Guns Don’t Kill People, Bullets Do

Cassidy ran with the gun clutched tightly to her chest. She was mostly sure this was a fever dream, but the bullet kept insisting it was reality. Something in the last 24 hours had gone terribly awry and she had no idea what it had to do with her.

When the bight began, she was coerced by her best friend to go out even though she was pretty sure she had the flu.

“You promised,” Jessica reminder her.

“When I promised, I didn’t have a fever and a plugged up nose,” Cassidy declared. “I can’t breathe and am coughing up phlegm constantly.”

“You promised,” she insisted.

So she reluctantly put on some party clothes and went to the club where her friends celebrated someone’s promotion. That’s not why Jessica insisted on Cassidy going. She needed Cassidy as her wingman for her latest love interest. In her state, Cassidy was never going to be a good wingman.

Things were amiss from the moment they arrived. Their group commandeered a few tables in the back by their favorite bar where a man sat clutching his head with an empty drink front of him.

“Look at that poor man,” she tried to whisper over the music.

“That’s him,” Jessica said trying to discreetly point at the man at the bar.

He looked like he smelled. He looked like he smelled like he hadn’t showered or slept in a bed in months. Homeless but not income less. On the run maybe. He picked up his head and slowly turned to face them as they approached their table. He stared straight at Cassidy and look relieved.

“Hi,” Jessica shouted over the music. “Come join us!” He shook his head and turned back to the bar.

“He smiled at me,” Jessica insisted as they sat down.

For about 20 minutes they did the obligatory congratulatory drinks and toasts. At some point Jessica returned from the restroom extremely bubbly and chatty. She said she needed chemical courage before speaking to him.

Cassidy and Jessica moved to the bar and sat next to the maybe on the run man.

“Hey Jaime,” Jessica purred. “I’m so glad you’re here.” The next few minutes were uncomfortable and awkward for two of the three of them. Jessica was oblivious to her lack of success in this conquest. Jaime obviously had something troubling him and resented the intrusion.

“I need to speak to you alone,” he declared, staring at Cassidy.

“Wait, what?” Cassidy said.

“Come with me,” he said while grabbing her arm and leading her to the exit by the bar. Jessica tried following.

“No,” he said forcefully. As she got to the door

“Cassidy!” She bellowed. “Don’t go.”

But she was already through the door.

“It’s your turn,” the man said while thrusting a brown bag into her hands. For the brief moment it took her to perceive what was happening, he was gone down the alley. In her hands was a a hefty package for such a small bag. Her mind was already assessing the shape of what was inside as she peeked inside. It was a gun. She had never held a gun before and wasn’t happy about her current situation.

The door back inside was locked, so she was forced to trudge down the alley the same way Jaime had. She expected to see him walking away as she turned the corner, but the only people there were the ones standing in line to enter the club.

“Turn right,” she heard. She was feeling dizzy and lightheaded before this. On top of being sick, she chugged a few cocktails. She turned right almost robotically and took a few steps then stopped.

“Keep walking,” she heard. The voice was coming from the bag she held.

“Keep walking!” It insisted.

“Are you talking to me?” She asked.

“GO!” She did. Her phone and purse were still in the club, but she walked on.

It turned out, the gun was just an inanimate object.

Of course.

It was the bullet that was talking.

Or it was the fever and martinis.

“Cross the street and go down that alley on the left,” it demanded.

The bullet did appear to be able to communicate directly in her mind. It made her an offer in the vein of a monkey’s paw or genie in a lamp. Or not. Maybe she was hallucinating.

“You do me a favor, and I’ll do you one,” the bullet explained.

“What do I have to do?” She asked tentatively.

“Just shoot the person I instruct you to. If you are worried about morality, the person chosen is evil. If you’re worried about legality, you’ll never be tied or tried for the assassination.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“Magic. I’m a talking bullet,” he pointed out.

“Right,” she replied. “Or I’m insane.”

“Wait, what happened to the last guy, Jaime?”

“Or business is completed,” the bullet informed her. “I directed him to wait at the bar for you.”

“What?”

The bullet didn’t respond.

“How do you know me? Why me?”

“It’s inconsequential,” the bullet replied. “Head to the subway.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything and I don’t have my purse,” she responded.

“You won’t need it,” it said.

That’s when the rain started, and Cassidy sprinted for the subway. She felt like crap. She was shivering and burning up and wet and confused. She was certain none of this was real and she was really at home in bed dreaming.

But she wasn’t. She was soaked and appeared to be talking to herself in the subway station. She blended in at this time of night.

“We’ll wait here for awhile. You might as well have a seat and rest,” the bullet informed her

“I haven’t agreed to this,” she replied but she leaned her back against the wall and sled to the floor and quickly fell asleep. She dozed for two hours when the bullet spoke in her head and woke her up.

“It’s time to go. Get on the next train,” it instructed.

“I don’t have any money!”

“Magic. Get on the train,” it insisted. She did. The turnstile let her walk right on through, and she took her seat.

“Where we going?” She asked out loud. Other riders stared at her but no one answered the woman appearing to talk to herself. She dozed off again. For two days she followed the directions in her head barely remembering to eat or drink. She couldn’t taste anything due to the congestion anyway. She was very dehydrated and getting sicker. It would be in her best interest to stay in bed and drink chicken noodle soup. Instead, she followed the voice in her head.

“Please, I have to stop,” she begged.

“It’s almost time,” the bullet reassured her.

“Who am I expected to kill?” she asked

“The president,” it answered.

“The president?” she repeated flabbergasted.

“I know you know he’s evil,” it said.

“How am I supposed to get away with murdering the president?”

“Magic,”

“Stop saying magic is the answer for everything!”

“It’s what is going to keep you from getting caught and grant you a favor.”

“I can’t do it,” Cassidy said

“I can’t do it because I’m just a bullet in a gun. You can do it because you have arms and legs.”

“I can’t kill someone,” she informed the bullet.

“You can and will. Everyone gives in when the time comes.”

“Who did Jaime kill?” she asked

“I don’t know. That was a different bullet. I’m the last bullet in the gun. When you shoot me, it’s the end.”

“What about my favor?’

“It will be granted immediately.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“You do. You just haven’t verbalized anything.”

“Get out of my head!” she yelled. Currently, they were in a public park in DC. Many people turned and looked at Cassidy but carried on their way.

Cassidy was parked on a bench struggling to breathe through her nose and stay upright. She was still in denial about the whole situation. She was doubting her own reliability as a narrator. If there was really a talking bullet in a gun she was given in a brown paper bag that could return a favor for a favor, she would be surprised. Any minute, she expected to wake up with a broken fever and the ability to breathe normally.

“It’s time. Get up,” the bullet insisted.

“No, “ Cassidy stated. “I’m not a murderer.” Images of her sister flooded her mind. Receiving chemo. Going through radiation. Receiving news the cancer was back. It was the bullet showing what she truly wanted. She wanted her sister cured. She also hated the president and felt the world would be a better place without him. But there are consequences of murder beyond just what the murderer receives. He would be martyr. More people would support him as a result. In death, his popularity would grow like it did for that man in Utah no one knew about or cared about until he was shot.

Cassidy knew what she needed to do. She clutched the gun to her chest and ran. She ran until she hit a body of water. It was the mall. She chunked the brown bag into the water and ran on until she physically couldn’t and collapsed.

Later, she awoke in the hospital hooked up to an IV. She was being treated for her dehydration and lingering flu, but no one would ever know she prevented a catastrophic event that would change the course of history for the worse. Cassidy was right about the outcome to the president's murder. Her victory was both momentous and inconsequential. She was later released and returned to her normal life. The president continued to be evil.