Normally I post photography or personal essays here. But I recently wrote a quick short story and posted it on Medium. Here it is, in case you’d like to read it. Enjoy.
“The son of a gun is a bullet,” he says, cradling the revolver. It’s the first thing he’s said.
He squints down at me, looking for a response. I don’t know what to say. Speaking requires breath. Breath requires effort. I don’t say anything.
“The son. Of a gun. It’s a bullet. Do you understand?”
“A bullet,” I whisper. My throat is so sore. Mouth so dry.
“Exactly.” He turns around. Starts walking away. Stops. Comes back to my chair. He leans down, lips to my ear. Inhales. About to say something. Or do something. I tense. …