it's not what you think

i know it's been awhile. i am hoping to get back to it. i present this, an idea i had whilst smoking my pipe on my back balcony, as a consolation prize until i figure out where i, and subsequently, this blog, are going next.

he picked up the gun, hefting its weight in his hand. he grasped one of the bullets between his forefinger and thumb. the feel of it made him smile.

in the next room, the kids were loud.

the shell slid into place with a satisfying sound. he savored each moment; the textures, the smells, the feel of the power of it all in his palm.

it wasn't enough that the goddamn games had their own annoying sound effects and soundtracks, but the boys had to add in their own dialogue, sounds, and even theme music; in a higher register that lit fireworks like bad ideas in his head. he hefted the revolver in his hand, yes, he thought, this will do nicely. he pounded another round into the chamber. this was big. each moment of this was paramount. each second, each step, monumental. this would be a moment not soon forgotten. he counted each bullet as it entered the chamber, 4, 5, 6.

should he load the double barrel too? maybe. the noisy little bastards in the next room were not to be underestimated. he snorted. how many times had he learned this the hard way?

the break action of the shotgun itself calmed him. he closed his eyes for a moment, tasting it on his tongue:  yes, yes this was the answer. the cartridges snapped into place with a finality that he accepted as the only solution.

the high-pitched squeal of the children playing split his brain like a cleaver. the only things keeping him grounded were the heavy feel of the revolver and the shotgun in his hands. 8, was that enough? it had to be.

hard, cold, without feeling or remorse, he walking into the next room. calculating, he hit the oldest first. he needed to take this one our first, or he would be sorry. the oldest was the strongest. one shot between the shoulder blades, and as the head turned in surprise, a final blow to the temple. the younger child jumped up in alarm and surprise, screaming. neck, chest, a total of four shots left if needed.

where did the oldest child go? too late, he felt the kidney shot, quickly followed by a lower back shot, and finally, the base of the skull.

shit. he hadn't done the job properly, and while he was incapacitating the younger, weaker one, the oldest had gotten into the gun cabinet.

he went down. four shots, but experience had taught him at this point he should surrender. but this was not his style. the younger boy was already in the next room arming himself while the older emptied the remainder of the clip into his heart, stomach, and even balls.

"oh my god!" he shouts, wasting three more of his remaining rounds on the walls and ceiling in a futile attempt to deter the inevitable.

when the two boys were armed, the only thing left to do was fire his last shot (the big screen will be sorry it messed with me!) and ball himself up to protect the vital parts of himself until the two kids ran out of ammunition.

"c'mon, dad, you gotta do better than that!" the oldest, the sniper, says as he tosses his rapid-fire rifle back into the toy box.

"well, you guys were being ridiculously loud. i don't know how many times i tell you to keep it down!"

"can we do this again tomorrow?" the youngest asks, in earnest.

"we'll see..." he says, unwilling to commit, but already planning round two of the battle that always rages...