Son Of A Gun, chapter 3
I opened the bottom drawer of the desk, and took out a black box. Inside, there laid my silver handgun. I picked it up out of its case, and stroked the cold metal.
"How could something so beautiful, cause so much terror, and pain?" I asked aloud.
I sighed heavily, brushing my hand through my black shaggy hair. I put the handgun back where it belonged.
I was starting to get hungry. But of course, we had no food. I sat up from the chair, and hopped up into the kitchen, to try to find something edible.
I settled on a package of jell-o. Well, jell-o mix. Mind you, it was vegan jell-o. I don't understand how they made vegan jell-o but, whatever. It's still a nice, nutritious dinner, right? Ha! Wrong!
I slumped into the living room couch, and turned on the TV. Pouring strawberry jell-o powder into my mouth, I flipped through the channels. Infomercials, infomercials, and more infomercials.
Finally, I stumbled upon a music channel. MTV I think. I sat there, as the media brainwashed me with all of their lies.
Another thing I hated; the media. Don't even get me started on that.
I started humming to myself, a little tune that I had been thinking of. I play guitar, and in my humble opinion, I'm not too shabby at it.
Standing up from the couch, I walked back into my room. In the corner, lay my most prized possession. My guitar, my father gave it to me before he started leaving on his "business trips."
I started strumming random chords, thinking to myself. I always seemed to loose track of time, and even thought, when I play my guitar. It's like life just stops completely, and I am the only one around. Weird, isn't it?
My mother always believed that I had potential. Potential at what? Becoming the next hit man? The next serial killer?
No, of course not! A great guitar player. But, I didn't want to play guitar. I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew what the consequences were going to be, and I was fine with them.
Sure, I loved playing guitar. And like I said, I was pretty good. But, I have a passion. For revenge, making the people who betrayed me in the past, suffer. Pay the price. Either way, I was going to be famous for something I can guarantee that much.
When I finally looked at the clock, I realized that I had been playing for two hours.
"Jesus Christ," I murmured, setting my guitar back down.
I crawled into my un-made bed, and pulled the filthy sheets over top of me. I went to sleep, with a packet of strawberry jell-o in my stomach.
"How could something so beautiful, cause so much terror, and pain?" I asked aloud.
I sighed heavily, brushing my hand through my black shaggy hair. I put the handgun back where it belonged.
I was starting to get hungry. But of course, we had no food. I sat up from the chair, and hopped up into the kitchen, to try to find something edible.
I settled on a package of jell-o. Well, jell-o mix. Mind you, it was vegan jell-o. I don't understand how they made vegan jell-o but, whatever. It's still a nice, nutritious dinner, right? Ha! Wrong!
I slumped into the living room couch, and turned on the TV. Pouring strawberry jell-o powder into my mouth, I flipped through the channels. Infomercials, infomercials, and more infomercials.
Finally, I stumbled upon a music channel. MTV I think. I sat there, as the media brainwashed me with all of their lies.
Another thing I hated; the media. Don't even get me started on that.
I started humming to myself, a little tune that I had been thinking of. I play guitar, and in my humble opinion, I'm not too shabby at it.
Standing up from the couch, I walked back into my room. In the corner, lay my most prized possession. My guitar, my father gave it to me before he started leaving on his "business trips."
I started strumming random chords, thinking to myself. I always seemed to loose track of time, and even thought, when I play my guitar. It's like life just stops completely, and I am the only one around. Weird, isn't it?
My mother always believed that I had potential. Potential at what? Becoming the next hit man? The next serial killer?
No, of course not! A great guitar player. But, I didn't want to play guitar. I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew what the consequences were going to be, and I was fine with them.
Sure, I loved playing guitar. And like I said, I was pretty good. But, I have a passion. For revenge, making the people who betrayed me in the past, suffer. Pay the price. Either way, I was going to be famous for something I can guarantee that much.
When I finally looked at the clock, I realized that I had been playing for two hours.
"Jesus Christ," I murmured, setting my guitar back down.
I crawled into my un-made bed, and pulled the filthy sheets over top of me. I went to sleep, with a packet of strawberry jell-o in my stomach.
