George Marley did not have a gun. He had envy... in a way that longed for the hips to carry a gun. He did not have a gun, but he longed for that tough and stern lead lighter for the pure lust of holding the intent to kill. He wanted to have a life that did not so much resemble the dream of running in place while the chaser closes in quick. He wanted to have a deep voice and small eyes. He wanted to walk in the desert, without water, without fear. He stared at the gun in the pawn shop window, and dreamed. "I could do a lot of good with that gun" he thought in his subconcious. Somehow to do himself a game of chance might straighten his spine if only he had one. He imagined his encounter with the broker to purchase the gun "ah... I want the 9mm... not that I'm going to kill someone, but... hey hey. just joking... I mean I would never" Then the broker would ask him to leave. It was this kind of self dialogue that prevented him from doing many things, but today was different. He went into the pawn shop forthwright. He pretended to look at some old drills and then at the jewelry rack. He particullarly eyed a giant diamond studded necklace that displayed the word PHAT. He focused on the P while he decided how he would ask about the gun. The woman sleeping in her chair proped in the corner. As George approached her, he noticed that she was not asleep only very still. She looked to be in her 70's and had the attire to match a steriotype nicely. As he came closer, a shout rang out from behind. "I want all the jewelry... PUT IT IN THE BAG!" George turned despite his intuition. A tall stick figure of a man in a red shirt and scrapy cut-off jeans charged the front counter. The woman began to move and the man took from his side a 9mm and began shooting the woman in the stomach. She did not make a noise as she fell from her stool. The man passed George and began breaking glass with the gun to stuff the jewelry in a blue duffle bag. George eyed the 9mm. The man grew fearful and grabed a last handful of gold for the road swiftly exiting the pawn shop. George followed and looked out the door, where he saw a man in brown slacks and a golf shirt come from behind a corner and grab the theif lifing his red shirt over his head and punching the man until he colapsed, spilling the jewels all around the alley. George began to walk towards the action. immediatly, the man came after George and began to punch at his cheek. The blows were swift and numbing. After a few good punches, George fell and began to cry. The man punched George one last time knocking him out cold. As he awoke, he saw the abuser in the distance. In his hand was a bag of jewels and the 9mm. The theif was gone. George stood up, dropped the jewels and gun, and walked toward home uninterupted.
