I am the gun.

The feeling is always there. It doesn’t start when I walk out the door. Not in this neighbourhood. The danger is ever-present, it can rip through the walls of home anytime, day or night. The feeling only changes a little on the street. Let the hard ones disrespect you once and you might as well tattoo “victim” on your forehead. What’s the gun for? Protection? Insurance? No, man, for respect. I don’t have to be the biggest or the toughest if I have that on me. Some cash put in the right hands and there it is. Be dangerous so you look dangerous. Makes everyone afraid to mess with me. Revolver won’t jam, so they say. I’m ready.

I am the gun.

I leave the safety of home. It’s just the city out there, could be any city, it’s all the same on the news. The streets are dark, danger around every corner. I walk at a rapid pace, knowing what I’ll find out there. Drug dealers and users, gang bangers and angry cops, the crazy and the wild. The talking heads say they’re out there. Predators, lying in wait to take what’s mine. They will steal from me and relish my fear, revel in their power over me. I have no fear, though. I have the power.

I am the gun.

What was that sound? Someone is there where no one should be. I know my kids are in bed and my wife is here beside me, frightened. We both heard movement, the sound that means someone has invaded us. This is my house, my home. My family is mine to protect. Everything here belongs to me, they have no right even to be here. No right to take what’s mine. My wife will call the police but who knows how long they’ll be. They won’t show up in two minutes like they do where the rich folks live. I will go down there, loaded. I can do it myself. I can stop them.

I am the gun.

Nervous, anxious, every time. Remember the rules: stay in well lit areas, phone down, eyes on scan. Put your keys between your fingers, aim for his eyes. Look for somewhere safe if you feel a presence, somewhere to hide. Any man could be the one, the predator that’s looking for me to let my guard down. Every time out after dark I feel the fear, that thing the instructor called the good fear. It will help you, save you. So sick of it all. Marked at birth as forever a potential victim for daring to be born female. So tired of that constant nagging fear always in the back of my mind. But not tonight. Come for me tonight. It sits heavy in my bag, ready. I am more than his match now.

I am the gun.

This will be the day. No one is home, I am alone and ready. Ready for the end. Finally it will all be over. All the things that life throws in your face, day after endless day. There will be no mistake this time. No pills, that might not work. Imagine being found in a pool of your own vomit, stomach pumping and endless recriminations. Jumping is so public, a cry for help, not for the committed. Drowning, electrocution, slit the wrists. No, no, no. Could leave you destroyed but alive, a pathetic joke, a failure even at that one last thing. No, I have the right tool for the job. So deadly, so very final. It will only take a quick squeeze and it’s all over, forever. Under the chin will be best. I can’t miss like that. This will be the end. I can do it.

I am the gun.