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Evoking the West (After Cormac McCarthy) February 20, 2010

There’s an old gun in a glass case on the mantle. The chrome and glass reflect the brightly burning fire below. A young man stares. Hypnotized by the flames, the power of violence, the masculinity enshrined within the box. His Grandfather, stoic as always, looks down at him dreaming. Through him. With painted eyes and lacquered sheen the painting dares him to claim his legacy. A barked order from Mother rips the kid from his violent daydream. There are the daily chores. More immediate. Ever more tangible. The pigs can’t wait. Neither can the chickens or cows. The gun can. It can wait forever in its glass coffin. Tedium. Sweat. Filth. The Earthy smell of beasts. The toil exchanges for meat and the meat exchanges for money. Money. Easy money. The gun can bring easy money. Robbing a bank would be preferable to wallowing in pig shit. Hitting a card game is quicker than waiting for a hen to lay a dozen eggs. Nine bullets could set him free in a matter of a single fraction of a second. As the sun sets and the chores are done he sets up bottles along the fence posts. One by one they shatter into stars. The hammer comes back, the bullet flies. Not always true but with six tries in the palm of his hand one will find its way to his purpose eventually. Thunder in his fist. The fury of Zeus exacted through the air. Speedy lead his thunderbolt. All targets shattered. A peace creeps in carrying with it an indigo twilight. He looks down at the power he has in his hand. The weight of it is the scale of justice. Judge, jury and executioner with a simple pull of the rigger.

A spring rabbit sniffs at a bottle shard then continues its search for more tender fare. How easily its fat body slides into his sights. A pink rabbit eye a tempting target. Its wet bulbous animal eye dares then beckons him to put it out. It was made for such sport. It just sits there unafraid munching dandelion greens getting fatter. His hammer pulls back the potential energy of the kill readied…

Coiled like a snake prepared to strike, committed to the violence foreseen by such an action…

A gentle hand on his shoulder distracts him from the rabbit. Coils already sprung spring spinning around to meet the intrusive pull. He meets his mother’s eyes with the barrel of the gun.

More to come…

-J. Bessoff

Currently listening to:
Gkfoes vjgoaf, Magic Days
Gkfoes vjgoaf, Magic Days

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