Jump the GunJump the Gun9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Jump the Gun
Knives hates guns. He never touches them unless he absolutely had to.
Because the last time he had, people had died.
'…This is…a tool for killing people.'
'Bullshit…it's a tool for protecting your life.'
'I don't want to kill a person in cold blooded murder…'
'You just did. Don't see them having second thoughts do you? You were just shot in the leg…!'
'Grow up, Knives. Life isn't a do-over. Either you fuck up; right here, right now, or you go and screw someone over. There's no such thing as second chances.'
He knows someone who loves the ghastly weapons; like a child lavishing attention upon a puppy. Someone who knows a gun almost as well as he knows the crippling darkness he is forced to wander in for the rest of his life.
A person who is steel tempered in fire; who has tasted metal and the sweet copper that is blood all at once.
'…Christ be done with this. You're such a child.'
JohnMy words gush out like oil from a barrel- dark, toxic, bitter. They spill all over the couch and slosh onto the floor. I desperately want to make them stop, to scoop them all up and pour them back inside so I can hide them away in the space where all my other unwanted words go, but they keep on flowing, filling up the room, drowning me. I'm scared they'll drown John, too. I try to tell him that. Try to tell him to ignore what I'm saying, to leave me alone, to just leave, but he won't have any of that.John2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Because he's John- steady, dependable John- and without me telling him he seems to know exactly what I need. He pulls me into his arms as readily as he would a crying child, and in a lot of ways, that's just what I am. I lean into him, burying my face in his jumper so he won't see the sadness slipping between my eyelids and dripping down cheeks that shouldn't be half as rosy as they are. The knit smells of tea and calm. He is warm and solid and steady and safe.
Some days his