Eliza Scalia

The Little Black Book

The gun is slick in my grip. I stare down at the shiny piece of black metal and plastic, almost not believing that I am holding this thing. As a teen, I loved guns. I always thought they made a guy look good. When I look at it now though, I just feel sick. My eyes follow the gun as it falls from my hand and down into the water beneath the bridge I am standing on. As the waves bury the gun beneath the surface of the inky black water, I can’t help but wonder how many other murder weapons have been disposed of on this bridge. The full moon shines down on me like a spotlight in the sky. It looks bright and cheerful, mocking me as I complete my dark deed. I turn away from it, suddenly feeling more shame than I have ever felt before. I feel the shame since I let something so beautiful witness the ugliness I have done.