With your mind Monday June 12, 2006, 1 comments

“Guns aren’t power.” said Amy.

“Yes they are. Might makes right.” I answered.

“You’re an idiot, you know. The smartest ten-year old idiot I’ve ever met.” She seemed amused by this. “Watch.”

She grabbed the broom and sat down on the pine planks behind me, one leg on each side of me. There was nothing sensual or unusual about the way she sat down, pressed up behind me, but a thrill ran down my spine when she placed her hand on my shoulder.

The broom slid into my hands. “Hold it like a gun. Look down the handle like you were aiming at something.”

We were sitting at the edge of the silo, in the largest of the holes in the domed roof. Our legs dangled over the edge high above the trees below. It was dangerous, and I was deathly afraid of heights, but the silo was different. I felt no fear here. She snaked her arms beneath mine and maneuvered the broom up to my shoulder like a rifle. I sighted down its length. I could feel her breath in my ear.

“See the guy walking his dog down there? Point it at him. Like we’re going to shoot him.” she said in a whisper.

I pointed the broom handle at the man. He was quite far away, walking along the edge of the road while his black dog bounded and jumped ahead of him. His red plaid jacket made it easy to pick him out at this distance, a red man-shaped smudge among the green leaves of the trees behind. A target.

In my mind, the broom took on weight and gravity, took the shape of a gun like the one in my father’s gun rack. It took on the tangy smell of gunpowder and blood, the metallic smell of cold hungry steel. I could imagine sighting down a barrel at the man, pointing death at him like an accusing finger.

“You are the power. He lives or dies and you choose.” Her whisper was a breeze in my ear. “The weapon doesn’t give you power, its just a tool, a thing to exercise your will. You kill with your mind.”

I could feel her heart pounding against my back. Her hair blew against my cheek. I could smell her shampoo. The illusion of the gun took on more substance, felt more real. Felt alive. Was real. The universe swirled inward and pressed against us.

“Pull the trigger.” she breathed, and time stopped.


Comments

jules Monday June 12, 2006


... i think it tickles me that i never know for sure if it’s fiction, or elaborate non-fiction.
My gut says a wee bit of both. Nicely done.

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