places: an unholy thing

I drove to a sleeping part if town. There was a war surplus store there.  I parked around the back and broke in using a tire tool.   I had never been there before, but it was filled with familiar merchandise, with a distinctive government issued redolence.

I was looking for something specific. Surely after all the millions crafted and carried into combat, I should be able to find one here.

I was looking for an old friend.

It didn’t take long. There on the wall they stood, lined like soldiers.  They were standing as if at attention, brothers silently waiting for the next war to come.

The light of my flashlight reflected off their black barrels.  I needed more light to inspect them.  I took my chances and turned on a light at a display counter.

It only took a moment to find her. I felt of her wood stock, quickly disassembled and checked the workings.  I found the ammo that I needed.  Unlike the arms I’ve embraced and handled since, her feel was the most comfortable and familiar.

I took only what I needed.

I stole it without guilt.

I loaded gear into the trunk of my car in the dim light at the store’s back door. I worked as if no one were watching. There was little I could do if someone had.

I wrapped her in an olive drab blanket and laid her on top of the rest of the gear. The first time since this all started, I felt a little safer.  I know that I had no reason to feel this way. But I was carrying with me again, the tool of my old trade.