BANG by Jon King

I don't remember exactly how old I was the first time it happened. Six, maybe seven. I was playing Cowboys and Indians in the backyard next door with the neighbor boy. He was the Cowboy, I was the Indian. He had been trying to run me down with his horse as I hollered about ancient curses and scalping him for taking my wampum. Suddenly, I had the upper-hand. I threw my imaginary tomahawk and knocked him off his imaginary horse. When he hit the ground so did his imaginary gun. Howling in triumph I stood over him, scooped up the invisible weapon and pointed my finger directly at his chest. Bang! I still cant explain what happened. His chest exploded. Blood was everywhere and someone was screaming. It didnt take too much time for me to grasp that I was the one screaming, though I was quickly joined by the neighbor boys mother. The boys death was ruled as one of the 12 from falling bullets that year, even though the police never found a bullet. His family moved away shortly after. I was homeschooled for the next few years because of the ...odd looks I got from the other students and the strange things the teachers started saying about me. Years passed and I guess I forgot. Or suppressed the memory. It happened again when I was 16. It was a bright, sunny Saturday and I was sitting on a bench in the park eating a sandwich, enjoying the sun and watching the people play. There was a little blonde girl running around a few yards off to my right, she was probably 4 or 5. She was busy making pew pew sounds and shooting imaginary villains with her finger gun. She noticed me and immediately came skipping up. Hey. Uh...hey, whats up? Nothing, she said with her tiny little southern drawl, Just killing the bad guys, cuz Im the super-hero. Cool, well, keep up the good work, I guess. But, sometimes I gotta be the bad guy, cuz the good guys dont get to have fun. So, now you have to be the good guy and you gotta shoot me. Dread crept up my spine when she said that and, at the time, I wasnt sure why. Come on! Or Ill get away and get to do more bad guy stuff! I extended my arm, with my thumb up and my index finger pointed at her, my heart beating harder and faster. I felt so terrified and I had no idea why. Bang, I whispered. It caught her in the small of her back. I felt a familiar sense of horror and shock as she tumbled forward. She hit the ground screaming and crying and, in the confusion, I did something Im even less proud of. I ran. I dont know what happened to the girl; if shes okay, if she can walk, if she died...nothing. And I dont want to know. So, I guess that brings us to today. Im 22 years old and I may have killed two children over the course of my lifetime. Im not a particularly brave person and I thought I dont have it in me to commit suicide. The guilt has been such a heavy weight and there

BANG by Jon King

was nothing I can do to alleviate it and no one I can talk to. And then I realized; All I have to do is point my finger at my head and say, Bang.