An Explosion of Fate

I was passing my eyes through my old room today and my attention ended on my bookshelves. There, in front of Marquez’s biblical Hundred Years of Solitude and a stack of collected articles, five tranquil bullet casings loafed. They taunted me, mocked me with their serenity.
I blinked for a second. I knew their trick. I had it down: those bastards were playin’ possum, just a waitin’ for the right second.
Only they were done. Those five lonely bullets spent their one brilliant blast charging a flimsy paper target. The scene was horrible, horrific. The unsuspecting paper was riddled with 47 bullets. Three just inches from the heart.
And to think such violence is sanctioned. I committed this crime with the blessing of the Israeli Government in Bat Yam Mall. The place was a cave scratched out of an undeground parking structure.
I was with my uncle, an old Army officer, a good man and better shot. He turned to me as we stepped out the car, “Do you want to shoot?”
Twenty minutes later my hands were wet, gripping the warm steel of a Colt 9mm. I held my hand steady. And then . . .
Pure power surged from me with the flick of a finger. Now we were getting somewhere. The second, third, fourth; boom, boom, boom, clink, clink, clink. . . Then reload . . . Here was the power of gods. Here was thunder, fire, and lightning. Speed and viciousness erupted from the metal beast within my hands.
Pure ego fed me, pumping my blood, the deafening sound just a whisper. All attention focused on the target, thinking just how powerful I am. It is the ultimate gavel.

“If we give you a rifle will you fight for the lord? But You Can’t kill the devil with a gun or a sword.”
George Fox

But you can kill men, millions upon millions. Let them fire away at each other, cry out for an idea. Hear the moans of freedom, the wails of the wounded. The gun is mighty.
And it gives little, takes much. For the gun is a pure sensual greed and when treated right a fine machine of destruction.

Now, watching those sly devils, I see their purpose. Bullets jump at a command, go where they are told.

How comforting...

As comforting as fate; Fate pulls the trigger and you tend to fly wherever she takes you with no regard for anything else.