This is a short story about child who has to make a deadly shoice.

 "What are you waiting for, Elizabeth? Kill him!" Uncle Marcus screeched at the top of his lungs. I could hear my heart beat pounding in my ears and the sweat that was dripping down my forehead was starting to make my eyes burn. My grip on the gun was loose and I could have dropped it at any second. 'I can't do this.' I thought, 'I can't do this.'
       I took in the scenery as I tried to catch my breath. We were on top of some abandon factory that was out in the middle of nowhere. Lush green trees could be seen if I looked pass the ledge of the roof. The light of sunset made the whole place look beautiful but the ugly deed that my uncle and I were committing ruined that.
      "Are you deaf girl or are you just weak?" Uncle Marcus yelled again somehow managing to be louder than the last time.
      'I'm not weak, I'm nine.' I thought but didn't dare speak. My uncle's face had turn as red as a beet and the vein in his neck had become more prominent. The blackness of his hair matched the blackness of his eyes as he again screamed, “Kill him!"
      I looked into my victim's bloody face. Uncle Marcus had bashed most of his face and body. The blood had seeped into the man's platnium colred hair giving it a strawberry appearence. 'You can do this, Elizabeth.' I thought to myself, 'Everyone in your family can. They can all kill without hesitation and so can you.'
        My body didn't comply with my mind's wishes. I still stood there frozen in fear of the unholy act that I was about to commit. I knew that murder was a sin and that if I killed that man then my soul would be forced to eternally wonder the deepest pits of a hell that Beelzebub would make especially for me. But would I truly be sentenced to hell?
      My whole family commits the sin of murder for the sin of greed yet they all pray daily. 'There is a difference between being an assassin and a murderer Elizabeth.' My mother would always preach. 'Murders kill because they have fallen in to Lucifer's clutches. They are weak minded. Our family kills because we are strong. If we don't take out the scoundrels that lurk on god's beautiful creation then who will? You're an assassin just like the rest of your family, Elizabeth Blackthorne. Be proud.'
      But I wasn't proud. I wasn't proud as I stood on that roof. I wasn't proud that a beaten man laid at me feet. I wasn't proud that at nine years old I was being forced to kill. Most importantly, I wasn't proud to be Elizabeth Blackthorne.
      "I can't." I muttered softly. Tears started to brim the rim of my eyes. I pull my finger off the trigger and start to pull the gun away from the man. Uncle Marcus let out a barely audible growl. He crouched behind me and his strong calloused hands force my hands back on the trigger. He smelled of blood, axe body wash, and anger.
      "Blackthorne's are not weak." He spoke coldly into my ear, “Turn off the safety." Slowly, I complied. I didn't know the man my Uncle was about to make me kill. I didn't know what he did to piss off my family so much but I knew whatever it was, it wasn't bad enough to deserve this. This nameless man didn't deserve to be killed by a nine year old girl who didn't even know name, yet it was about to happen. I closed my eyes. I feel my finger being pushed against the trigger. A loud bang rang out across the abandoned roof.
      When I open my eyes I could see birds flying off into the distant, frightened by the loud bang of the gun. I look at the man's body to see the same bloodied mess except now with a bullet sized whole in his forehead. Uncle Marcus stood up behind me and I turned to meet his gaze. His face has returned to its normal shade of paleness and the vein in his neck stopped throbbing.
      He doesn't say anything as he reached into his pocket and pulled out knife. He was just looking at me with a cold expression. I shut my eyes tightly fearing what he might do. I feel a sharp pull on my hair. Suddenly, it felt as though a large weight had been lifted off my shoulders and for a second I thought he'd chopped off my head. I open my eyes to a rain of black hair falling down around me.
      "Be lucky it was your hair and not your head. Perhaps next time god won't be so merciful on your soul." He walked past me to pick up the limp body of the dead man. He carried with ease as if he had done this a hundred times before which he probably had.
We walk out of the factory and to the car in silence. As Uncle Marcus and I stuffed the dead body in the trunk I couldn’t help but squeak, "I'm sorry for being weak."
      “Your apology doesn't make your hesitation anymore forgivable. You are a strong little girl but not as strong as your mother gives you credit for. Now stop crying before I make you walk home." His words may have seemed harsh to anyone else but I knew that was my Uncle's way of comforting me.
      The car ride is silent aside from the thumping the body would make every time the car hit a bump on the road.

     "Kill him, Elizabeth." Uncle Marcus says coolly. He doesn't yell this time. He doesn't need to. He knows I'll do it. I'm no longer the frightened little nine year old I was four years ago. The man at my feet lay bludgeoned, bleeding, and broken yet I find it hard to care. I can hear a tiny voice in the back of my head. The tiny voice of that nine year old girl telling me that this was wrong.
      I tune it out as I say, "Yes Uncle."