He closed the door to his room, his grandmother in her bed downstairs in the living room, too old to make it up the stairs any longer. He picked it up, sitting down on his bed he began to examine it more closely. He pressed the button and released the magazine, looking at the bullets that were packed tightly inside. He put the magazine back down on the dresser with the gun.

He thought to himself. 

That could have been me today, and where would I have been? The man had a gun and still got shot, but at least he was able to fire back. 

No, he thought, the man returned fire only after whoever had shot him was leaving. 

But he shot back. He fought for his life because his life meant something to him. He didn’t just lay there and accept defeat.

“I don’t wanna die.” He heard the man’s voice echo in his head.

He thought about when the old man pulled out the gun in his shop, and how he had felt the same way.

I don’t wanna die, he thought. I want to live. 

How will you protect your life? Asked the voice. 

With this. He thought, picking up the gun.

How close is it to you. The voice asked.

Right here. He thought.

How fast can you get to it? Asked the voice.

Right now. He thought.

He picked up the magazine and clicked it back in.

Locked and loaded. The voice said, as he thought. 

The boy was going to cock the gun back then stopped himself. He remembered the old man’s words.

“NEVER cock the gun back unless you are ready for combat.”

The boy looked up into the mirror above his dresser.

This is not a toy, he thought.

His grandmother was downstairs, sipping her tea, probably watching some reality show with the dog, oblivious to what her grandson was doing now, alone in his room.

He managed to calm himself down with the thought, but still held onto a feeling of readiness. He looked down at the gun, and remembered what something this dangerous could do to someone. Could he do that to someone too? 

If it meant that someone would try to do that to him. If he could die, he could kill, and with that he pressed the button and dropped the magazine onto the bed. He pulled the slide back and revealed an empty chamber. He let the slide go, and heard the metallic lock. He pointed the gun down towards the dresser and pulled the trigger, hearing a very dry and hollow click.

He opened the drawer, placed the magazine back inside with the gun, and closed it.

He did not need to feel ready for combat in his home. He didn’t need to feel unsafe or scared in his own place of refuge. The boy set the alarm on his phone for 6am. He needed enough time to get up, get ready, and make his way down to the old man’s shop. Luckily, tomorrow was Saturday. He would always walk downtown to the small farmers market, perusing the various vendors, or getting flowers for his grandmother. 

His early disappearance wouldn’t seem so suspicious. He went downstairs to let his grandmother know he would be leaving early tomorrow, and might go hang out with some friends after, so he would probably be gone for most of the day.

His grandmother was, indeed, sipping her iced tea while watching a reality show, her little dachshund curled up on her lap. She asked if he wanted some tea, which he did. He made himself a glass and sat down on the couch, adjacent from her bed.

“Are you ok?” She asked.

Even though she looked at him very sweetly, a smile of concern on her face, he could sense the deep worry in her tone.

“I am now.” He said, as he sat quietly and watched tv with his grandmother.

He polished off the tea, and went to get her glass.

“I’m not done yet dear.” She said.

“You want me to pour you another cup?”

“Please?” She asked, smiling at him. 

He washed his glass and poured her another cup of tea. He kissed her goodnight, and told his grandmother he loved her.

He ascended the stairs to his room, but left the door open. He laid in his bed, staring at the beautiful woman he had plastered on the ceiling of his room, and drifted into sleep.

He had a strange dream that night. He dreamt that he was standing on the corner with the man who was shot that day.

“You can’t kill me.” Said the man, right before the boy pulled out his gun and shot him several times.

 He bent down to take the man’s hand in his, and suddenly he was staring up at himself...

Next Chapter: Junior