Story of a Nine Millimeter
The nine millimeter gun lay on the end table hoping to be picked up and finally used for its potential. Injury was its primary desire, but death its ultimate incline. The beginning of pain with the glory of knowing that pain may be forever. Perhaps pain may transform into the end of, what it considered, a wretched life.
Human or animal had no significance, only the blow of destruction.
Several minutes later quickening taps sounded on the wooden floor, approaching the cherry wood frame. Small eyes began to admire the metal piece and little hands touched, wondering what it could be. As he lifted, he also found that it was heavy, but not moveable. His tiny finger climbed the small hole, flicking the curious looking thing that hid underneath.
The little boys touch felt good. Though the child was insignificant, his innocence and naivety was enticing. It took in a swift breath and briskly blew out nothing, yet proved excitement toward its greatest crave. Another breath in and another out, attested that patience was limited. A long pause and a tightening of its mid-section coursed a thrill like no other. A high pitched gasp and sudden release brought the thundering and resounding blow. Its best friend took charge, striking twice and entered its nameless target.
A crash and earsplitting shriek called out, catching the attention that belonged to the few surrounding the outside of the North Philly row home.
Daddy ran in, alongside two others, finding his son spread out on the floor at the other end of the sofa and the gun lying under the end table. He examined and saw no injuries, but did hear the fear stricken sobs and rapid hot breaths of anxiety.
Turning his vision upward, he searched the room and finally noticed the cracked glass above the TV. It led to the kitchen. The kitchen is where his wife…his child’s mother was cooking.
Aunt Sylvia and fifteen year old Lew appeared from behind the wall that led to the short hallway and onto Leanne’s favorite place. Lew held on to his mother…Sylvia held on to the wall. Their dread filled eyes gushed with unwavering tears and the gasps choked the words that tried pushing its way out.
Pablo broke away from Lil’ Tito and ran through the two struggling creatures that weakly stood in his way. Stepping in and looking down caused his fall onto the marbled tile. His shaking hands were now caressing the lifeless woman that lay near the white stove.
Her pink shirt and jean shorts bathed in cooking oil and blood.
Now he lay over her upper body, sobbing and gasping for air that he didn’t want. Bathing in blood that he wholeheartedly wished was his own. His quivering voice whispered, “No,” that gradually lifted to a yell, “No!” A move and shake didn’t wake her up. A muttered, “I love you,” and, “Please don’t leave me,” did nothing.
Nine millimeter felt silent relief as it smoked. Its light bullet stench was its method of smiling. And though breathless, it embellished in the thrilling power it had felt only a few minutes ago. Its need and want hadn’t relinquished. Instead it ignited a greater passion to do more, bringing forth the knowledge that its effort toward its next impairment would soon come to be.
