Guns Don't Kill People

Chapter One

I woke up the next morning still in my yellow sweater, gun in my jean shorts, and makeup still on. I pushed myself up. I was laying in the backseat of my car, parked in front of my apartment. I got out of the '67 Chevy Impala and opened the trunk. The car was a hand-me-down from my mom. I took my bag out and walked into the apartment. 221B it was. The door was a police box blue with white painted metal numbers and letters. The door knob was a faux gold with a keyhole that you had to jiggle a little before it could open.

I walked in and the apartment looked the same as I had last been there. The chipped teacup on the coffee table, the black and white bed set made, and the skull that sat on the chimney resting upon a key. A key that held my whole life in it.

I set my stuff down in my room and went to take a shower. Everything set out like it usually was. Hopping into the steaming water, I washed off the droplets of blood on my arms and legs. I wondered who the man was. He looked familiar, but I couldn't tell where I had seen him before. Was he from the Big Rico's? Jackie's? I couldn't tell. I let the water wash the events from last night off of me for now.

I went out to the kitchen after my shower and looked into the fridge. Sandwich bread, marmalade, cheese, spoiled milk. The usual as it may seem. I haven't even gone to the grocery store in a while. I closed the fridge, my stomach growling. Would one even consider it as growling? Or was it grumbling? I don't know. All I really knew was that I was hungry, and I needed food.

All of a sudden, the phone rang. It didn't make sense, because that's not my ringtone, and I didn't have a house phone. It kept ringing, the sound coming from my bedroom. I walked slowly towards the room. I pushed open the door, and a ringing phone was sitting on my bed. I answered it. "322434... 322434..." The voice that said those numbers had a raspy, terrifying tone. It sent shivers down my spine. But 322434? What does that even mean? I took a notepad from my desk and wrote the numbers down, then pocketed the piece of paper.

I looked skeptically at the telephone, waited for a few long seconds, then decided to put the telephone in one of my drawers.

I walked up to it slowly and took it to my bedside table. Opening the drawer, I cautiously set the telephone in it. I closed the drawer, then hesitantly made my way to the door. It didn't ring; I was confusingly hoping that it would, but it didn't. I closed the door, took my bag, and walked out to my car.

I got in and turned on the engine. It was a peaceful drive. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew it was somewhere. When I passed Arby's, the radio suddenly turned on by itself. "Are you ready for the story?" The voice said. It wasn't Cecil's. The voice had a fake cheeriness to it that kind of scared me. "Today's story is called Miss Jackson and The Murder. Long ago a girl that everyone knew as Miss Jackson witnessed the murder of her little brother. She was so angry, for the man who murdered her brother was someone she trusted very much." The voice sounded as if he were talking to a group of children, even though the story was already starting to be too gruesome for young children to hear. "The man was there all the time though. What could she do to escape this? She was just a young girl after all.

"Time passed, and Miss Jackson was now a young adult living on her own. Although years had passed, she was still very angry. It took over her, even though she hadn't seen that man in a long while. But she knew he was out there. She knew he was. He was going about like he had done nothing wrong, and that angered her. But one day, she came up with a plan. She called that man and asked him to meet with her in a disclosed location. When that time came that he met up with her, they talked, and they talked, then BANG! The man was dead. But why di-"

Before the story could be finished, the radio went dead. I hadn't noticed that I stopped driving. I also didn't notice that I was sweating. But sweating with what? Anxiousness? Anticipation? I tried to turn the radio back on, but it was dead. Dead just like that man from last now, who was now an odd looking tree in the Whispering Forest. I still couldn't shake the feeling that he was someone I knew. Was I the woman that the man on the radio was talking about? Am I Miss Jackson? It wouldn't make sense. I didn't have a brother.

There was a tapping on the window. It was Old Woman Josie. I rolled down the window. "Hello, dear," the woman said in a soft grandma voice, "Would you mind driving up a little? Erika with a 'K' needs to walk through."

"Okay, miss." I said. Angels don't exist. At least that's what the government says.

"Thank you, dear." I drove up a little and let Old Woman and "Erika" by. I didn't question why they couldn't have just walked around my car, because that's just rude. I sighed and sat there, parked outside the Desert Flower Bowling Alley over the Underground City. The same questions rushed through my head again. Who was he? Why did I kill him? Was he really even dead? Gun don't kill people, right? That's when I saw it. The man that I thought I left in the Whispering Forest. He was standing right in front of my car, flesh and bone, no longer wood and leaves.

He wasn't dead.