Romans & histoires Woke Up This Morning And Got Myself A Gun

Then I said to Amanda over the phone, “There are armed men outside my house.” “Tell me your house address I'll call the police and have them protect you.” I barged into my room and unlocked the last of my drawer with my personal key. I heard a gunshot outside but I don't let it mess with my head. “Alvah! Are you safe?” Amanda yelled. She must've heard the gunshot outside. “For now,” I pulled the drawer open and grabbed the brown envelope. I ripped the envelope off and loaded my gun. I legally got it four years ago and I hadn't use it since then. But today.. it might be used again.

I covered her with a blanket and kissed her forehead. She looked peaceful. Safe. Like she had never seen fire licking the walls of her home. She deserved better. And I would give it to her. Even if I had to destroy everyone who stood in my way. I headed downstairs to the armory. No one stopped me. No one even looked at me funny anymore. They all knew who I was now. I picked up my gun first. Checked the safety. Loaded it. Then I chose a small knife and slid it into the holster at my thigh. My hands didn’t shake. Not anymore.

I said, and almost tripped as my feets kicked against a dark object on the floor. Glancing down at the object brought a smile to my face. "What do we have here? If it isn't the prodigal son" I grinned, bending to pick up my gun that I'd lost the night before. I checked the cartridge and my smile got wider when I took in the bullets still left it. "You should have been with me last night, a lot of bullshit would have been avoided," I told the gun, then reattach it.

Goose bumps raised on my skin for the second time that day, and this time that voice in my head was telling me it was time to grab that gun, just in case. Walking quickly back to my tent, I zipped up the door flap and grabbed the firearm from the bag beside my sleeping bag. Scooting my sleeping bag to the middle of the tent, I sat in the middle of it, the gun in my lap, praying that I did not end up someone’s dinner before dawn broke.

The walls felt like they were closing in. Eventually, I stood up. I walked to the mirror and stared at myself. My eyes were red and puffy. My hair was a mess. I looked like someone who had been crying for days. Someone who had lost everything. I straightened my spine. No. I hadn’t lost everything yet. I went to the duffel bag by the bed and unzipped it. I pulled out the handgun Adam had given me. My fingers trembled as I checked the magazine. Full.

A gun. My blood went cold.

Cas’ pov I woke up groggy as hell. This isn’t my first surgery, but it’s the worst time I’ve been hurt and the first time I’ve been shot. I’ve been shot at before, though, but that’s a story for another time. I’m not sure if I should thank God, if it’s luck, or if the gunman just has a shitty aim, but things could have been so much fucking worse. Not that I could think of any of that in the moment, because I felt drunk and loopy.

I barged into my dad's study and took out a gun that was fully loaded. Tonight was the night I was to become a widower.

I went back to lie down and then slept off without putting much effort into it. I woke up the next morning and got into the shower, but then I suddenly remembered my shotgun, I had left it back in my bag that's downstairs, what if he sees it I thought frantically, and quickly hastened my bath, I didn't bother to get dressed when I got out of the shower, I only wrapped my body with the towel I had found in the bathroom, before running down the stairs.

Inside the box lay thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills, a gold watch, and a heavy, matte-black semi-automatic pistol. It was a Glock, compact but deadly, the metal cold and heavy against my fingers as I lifted it out of the box. I had never held a gun in my life. The sheer weight of it made my wrists wobble, but the moment my fingers wrapped around the textured grip, a sudden, cold sense of clarity settled over my mind. This wasn't just a weapon; it was my ticket out of the cage.