Thursday, March 23, 2017

Roper 6 - The Gun

"Steady, steady...easy does it!"

I could see the gun follow the centre line of my body and come to rest at a point between my eyes as I distributed my bodyweight evenly on bend knees, with one arm stretched out like a fencer to maintain balance.

"That's was not half bad! Now hold!"

I could see his hand coming from the right side of the mirror, placing a finger long cartridge on top of my revolver.

"Don't concentrate on my hand! Concentrate on yours! Now cock it lad!"

My thumb found the giant hammer of the revolver and slowly began to pull it back. I struggled to focus from my image in the mirror to the cartridge in front of my face.

"Keep your hands levelled, damn your eyes! You will hear if it if you make mistakes!"

The drum turned with the satisfactory, well oiled click of supreme workmanship and I almost dared to hope when I heard the cartridge fell on the cool tiles with a heavy, rich sound only brass can make.

Left arm trembling and legs slightly shacking, I slowly lowered the Casull back into position with the barrel pointing half a meter from my forward left foot.

"No worries, you`ll get there!" Travis said, leaning heavy on his cane as he picked up the empty cartridge from the one and only time I actually shot this monster.

I followed him out to the balcony, I was briefly blinded as we went from the rooms relative dimness to the brutal brightness off a summer day at the Horn Of Africa.

A trolley with refreshments stood at the ready and the white clad & heavily armed Major Domo served ice cold orange juice as we sat down.

I leaned back and seen L. lying in a giant silk hammock hung between two poles, ten meters from the shore. One foot lazily hanging in the grotesque blue water.

I could faintly hear fragments of a reggae song coming from his primitive, water proof mobile phone over the surf.

".....Natty dread has gone..."

True, true.

For someone who accidentally bombed the world back to 1992 he was awfully relaxed. His phone might be one of a few thousand in actual working condition. Planet wide.  But now without any network it could only serve as music box or ebook reader.

"When will you finally let me shoot?" I asked Travis and drank my juice, you never tasted oranges before you haven't plucked themselves from a garden under the Somali sky.

"Why waste the bullets? First you need to learn to HOLD a gun before you get to SHOOT one! But don't worry, you`ll get there....in...ehrm...lets say 5000-6000 repetitions!"

"Great!" I said. Travis gnarled face suddenly became about 35 years younger and I knew who walked up behind me.

Brace, brace, brace.

Suddenly nimble as a forest creature he got up and elegantly pulled one of the colonial style, cast iron garden chairs out for M. who sat down in one fluent moment.

I tried not to stared at the cute piercing in her belly bottom which seemed to have a nice life on her well tanned abdomen. Africa became her well. Then again, she was fine no matter where she went.

She bent over and kissed the old man lightly on the cheek and gave me a bemused smile reducing me to a retard...as usual.

"How is the artillery training going?" She asked sipping her juice.

"Not bad, not bad. I just wish he would have chosen something more practical!" He nodded to the .454`er hanging in its holster over my chairs back. The "15 barrel almost touching the floor.

"Yeah E. are you compensating for something?" M. asked as she took one lazy sip from her straw with her eyes fixed on mine.
 




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