Horrible, but beautifully put

Turkish soldiers are rampaging around Smyrna. A young boy is hiding at home, waiting for his father to return.

When they hear knocking, they jump. Stepan goes to the window and looks down. “It must be Father.”

“Go. Let him in! Quick!” Tookhie says.

Karekin vaults down the stairs two at a time. At the door he stops, collects himself, and quietly unbolts the door. At first, when he pulls it open, he sees nothing. Then there’s a soft hiss, followed by a ripping noise. The noise sounds as though it has nothing to do with him until suddenly a shirt button pops off and clatters against the door. Karekin looks down as all at once his mouth fills with a warm fluid. He feels himself being lifted off his feet, the sensation bringing back to him childhood memories of being whisked into the air by his father, and he says, “Dad, my button,” before he is lifted high enough to make out the steel bayonet puncturing his sternum. The fire’s reflection leads along the gun barrel, over the sight and hammer, to the soldier’s ecstatic face.

Middlesex, Jeffery Eugenides