Of all the shops in Norfolk, the ones that caught my attention were those that sold guns. I lingered before them, admiring the displays. There marvelous variety was like that of a child's toy shop. The guns tempted me to use them more than once. I imagined my self weighing one in my hand, aiming, and firing... this more than anything suit "his" ideas of Masculinity.
since human creativity had evaporated, I couldn't have any reason to belittle such a mundane way to die. So I induced him to buy a pistol, and after I had the gun in my hands I selected a radiant sunny morning. flowers were blooming outside the window. I heard a fresh breeze wrap itself around Nana's wind chimes. I peered very gently into the barrel of the gun... The blackness inside was impenetrable. the breeze had died, but the chimes still sang, their dig dong chanting my own resolution. oddly, my hands didn't shake, This would be this first time I killed anyone, yet I felt like a practice assassin. I realized that mental repetition can exercise ones skill.
