A Happy Story About An Instrument of Death

Happy March, folks. I really don't know how to segue into today's update so to hell with it! Enjoy.

***

He called himself Arthur, but that was not his name. His name was M9 Combat Pistol Serial Number 1125713. Jim never called him anything but "buddy."

Arthur was growing increasingly worried about Jim. He'd never seen him quite this drunk, or quite this sad. The worst of it, of course, was that there was nothing he could do. So he lay on the shelf, quiet and cold, listening to the wet sobs coming from the card table below him.

Arthur first met Jim three years ago, in the Army. They quickly grew to be fast friends. Jim was, as he often intimated, a loner by choice, but Arthur could tell by the way he said "buddy" and the diligence with which he cleaned his barrel that Jim was lonely. So Arthur protected Jim, and Jim took care of Arthur. And everything was all right.

That was the good time.

The bad time came when Arthur got sick. He felt terrible about it, but he wasn't feeling quite up to snuff. He felt heavy and slow, and it seemed like he couldn't aim anymore. Worst of all, he started to jam at the worst times. Jim started to use a knife more and more often. Arthur knew he hated to use that knife, hated killing but hated the stabbing and slicing the most, hated the smell of blood that he could never get out of his nostrils no matter how drunk he got from the bottle he had back at base.

Arthur swore he'd get better soon. And he did.

Maybe the bad time wasn't Arthur's fault at all, though, because even when Arthur and Jim started working together again, things weren't right. Before, they'd done their jobs without thought, save for the satisfaction of camaraderie. Arthur felt the same way, but something had happened to Jim. He was wilder, angrier. Once he shoved Arthur halfway down a man's throat and discharged a full clip into his spine and lungs, screaming "Eat it, you sand nigger, you cocksucker, choke on it," again and again.

After Arthur came back, Jim didn't talk to him much anymore. They'd always been close enough to know what the other was thinking without too much extra chatter, which was just as well. you could get in big trouble for extra chatter. But Jim didn't even thank him anymore. He'd say "Good night, buddy," and roll over on his cot. And that would be that.

When Jim went home to Kansas, he took Arthur with him. Arthur was excited to meet the people Jim had talked about in the good time. He knew if there was anyone who could bring back the old Jim, it would be Emily. Maybe their wedding would revive him.

The first time Arthur saw Emily, Jim threw her bodily out of his house, cursed her and her family, and warned her never to come back or he would do terrible things to her face. Then he cleaned Arthur's barrel and started to cry.

That was the first time Arthur had seen Jim cry. And in the months that followed, he never managed to figure out a way to make it better.

***

Sam's comments:
To be continued.

Sam
listening to: "This American Life" from Chicago Public Radio
reading: "Public Enemies" by Brian Burrough (okay this is a long ass book ya'll)