From the Second Story Window
An Old Luke and a New Luke
I've just finished my morning routine, black coffee, yogurt, and pulling the trigger of Luke's revolver in my mouth.
No matter how many times I clean that thing it still tastes like bitter ash and metal. The rush I got was much the same as the last time. I slid the thirty-eight special rounds into five of the six chambers. My hands shook so hard, they shake more when I am loading Luke's revolver in the morning. I've thought it before many times though, as a seventy-eight years old widow, my small hands deserve to shake a little all the time.
I just don't see how my Luke could have done it with out his hands shaking. I pulled back the hammer on the empty chamber. I placed the bitter barrel in my mouth. My teeth clashed down hard on the metal and my heart beat faster. I felt the rush of adrenalin as I set my finger on the twelve pound pull trigger. It is no easy thing pulling such a heavy trigger backwards while half of the gun is in your mouth. I looked at the clock which read 7:44AM in florescent green letters. I had exactly one minute until my new Luke would be coming down the sidewalk for the bus.
It is of course no coincidence that I choose to do this every morning at 7:45. It is the exact time my husband heard the news on the phone, that he had lost everything.
He was just as ritualistic as me I suppose... we were so good together that way.
He never said a word of it to me, I found out weeks after he died I had to move out of our home we built together, penniless. I suppose it was on that same day, or the the next morning, he had made up his mind. At 7:45AM that next morning almost a year ago, he pulled the trigger of this fully loaded revolver in his mouth, and I've been alone ever since.
As soon as the digital numbers shifted, I squeezed with all of my might, and my heart jumped into my throat. What if I had alligned the chambers incorrectly? Or correctly? I am never sure which to hope for. Were it not for my new Luke, I would have done what my old Luke did a long time ago. The dull clap of the hammer harmlessly striking the pin into an empty chamber left me breathless and gasping as I pulled it back out of my mouth. The numbers on the clock were almost a blur my head was spinning so hard.
I stood up, walked to the window to sit where I am now. In my reliable and soft white chair by the window of my dingy second story appartment.
My gentle little Luke will be coming soon. He will probably have his new backpack over one shoulder, silly boy. He should really where the straps over both shoulders. Third graders have the heaviest backpacks these days. I can not fathom what has happened that such children should have to work so hard, and carry such a heavy burdon. Oh...but Luke always smiles. Even on days when it is raining he always walks to the school bus stop smiling.
Such a good boy.
© Copyright 2016 mkkrinler. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Book / Literary Fiction
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