Leaving my room, I felt warm. Warm wool clothing felt great in late November. The lights in the hallway buzzed with a hum that was heavy on the treble, but it was somewhat calming at the moment. This could be a great night. Great friends, good food, in a place that some might call exotic. Exotic? Well, I was certainly far from home, but it’s all too amusing how terms like “exotic” and “foreign” are entirely relative. My boots plodded down the wooden stairs outside, and I stopped at the landing. I closed my eyes. I breathed in. I breathed out. I opened them again.
Taking my time getting there, I allowed my senses to be filled with the experience of my surroundings. The architecture, the sounds, the scents, it all held significance. As I neared the corner, I realized that I could cut left through an alley, saving some time. It was dark, but I wasn’t a little kid anymore. Taking confident, full strides, I came to just about the half-way point and approached an overhanging light by a door. Then I saw it.
As if placed by some invisible hand, the pistol lay quite centered in the illuminated circle on the ground. The orange-tint shined upon its corners and curves; As if in flame. On any other night, any other time, any other place, I would have left it there and walked on. But I couldn’t. My eyes tracked across its powerful shape, danced along its smooth barrel, and journeyed through the detailing. It was a Colt Python; A .357 Magnum double-action revolver with a smooth trigger pull and a tight cylinder lock-up. A fascinating gun. I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t.

I picked it up and slipped it into an inside pocket in my coat…

*****

The bar was noisy as ever, but that was what I was hoping for. A birthday like this one is made for a noisy bar.
“Hey! How the hell are ya?”
“Ah, come on guys, you started without me?”
“Ha ha! You could say that we never stopped, eh?”
Great jokes and drinks were shared for hours. Songs were sung, handshakes exchanged, and hugs received, it was a perfect evening… but the crash outside would change all of that.
We rushed outside and pushed through the crowd to see what had happened. The smell of fuel filled the air, and I couldn’t believe my eyes as I saw the over-turned oil truck in the street outside. Suddenly though, I felt as a stranger. I felt like this was my fault, and I needed to leave. Now.
Down the alley again, but this time I ran. What was I running from? How could I possibly feel responsible? I broke into the street on the other side and was met with quiet, as compared to the chaos back at the bar. I stopped to catch my breath. Gunshots behind me. I swiveled around to the alley again. Men were running. Running toward me. I didn’t know how, but my hand was in my coat.
Hammer cocked. They fired.
I fired.