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jikaboom123

I can tell we are moving quickly. As we move, the world before me comes as quickly as it disappears over the far-distant horizon. We are moving much faster now. I think we are chasing something, but I cannot see it, for I am slung across my owner's back, and whatever we are chasing is far in front of us.

I see the rocks that we have passed disappear as quickly as we came upon them. The sun slowly sinks behind the mountains, turning the sand and dirt into brilliant shades of red and orange, and flooding the sky in the pale colors of twilight. I cannot help but think to myself, "How beautiful...."

But I was not built to admire beauty. Instead, I am the destroyer of it. I have been cursed with an ability I neither want, nor seldom use. I cannot control it. My long steel barrel; my wooden stock; the trigger who's mechanical actions have caused the suffering and destruction of so many wonderful things. I have power over none of it. Rather, it is my owner who controls me. It is he who decides the what, when, and where of my being. I am his slave.

We are slowing now. My owner knows we are near whatever it is he is chasing. He moves up the steep slope, keeping pace with his target. Moving about the many small rocks and giant boulders, he gets down on his hands and knees, hiding amongst the scenery, preventing his target from spotting him. Finally, we reach the top of the slope, and find a steep cliff on the other side. This far, and no further can we go. It is here, now, that action must be taken. My owner gets all the way down now, chest flat against the hard dirt at the crest of the ridge. Both of us can clearly see the target now. It is in the valley below, searching for food amongst the sparse vegetation, unawares of its impending destruction.

My owner now grabs me. My only use in life now draws near once more. He takes a firm hold on me -- hand on barrel, finger on trigger, stock locked firmly into his shoulder. He raises me, taking careful aim at the target below. I try to resist. I pray that his aim is not accurate; that my many gears are rusted; that there are no rounds in the chamber; that something will happen to forestall the wretched action of which I am to partake in once more amongst countless times in the past. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can do nothing. All is in my owner's hands now. Literally.

The targets looks up now, directly at us. It sees us. Our surprise is gone. He must take the shot now. My owner jerks back on the trigger, the sound of the bullet reverberating throughout the valley. Supplanting that sound not more than a second later is that of lead ricocheting off of a rock; the sound of destruction averted, and the sound of all my hopes and dreams coming true.

With a slight curse, my owner gets up from his prone position. His target, meanwhile, oblivious to its close call with death, scampers off into the valley, and disappears amongst the rocks and the sand of the red desert. My owner holds me in his hands, staring at me with a look of disgust. I know what he is thinking. He is questioning how he could have missed. I know why. The adrenaline running through his veins, the rush of an impending kill, the thrill of winning another trophy for his mantel forced him to exert too great a force on the trigger, pulling the barrel upwards just enough to cause him to miss. It is he who had deprived himself of his trophy, not I, yet I still feel as though I have accomplished something. I feel as though I have, for the first time, averted the destruction of a being.

My owner throws me on the ground, cursing me, blaming me for the missed shot. Arrogant human. He walks off, back into the void from which he came. I am not his puppet anymore.



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Criticism welcome.

 

Herbal Meditation

I like how the gun seems content in simply existing in thoughtless awareness, so to speak. it dosent get bored or acts like a human, i like that it was not anthropomorphous or anything. and I really like how the gun appreciates natural beauty, implying that human beings perhaps are the only ones capable of going against nature.

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Always thinking that just behind some narrow doors, in all his favorite bars, men in red woollen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know.

ADIDAS

Really good story. Im no literature professor, but the theme of that story is really interesting and new.

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All Day I Dream About Smoking

Canta

I thought it was a great story, I think its better because it has no title.