horrors2

katiekawaii.Shiny_Toy_.tex

 1\chapauth{katiekawaii}
 2\chapter{Shiny Toy Gun}
 3
 4
 5I am a man. Some may call me a beast. I am also a detective.
 6Detective Luke Bavarious. I wasn't always a man. I used to be
 7a young boy. Carefree. But not for long.
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11It was said that when my mother gave birth I came out screaming. I
12was just like that. Maybe it was a predictor of things to come.
13Maybe. I got my first toy gun when I was nine. It was shiny
14plastic, a Beretta. Fit in my hand like a glove. Like a glove fits
15over a hand, that's how it fit in my hand. My mom
16didn't want me to have it. It was my dad's idea. My
17drunken father. He always came home late at night reeking of horrid
18vomit. He wanted me to be tough. Tough like him.
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22I was always being bullied. A sixth grader, Max Attica. I told the
23principal, but she didn't care. Sometimes it seemed like no
24one did. My dad told me not to be so weak. He yelled at me one
25night, ``Don't be so weak!'' he yelled. As he said
26it I could smell the horrid stench of vomit and the stiff gin and
27tonics he always drank. Hold the tonic. It made me want to puke. I
28could see his neck exploding as his veins strained against the skin
29with every syllable. ``You gonna let that Max Attica push you
30`round, boy?''
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34``N-n-o S-s-ir,'' I stammered as I sobbed and cried and
35held down my vomit. My father's vomit, which had been given
36to me with the breathing of each horrid vomit- and gin-soaked
37breath.
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41No, sir. Now I had my Beretta. It was just a toy, but I could
42pretend. I had a good imagination. I took it to school with me in
43my dark black backpack. Even then I favored the dark shade of the
44night that would later be my beat in the city. It was 1953. Back
45then nobody cared if a boy played with a toy gun at school back
46then. Things are different now. I'm why things are
47different.
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51It was a dark and cloudy day, the sun forced into shadow by the
52ominous clouds overhead. Max's classroom was across from
53mine, and as the bell rang and we filed inside he looked at me and
54made the gesture children make to make a threat. A finger drawn
55slowly across the neck. I imagined the blood gushing out of my neck
56in a giant waterfall. He meant business.
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60I told the teacher, but like all grown-ups she didn't listen.
61Nobody listened. This was my fight and mine alone. So I made it
62mine. We came out of the classrooms for lunch. Our eyes met across
63the hall. Eyes are the windows to the soul. Mine were black. He
64came towards me with his hand twisted into a grotesque fist. I
65pulled out my toy Beretta and aimed for his face, which was twisted
66with hatred. He laughed. I pulled the trigger. There was a loud
67sound, and Max's shirt turned rust. A real bullet.
68That's impossible.
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72Suddenly, I was screaming. 
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