07-Aug-2000
Title: My Gun by Draco
Notes:
This is a response to CwnAnnwn's line challenge "Quick, lock the door before we get a war we can win".
It's also written for Tyr, who is a member of Une's Harem, but complains that there isn't enough fics about her. [That, and the fact, he threatened me with a whip to write. Although, if you are really into S&M Tyr... evil smirk]
Warnings: None. Well, maybe a little angst.
Feedback will be worshipped and treasured and gawked at as always.
Can I give you a piece of honest advice? If you are going to sleep with a gun, make sure the safety is on. I never said it was wise advice. Just honest.
My gun has no safety. And yet I have measured my life by the gun beneath my pillow. Its rust and marks, are the rust and marks in my life. This is my first gun. Of all the things I have forgotten, I still remember that moment when I first touched it. I remember the power... and I remember the fear. I often think back to that moment and wonder what would have happened if I had not picked up the gun. I get the same answer every time. I would have died. Yet as I look in the reflection in the mirror, I sometimes wonder if my death would have been a mercy for the world.
Perhaps it was my desire for revenge, perhaps it was my sense of self-preservation. But in that moment, I picked up the gun and shot the man that killed my sister. I was all of ten years old.
He had so much blood. Who would have thought he would have that much blood in him. It spluttered all over my dress. I never smelt so much blood before. There was a sickening sweetness to it.
I stood there and watched him gasp for life. I watched him try to reach for his gun. I shot him again. He was still moving. So I fired a third shot. It's strange, but the moment I shot him, I stopped being scared. I just stood there and drank in the sickening sweetness of his blood.
I think that's when I realized how easy it was to kill someone. All it took was one twitch of a finger. The thought of how weak the human body was made me ill. What's the worth of human life if all it took was a twitch of a finger to end it? A small piece of metal put an end to all of Sarah's laughter. Another small piece of metal avenged her death. It was all too simple.
And people proved me right again and again and again. A small movement of my hand and they would cease to bother me.
But people, I guess, can't live like that. We all must pay a price and mine was my sanity. So I became what Sarah would have become had she not died. I became what Sarah always wanted to be. And for a while that was enough. But I can not run away from the cold-blooded murderer I am. I had to atone for my sins. I had to die. I was almost grateful when I got shot. I too would prove the fragility of human life.
Yet, of all people, I was the one who proved myself wrong. I survived the bullet, but the anger in me died. And the shield I created around my mind was shattered.
Now I can not block out the memories of my calculating cruelty. I can not turn back to being Sarah. That is not who I am. I had to face my crimes. That's why I sleep with my gun still. So one day, maybe God would execute his divine retribution on me.
I know I'm just a coward. I do not have Relena's courage to face those fumbling old men everyday without shooting them. It's so much easier to gain respect through a gun than using diplomacy. And war takes so much less maintenance than peace. And these men who utter peace on their lips like a sutra knows little of the sacrifice that has brought us here.
I guess in a way, diplomacy is like fighting a war. I am often reminded of World War I when men fought and died in trenches every day for meters of land. It seems peace would require the same kind of commitment and endless suffering. These diplomats are set to sabotage their own efforts by arguing over petty details. Even the most logical and effective proposed plans are hotly debated. Sometimes I just want to scream at them, quick, lock the door before we get a war we can win.
And as I sit there with my neutral stance and my cool manners sometimes all I can think about is the gun under my pillow and how easy it would be for me to go back there.
God, I wish Sarah was here. She was the one with all the patience, not me. I miss my sister so much.
I pick up my gun and stare at it, a routine I perform every night. Its cool surface and reassuring weight in my hands.
A simple piece of metal against the human will.
I place the gun in my drawer. Not tonight, old friend.
Perhaps it is wise advice to sleep with a gun with its safety on. Since my gun doesn't have one... Maybe I shouldn't sleep with it any more.
~Owari
I had a friend read it, and he was very confused. Did I confuse anyone?
Duo: Heero, I told you you shouldn't sleep with your gun. See see, Une agrees.
Heero: Baka.
(:./draco/gun)
