The Gun with a Serpent's Tongue

His hands shook on the steering wheel. The Beast was overtaking him, like a python swallowing. The Gun in the passenger seat, began to get friendly. The trigger shook his hand and suddenly they were lifelong friends. One was offering, the other receiving. The Gun seemed to murmur to him, quietly. I can help you. I can help you. I can help you. As hard as he tried, the voice of the Gun remained in his head. He tried to remember his wife's voice. He tried to remember her face. He tried to remember her smells and laughs. He tried to remember his children, his grandchildren. He could remember them not, being so consumed by that Gun. 

He drove for hours. The Gun was still beside him smirking with the knowledge that he was winning the battle. He drove on the familiar rode, attempting to lose himself in the monotony. His eyes remained trained on the road, the yellow line. The trees created a tunnel and it seemed that he was diving into the earth. He saw a field. The Gun whispered again, stop here, stop here, stop here. let's take a walk. Suddenly, the Beast had swallowed the Man whole and he grabbed the Gun. He pulled into the long drive beside the field. He did not see anyone else, it was just him and the Gun. 

The Gun was a tempter, a Serpent with a glistening apple. He held the Man's hand. The trigger tickled the Man's fingers. He quietly walked with the Gun. He sat under a tree and whistled. The Gun was getting impatient. The Man was trying once more to remember. He tried to remember his childhood. He tried to remember his parents, but all he could remember was the Accident. The Accident, he believed, had been entirely his fault. His parents had died too young in that Accident, he robbed them of an old age spent in rocking chairs. He never could forgive himself. The Gun whispered yet again I could forgive you. I could forgive, and forget. Allow me to whisper in your ear. The Man picked up the Gun and put the serpent's mouth close to his ear. 

The Man felt the trigger in his fingers. It felt like the hand of a lover or a friend. He let out an angry scream of loss. He squeezed the finger of the Gun and just like that, the agony was over. The Gun rejoiced with a single shot. He jumped to the ground and lay beside his comrade. 

Later, the Farmer was walking the field. He saw the Man laying beneath a tree. The Beast had left him and the Man was old and somewhat frail. Betrayed, by his so called friend. The Gun smiled when he saw the Farmer. The Farmer was gentle and pressed his fingers into the throat of the Man. He felt no life. He saw the pool of red. The Gun bathed in it. 

The Gun was still smirking as the Farmer called for help. 

He was still smirking when the Girl cried in the front yard of the house that the Man had lived in. 

He wasn't smirking when the Girl broke the Gun. She broke it into so many pieces that it could have been mistaken for dust. 

Author's Note

what do you think?