A Gun Is a Gun Is a Gun

There was a gun, once upon a time, which had never been fired. It lay in a drawer at the bottom of a dresser, perhaps as a reminder that life was easy to finish off, or end, with one bullet, but often more. A shooter was still required, but they were practically more abundant than their potential victims given all the bullets that they could bring to the hunt. Guy of a gun!

There was a revolver, at around the same time, which had been fired twice. It lay in a drawer at the top of a dresser, readily available to be used again, since life was too easy to stop on its path with one bullet or more of them. There was a shooter who killed once. The first time was for practice against a tree’s trunk. A revolver’s Mel Gibson.

There was a revolver’s brother, a few years later, which had been fired too many times. It lay on the kitchen counter next to butcher knives, their big brother in that circle, but their master in reality. There was a shooter who preferred to call himself, a proud hunter; a conceited ignoramus in real news who trained by killing dumber animals.

There was a gun, son of a gun, which was about to be fired. It lay on a night table next to a bed occupied by a future murderer. He was on his phone, writing a post on his Face-book page, which he planned to publish before the massacre. He was excited and could not wait for the morning to come. His mind was set. He was going to be famous.

There was a war to end all wars, yet many more followed because no one could stop the dictators and or religious zealots as well as the arm merchants who often waited be-hind them, counting the billions instead of the dead and dying. There is no need to name them but to get rid of them and their ilk. That would be a truly holy war

Tracy Chapman - Bang Bang Bang