Way of the Gun

Always been fascinated by the power of a man wielding a gun. My all time favorite song is "The Devil's Right Hand" by Steve Earle & the Dukes. In a perverse way, a gun to me has always been a religious artifact rather than a tool for killing.

Episode One - My First Gun

I’ve a pistol in my possession. One that's a bit heavier and likely deadlier than the Colt-45s I've seen in paper magazines. It fell out of the jacket of a fellow passenger on the train I ride to work, and laid there on the leather seat, hidden from the view of all but me. 

After a moment's hesitation about whether to alert the man know of his loss, I decided to wildly assume the gentleman to be rich enough to replace the piece when he realizes it's gone. So I pulled the gun on the seat towards my back, pulled it under my coat tail, slid it up my waist and into the backside of my slacks. That the gentleman got up at that moment to immediately exit the train erased any guilt I may have felt while sitting beside him.

Episode Two - Soul Eater

I took the gun with me because I believed it imbues its owner with special powers: upon firing it towards one's sworn enemy, it realizes a single wish of its owner. Magic, it is, they say, for fire breathes from the end of its barrel; thunder roars and bounces off the walls; and those who stand in its way have their souls plucked from their meat sack with the brute force of weeds uprooted from the yellow earth. And in the burning hollow carved in to my enemy would his soul linger for a moment, not realizing what just happened, then fly off to oblivion, body extinguished of warmth while immobilized for eternity. As with all good stories, the scent of fire and trace of smoke from the barrel remind the owner that all that just happened was real.