La Pew

The shockwave of a hollow point bullet as it screamed down the barrel of a gun, replaced the sound of our laughter. Seconds earlier, Mom's new boyfriend Frank had been watching cartoons with my little brother and me. We were watching Pepe Le Pew.

We laughed at the French skunk who boldly chased a female cat through the city of Paris while he professed his love for her. Repulsed, the cat peeled herself away from the skunks' clutches and was just barely able to stay beyond his reach. She ducked down an alley and hid behind a building long enough to catch her breath, "Le Pant. Le Pant. Le pant."

A spring mechanism hammered a metal firing pin into the back of the cartridge. It ignited a small explosive blast. The gases expanded rapidly and thrust the bullet down the barrel of the gun. Years later, during my training as a forensic pathologist, I learned that was called a muzzle flash. Three times this happened. Just as Pepe Le Pew seized the feline and smothered her with his love, Frank deflated on the couch and gurgled his last breath.

With the gun still in his hand, my Dad glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with me. Locked into my six-year-old consciousness like a surreal portrait, satisfaction and tiny pieces of brain covered my father's face.

Frank's body awkwardly slumped into a u-shape, and his head landed on Mom's white throw pillow. His cheek flopped open and down. Blood began to flood the trench formed by a mushroomed bullet exposing a row of Frank's teeth. Le Pant.

The blood was dark and looked like the chocolate fountain at the Golden Corral buffet, only it smelled like metal. The high-pitched ringing in my ears muted the sound of my little brothers cry. Time had me trapped inside each moment like molasses.

I recall it was, "Richard! No!" that my Mother said when she appeared from the kitchen with our lunch. Instinctively, she dropped the tray of sandwiches and lunged towards Frank. She tried to plug the chocolate fountain, but it was too late. Le pant.

The week before I’d begged Mom to buy my little brother and me the matching pajamas we wore. The shirt said “Game Over” with a graphic of a game controller, only now they were covered in Franks blood and pieces of his cheek.

I looked up from the speckled and spattered bits towards my mom but, my Dad was standing over her. The ringing in my ears finally quieted enough for me to hear Dad say to Mom, “Now we can be together.” Le Pant.