My Breach: A Short Story

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My name, Smith & Wesson, and my initials are engraved on my cold and shiny stainless steel shaft. I was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, and if we want to get specific I am model number fifty-nine. The click of my breach will send chills running down your spine. My black, textured, plastic handle helps to ensure that when my trigger is pulled, the bullet will hit its designated target. I have sights mounted on the top of my breach that is used to ensure accuracy. Because I weigh only 5 pounds, I make it very easy for my operator to aim and shoot, but I am currently very upset. I am so sick and tired of people saying that I can pull my own trigger and kill people. First of all, a person, not me, must pick me up, unlatch the safety, aim me at a…show more content…
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in late July, and we had the family over like we did almost every Sunday after church. Each family member would bring something good to eat. My great grandmother would bring her famous cornbread, and my dad would usually throw some kind of neat on the grill. After enjoying the delicious meal that was prepared, the boys and I went outside like we always did because I hated having to stay inside to clean the dishes. Once Dad grabbed the gun from between the front seats of his truck, I knew at that moment that he was going to let fire it since I had been begging him for years to. I wrapped my hands around the cold stainless steel and raised it up to aim at the bottle my brother sat a post a few yards away. My hands definitely were not as steady as they needed to be because I was so nervous about shooting the pistol for the first time. My finger located the trigger, and I was ready to see how close the bullet would be to the bottle. I pulled the trigger and to my surprise the gold and silver bullet hit the bottle dead on. All the boys simply stared in amazement, and so do

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