revolver

by Rachel Dllon
(Perth, WA, Australia)

Revolver.
Goes off in your hand. Shit! It rocketed a volt up your arm so violent it gives you an instant headache. So close to your ear. You'd never expected a gunshot to be so loud - the whole body involved. Felt like an electric shock starting in your arm (seemed to skip the hand all together). You look up first. Where did it go? Nothing but blue sky up there, a few treetops. You hope that's where you had it pointed. You race through your positioning in your mind trying, through the panic to determine the direction, exactly.
You are moderately satisfied no one or thing was injured. You look right, left, jerky head movements. Scanning erractically to see who saw. Or heard more likely. The gun. You've dropped it. Not there. Not on the pavement. Where? Your eyes dart. Your head angled down, the sweat already forming on your temples. You feel your head flushed with blood. Hot. Pulsing. The adrenalin has kicked in with almighty force. Everything seems blurred and slow-mo, but speeding wildly out of control at the same time.

There! The bushes. It lies on the ground. You reach for it. Still warm. Happiness is a warm gun. Where did that come from? You try to focus your mind. What now. You stuff the revolver down the front of your pants. You pull your jacket around you and zip it up. Hide the bulge.
A flock of birds suddenly erupts from a nearby tree. You spin around to their squawking. You're so on edge. Pete hadn't said it was loaded. you're gonna kill him when you see him. Why on earth did he want you to take it anyway? For gods' sake what had he done? Now your prints are all over it. Now you're covered in powder. Jesus. Home. Get home. Have a shower. Scrub yourself. Hide the damn thing. Calm down. Must calm down. You're being paranoid. No you're not this serious shit. Right. Must calm down.