Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
So it’s just there, right. And it’s kind of no big deal, because they weren’t looking for it and actually the bundle of money next to it is totally more interesting – I mean, they know what to do with money, right? And they could tell you too; give you a list of the shit they might buy at the tienda. They could rattle that off – refrescos, candy, helado. They might take some down the street to the bigger tienda where the old lady sells some toys too. Buy a ball, a pen. Like, this is the shit kids dream of, right? But the chunk of metal with its familiar lines and its unfamiliar presence, it kind of holds them for a moment. They don’t even speak. It looks heavy, so Samuel reaches into the gap that Marcos is making by holding the foam mattress up. He puts his hand on it first. He don’t know why, but he wonders for a minute if it might be warm, breathing. It’s not. It’s cool and smooth and he straight away likes the feel of it. I mean, it feels like nothing else he’s ever felt. ‘Cause there’s metal all over this place, right? The little dude’s house got that wavy metal on the top for a roof. The gate at Senor Juarez’s place, that’s metal. The pole you gotta hold tight to on the bus, that’s some smooth-ass metal right there. But this is somethin’ else. It’s got no dust or nothin’. No chipped paint. No rough bits. Just smooth and cool.
Samuel curls his fingers around the longest bit of metal and pulls it towards him. Marcos takes a breath and they both realize they been holding the air in their lungs. It makes ‘em giggle. That kinda nervous, we-both-just-felt-the-exact-same-thing-at-the-exact-same-time giggle. And while they’re giggling, Samuel is pulling the whole gun into his hands and cradling it and Marcos is laying his hands on top like they tryin’ to keep it safe and warm. They stare at it some more.
So, which end the bullet come out of, hermano?
Um, I guess the one with the hole in, right?
Samuel tips it to the side. They both lean sideways to try and find the hole and bump heads.
Puchis, ow, Marcos!
Sorry hombre, I just wanted to see.
It’s here.
Samuel jerks the end upwards to show Marcos which end he means. He’s still holding it like an injured mouse, or somethin’.
It’s really only a split second. Not even. The sound of it hitting the floor messes with Samuel’s mind, cause it don’t thud like most things do on the mud floor. It cracks.
Woah, Marcos did you hear that sound?
Samuel reaches down for the gun and the weight of his friend crashes on top of his six year old body. Marcos ain’t a small kid either, so Samuel he hits the ground too, with his buddy on top of him. And something in the way his body connected with Samuel’s back, kind of full contact jelly, says somethin’ ain’t right. So he just freeze. He lies so damn still the only thing moving is the dust around his face when he breaths. And he can feel the liquid, thick like syrup, soaking warm into his t-shirt.
He feels like he needs to move, but he also knows that if he moves he won’t be able to pretend Marcos is just sleeping, suddenly, on top of him.