him. It was a refuge, a place where he could hide from the world—and from his dad. Riley’s dad wasn’t scary to most people, but to Riley, he was the scariest man alive. Sometimes, he thought his dad was living proof that nothing was innocent.

But he wasn’t sure. What if _he_ was innocent? He wasn’t a bad kid, just a mistake. His dad never meant to get his mom pregnant, not like they meant to have Drew. They never meant to keep him, either, but his mom got depressed and had to go to the hospital, where they wouldn’t let her get an abortion. They said she wasn’t in the right state of mind, and by the time she was, it was too late.

Maybe his mom was innocent. Was it her fault she was in so much pain? She was unhappy, so she left. That’s how it works. That’s why Drew left, too.

In a way, Riley loved his dad the most because he stayed. Even if he was mean, at least he didn’t leave like everyone else. That made him better. Not a _good_, but _better _parent. Though, it wasn’t fair. His mom never got a chance.

“Kill something.” Riley whispered to himself, perched at the top of the tree. From up there, he could see the whole world, and it was ugly. The trees were leafless, the sky was a dirty gray, and the air was thick with smoke. But the sun, despite everything, was still shining brightly. It made him mad. No—it infuriated him.

What right did the sun have to shine so bright on such an ugly day? On _his_ birthday? No. He had to do something about it.

He loaded a bullet into the chamber and aimed the rifle at the sun. Without thinking twice—without even thinking once—he pulled the trigger.

And he killed the sun.

For a moment, he couldn’t believe it. But then he saw the golden liquid oozing slowly from the sky, and with every blink, the world grew darker until there was no light. None at all.

Had he really done that? Could he go back to his dad, smile, and tell him that he’d killed something? Would his dad be proud of him, like he was of Drew? Probably not. You can’t cook the sun for dinner. So really, killing it was pointless.

But then again, maybe all killing was pointless**. **What had it proven? The sun was innocent, wasn’t it? Had he really killed something innocent?

The questions swirled in his mind, but he couldn’t seem to focus on them and they didn’t seem to matter.

In the end, the world went dark because a 13-year-old boy had gotten a rifle for his birthday and decided to make it everyone’s problem.