The Danger

“I need it back. Give it to me.”
The young man’s outstretched hand shook, aching for the cold, hard metal.
His eyes were wide with terror.
She could see the sweat on his forehead as his entire body vibrated with barely controlled rage.
“I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself. It’s dangerous,” she whispered.
“I need it to defend myself.” His voice was rising.
“You don’t want to go back to jail, right? You’re not supposed to have it.”
He shouldn’t have a weapon, she thought. I’ve got to talk him down.
“Maybe it’s all a big mistake and this guy isn’t out to hurt you.”
“I am not a child and you are not my mother. I know how to handle it,” he raged.
“You need to take the safety course. The shooting experts say everyone should before they’re allowed to handle a weapon. You know how easy it is for this to go off and wound someone.”
“Give it to me!” he shouted, his muscles tensing as he prepared to lunge.
“Wait! You could accidentally hurt some kid, and maybe that kid would otherwise have grown up to cure cancer, or stop a war, or make the world better so this wouldn’t keep happening! Do you want to be the person who took all that away from him? His family and friends?”
“If you don’t hand it over, I’ll just get another.”
She knew he would. Unarmed, he still posed a threat.
Her lip was trembling. “The police will just take it away, by force if necessary. What you do next could change your life.”
Their eyes locked and held. She knew no more delays, no reasoning, would keep him safe. Maybe just holding it would calm him down, and the safety was on.
Slowly, she handed it to him.
He smirked.
“You’re a shitty woman,” the 14-year-old snarled.
Her pocket buzzed.

She knew he’d get past the locks, and the platform police would let him back on social media.
“I’m keeping the charger,” his stepmom called out over her shoulder.
Serious longer stuff —
Twisted satire —






