The shop door closed as the boy looked around in a daze, feeling as if he had awakened in a dream. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt the gun, reaffirming that it had indeed just happened. He felt a sense of danger now, as if any moment something may happen to him. 

The boy started his journey home, walking through the historic downtown streets that had, at one time, been bustling with shoppers and families. Now, it was almost desolate only the occasional passerby and a couple of homeless people who had set up camp outside of empty businesses.

All of the big name franchise stores had left town once the government stopped building missiles after the war ended, shutting down all of the factories that provided government jobs to the people in the town. This caused many people to lose their homes, which increased the crime and poverty rate. With less income in the town, the big name stores began to lose all of their customer base, and left town.

But, the boy didn’t mind walking around by himself, marveling at the old fashioned buildings while peeking into all of the small mom and pop shops that survived thanks to the proud, and strong, local community.

The old mans’ shop was situated near the end of one of the downtown streets at the intersection of an alleyway, unnoticeable. It was as if the building itself had crunched the small display window and glass door into the wall, causing an indent like it was a thumbprint on a baked potato.

The boy kept palming the small black gun in his pocket. He started remembering what the old man had told him.

“This is yours. It is not a toy. Do not play with it. This is a tool meant to kill.”

The boy didn’t want to kill anyone, but he didn’t want to die either. He reflected more on what it would mean to take a life as he traversed the steep hill towards his home.

Feeling nervous, he opened the gate to his front yard. A stone water fountain sat in the middle of the lawn, surrounded by a moat of flowers and little ceramic forest animals. His grandmother loved flowers, so his grandfather had planted different kinds along the edges of the lawn. Beyond the front yard towered a big, green, late 1800’s style Victorian house that looked as if it had seen better days. 

He opened the door to the smell of dog hair and cigarette smoke.

“Grandma I’m home.” Shouted the boy. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Ok dear.” He heard her say from the kitchen.

He made his way up the stairs to his room. The boy had lived with his grandparents for as long as he could remember. His mother died during childbirth, and he never knew what happened to his father. His grandfather had passed away 3 years ago, and since then it had been just him, his grandmother, and her dog. 

An array of baseball caps lined the wall of his room amongst the many posters of rap albums and magazine cut outs of various cars and supermodels. He reached into his jacket and took out the gun, turning it over in his hands. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and placed it in the back of the drawer, underneath his socks and underwear.

He sat down on his bed and took off his shoes, licking his thumb, he removed a small black smudge he had seen near the front of one of his shoes, before he pulled an orange shoebox from under his bed and tucked them very neatly back inside.

“Junior!” He heard his grandmother shout. He jumped nearly a foot off the bed as he sprang to his feet.

“Yes grandma?” He shouted back

“Can you come help me with this?” She replied.

He made his way downstairs, but not before glancing back at his dresser drawer. He walked into the kitchen and saw his grandmother standing at the kitchen sink with the top most cabinet open above her head.

She was very short and plump, with bright blonde hair that could have easily been mistaken for silver or white. She had on a very loose fitting mumu top, an old pair of thigh high shorts and Birkenstocks. She was standing in front of a footstool with her hands on her hips.

“Can you reach up there and get that down for me?” Asked his grandmother, pointing to a large pitcher above the kitchen cabinets.

“Sure grandma.” Said the boy.

Norman, his grandmothers Dachshund, was barking and looking inquisitively at him.

“Oh, quiet you.” His grandmother said to the dog, shooing him away. “I’m going to make some tea, dear, do you want some?”

“Sure.” He replied. “I’m gonna go into the backyard for a bit, I’ll be in the shed.”

Smiling at him and patting his cheek, she began to cry.

“You look so much like your father.” She sobbed.

The boy gave her a hug and rubbed her back.

“I know, grandma, I know. Don’t cry.” The boy laughed a little as he let her go and so did she.

“Ok.” She said.

She turned to the kitchen counter to make her tea as he bent down and rubbed Norman behind his ears.

“You’re getting grey hairs now old man.” The dog nudged the boys’ hand with his nose and licked his palm.

The boy went into the backyard where a shed was situated right behind the rear porch. He pulled the key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the door, closing it behind him.

Next Chapter: The Man