Guns solve everything right?

1

He sat there staring at it. It would be so easy, no more pain, no more sadness, just peace. Peace, that’s all he ever wanted in life, but no matter what life had other plans. He thought back his life. Everyone he had loved; they were all taken away by guns. Even he had taken people away with guns, but that just a soldier taking orders. At least that’s what they told him. He never wanted to hurt anyone. All he ever wanted was to be happy and at peace. He thought joining the army would help his country, make everything easier when he got back. He thought guns would solve everything. Oh how wrong he was. He was plagued with nightmares of the dead and him holding the smoking gun. No was to blame but him. He had killed so much that nothing could make up for it. He tried to make sense of it but nothing helped.

He remembered back to his childhood. His father collected guns. His father took him hunting just look every other little boy, but something happened to ruin it all. He was sitting next to his father in the deer stand, waiting for their pray to run up. He was getting his weapon up. A shot, a scream, and silence. He looked at all the blood on his hands and the infamous smoking gun. In all of his excitement he had forgotten to make sure the safety was on. He ran. He ran home to tell his mother that he was a murderer. “Guns solve everything,” his father had always joked. Eventually he had blocked that from his mind, remembered, ‘guns solve everything,’ and had a laugh.

He smiled through the tears in sarcasm. “I bet this gun would solve all my problems,” he thought. Another memory swept over his mind as he picked up the ominous object.

“You ready for this?” his First Sargent asked. He nodded his head although he wasn’t really sure. He had to serve his country, to protect his slowly growing family. He looked at the picture of his wife. Her stomach was just starting to stick out, indicating the growing fetus inside. He smiled slightly and stuffed the picture back into his pocket, just knowing everything would be okay. He jumped out of the vehicle, shooting the enemy with such perfection it was to be envied. Although he looked okay he was dying on the inside. He felt every blow when he killed but knew this was how it had to be. He had to do this. That night he got a call saying his wife was dead, gunned down by a bank robber wanting no witnesses. He broke down that night. He was sent back home to take care of the funeral arrangements.

He looked down at the gun in his hand, a tear streaked down his cheek. He would be with the ones he loved. He could even say sorry to his father, something he never got to do. He could see his wife again maybe even the child she was never able to have. He looked around the dark, depressing apartment; the bills he couldn’t pay, the peeling paint, the picture of him and his family looking happy. At that moment he finally made up his mind. He cocked the gun put it to his head and whispered, “Sorry”