Little Vices
Written By DWilliam 2/20/2011 12:51:00 AM
Next came out the little cleaning kit I had put together over the years. All it had was some Ronsonal, a small shammy, and assorted rods and cotton swabs stuffed into a nylon toiletries bag, but it had worked well enough so far. From what I had seen, the "official" cleaning kits were little more than that anyway. I took each piece out individually and set it near the revolver, each item finding its own place on the ground.
I picked the handgun back up, the heft of the steel and the sweat soaked wood grip comfortable and familiar. Even though it had been months since I'd had to fire a shot some part of me welcomed back the sturdy weight. It disturbed me a little just how used to using the weapon I had gotten. There was a time when I would have curled my lip in disgust at the though of using the things. I couldn't understand why someone would use them, the cruel machines that only served one purpose, but those feelings were an innocence that I didn't have the luxury of keeping. I knew know that even things such as guns-things that were only used for death-had their place in the world I had to live in. That even though they held dangers and consequences, the price of not using them was too high. Much like my own knowledge and abilities, whatever risks there were I'd face if it meant the safety of another or myself.
So I picked up the oil and some cotton swabs and settled into the silent, meticulous routine of cleaning my dangerous tool, hoping like I always did that I wouldn't have to use it.
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