LIFE LESSONS & PROTESTS
Second Amendment Rights Gone Terribly Wrong
Although today is supposed to be about opening the state back up after the vicious lockdown we have endured, we intend to make it about our 2nd Amendment rights, because, as the POTUS pointed out, “It is under siege!”
I’m preparing for the protest rally at the State House when my cell phone rings. It’s my 7-year-old son. “Hey bubba,” I answer. His name is Walter. He is named after my brother-in-law, who is the kindest, most beautiful human being I have ever met.
We’re also best friends, and since they spend a lot of time at our house, me calling my son Bubba holds down the confusion.
My son asks me to drop off his Charlotte’s Web book report at school. I say, “Yeah, I can do that on my way to the rally. Anything else you need.”
“Yeah, Dad, could you have lunch with me? This bully’s been giving me a lot of hassle. I told the teacher, but I think that just made it worse.”
“Sure, kiddo. I’d love to, but you know I can’t beat up a kid or nothing, right?”
He chuckles a little and says, “Yeah, Dad, I know. I just… I don’t know. I think if he sees you and me having lunch together, he’ll leave me alone.”
“Sure thing, kiddo, I’ll see you there, I love you, bubba,” I say as I hang up the phone.
The phone rings again almost immediately, it kind of jumps me a little. It was the rally leader. He wanted to remind me to bring the AT4 along with my AR. “Of course, I was planning on it.”
He says, “It’s kind of poopy that we have to go through all this to protect what’s ours, ya know?” I quickly agree as I am reminded of what Holly Gibney says in the book I am reading.
“… are those tears in Jerome’s eyes? She thinks they are, and if he cries, she will, too, she won’t be able to help it. Sadness is catching, and how poopy is that?”
Fucking bleeding-heart liberals. Just like the author, King. I enjoy his stories; it’s his political philosophy I have a problem with. Just like F-N Steinbeck. Another commie.
They think everyone should share and share-alike. Bullshit, get a GD job, and quit crying. If it were up to those liberals, the country would be lined with labor camps, and everyone would sing Kumbaya or some shit!
We must deal with these F-N liberals from a position of strength, to keep them from taking everything we have worked so hard to get. We need to show them who runs this GD country, and it ain’t them. We’ll show the governor and some of the state legislators that today.
As I pick it up I think, most people believe that AT4 means there was an AT1, 2, and 3. But the truth is, it’s actually kind of like wordplay. It fires an 84 mm round, so if you say 84 fast, it is the same as AT4. For a slimy commie country, Sweden and Saab make a damn good anti-tank weapon.
I was a civilian contractor that taught the new Army privates how to fire it out there at Fort Sill, OK.
It’s really simple to fire, but because of the weapon’s backblast, it can be dangerous even to the firer. If you fire it while lying down, you have to cant your body out at a 45-degree angle, or you might lose a foot or set yourself on fire.
Another peculiarity of the AT4 is that it has two safeties, so accidentally taking the weapon off safe once will not allow it to fire.
All this was running through my head as I loaded up a couple of mags, grabbed the AR, and the AT4. Not that I plan on using any of these; it’s really just for show.
Everything is loaded up, but I forgot Walter’s book report, so I swing back in and get it.
As I am driving toward the school, I think, “What will I do with the AR and AT4 when I go into the school? No big deal, I’ll take them with me. It is an open-carry state after all, and it will show that little shithead bully not to mess with my son. Scare the shit out of the little bastard.”
I pull up to the school and grab the weapons out of the back seat. I can’t just leave them in the car. Someone might break out a window and steal them.
As I go into the cafeteria, I see my son in line getting his food, so I grab a spot at a table close to the wall and wait. As he’s about five tables away, he sees me and starts running with his tray.
As if in slow motion, I see the bully stick his foot out. I try to warn my son, but I’m too late. He is flying through the air with his tray of food.
I forget all about the AT4 and run over to help him up. I’m scowling at the little shit that tripped my son, as the whole group at that table is laughing.
I wipe the food off the front of him as best I can and look back at the table where I laid the AT4, suddenly realizing, I left it.
I watch as one kid pulls the pin that allows you to remove the safety. I yell out, “Hey, don’t touch that.” But five or six kids are messing with it by now, and I just pray they won’t push the wrong buttons.
My greatest fears are realized as I watch in horror as two of the kids within the backblast area erupt in a fiery blaze. But even worse is on the other side of the cafeteria where the 84 mm round tears through a table full of kids, and blasts a hole the size of Texas in the wall.
My son is looking on crying as I am taken away in handcuffs. But much worse is the flashback of the fireball consuming those two kids, which I’m sure will haunt me the rest of my life.
Note: None of the sentiments expressed in this are the views of the author. It is purely fictional.
More Fiction by the Author
Stephen Dalton is a retired US Army First Sergeant with a degree in journalism from the University of Maryland and a Certified US English Chicago Manual of Style Editor. Currently living in the Philippines, Stephen is a Top Writer in Virtual Reality.
You can see his portfolio here. Email [email protected]