A modern apocalypse

It begins

"You cannot, and I repeat, cannot compare the two. Felix's eyesight and aim is just out of this world, Mika. He was raised to be the best shooter from birth!" Oliver yells into my ears, so I almost drop my strawberry milkshake. His eyes radiates with passion as he speaks. 

"I heard his dad put a gun in his hand when he was three years old. Imagine that!" Oliver kisses me on the cheek, and scoops over on the bench to make room. The woodwork feels rough against my nude thigh, and I curse myself for putting on a miniskirt. "That sounds... Well, interesting." 

The annual pistol shooting tournament was anything but a quiet affair. If it wasn't for my noise reduction earplugs, I'd probably worked up a headache by now. Rows of people dressed up in fan-merch covered the stadium, all facing a little rectangle of pale sand hundred meters away. Five men with each their gun paraded out in a line, waving and smiling to the audience, despite the drizzling rain. 

"Man, the dedication to really master something. I envy that with my whole heart"

The milkshake tastes like liquid candy and a up and coming heart failure, but I keep sucking it up at such a rate I'd surely get a brain-freeze.  "Why don't you try getting back into it?"

"Huh? No, not after Pete." his gaze is fixed on the man I assume to be the great shooter with the name Felix. I put my hand on his, and gently caress his fingers. His nail tips are healthy white, and his skin soft and plump, like a baby. His nineteen year old body is strong and athletic, and I know he can pull off any sport if he wanted to. 

He lost his best friend Pete a year ago. He was mixed up in some street gang at the time. Hung out with the wrong people, and found himself in the middle of a street-fight a Saturday night. A guy from the opposing gang didn't follow the rules, brought a caliber twenty-two, and shot Pete twice in the stomach at the tender age of seventeen. 

Oliver wasn't present, but he had been reluctant to getting back into shooting practice since then. I know he loves the sport, and his longing stares tells me he misses it. However, we're always seated the furthest away, and he always wear ear plugs, despite mocking me for it in the past. Ive pretended not to notice these subtle changes in his behavior since Pete died. 

 "You know, when I was riding horses as a kid I occasionally fell off and landed on my ass. I'd cry and whine for hours, but do you know what my dad-" A sigh from him made me stop, and he turns to me with a tired smile. "No offense dear, I've heard this story multiple times already. Your dad said to get back on the horse didn't he?" 

"Well yes. Otherwise you'll grow a fear for riding. It's the same thing with guns." 

"Well riding horses and... this, is different." 

"What if we go together? I can learn how to shoot." I smile, but he shakes his head. 

"Absolutely not. Shooting is not a sport for girls."

"What do you-"

"Mika" his firm tone shuts me up. The wind picks up his curly hair like it's weightless, plays around with it, and gently let it fall over his sun kissed forehead. He could easily get a tan, unlike me who practically glowed in the dark. "Please don't pressure me on this. I can't go back yet."he mumbles, and I know better not to argue. 

"You know I love you, right?" I squeeze his hand. "And I don't care what you end up doing, as long as you're happy." He lets out a chuckle, the tension releases, and a set of white teeth appears in a cheeky smile. The exact smile I fell in love with two years ago on a beach in southern France, and which Ive had the privilege to observe multiple times since then.