Random Story

The Gun Courier

TANG!

I squealed as another bullet whizzed past my head, hitting the car by my right. My right arm reaching upward, trying to cover my head, my left hand still gripping the gun case my father asked for. I can still feel the heat of my now burning motorcycle behind my back.

I loved that bike!

Damn my father for having such an eccentric hobby!

All the guns piled at home are starting to attract people who wants to sell them again to the highest bidder. And even knowing that, he still asks his sole daughter to act as a courier to buy more guns for him. I muttered a curse as another bullet barely missed my head.

My breath is getting heavier by the moment, the beanie and shawl I'm wearing started to feel suffocating, the bag on my shoulder, the gun case I'm holding, and the pounch on my hips felt like they're dragging me down. But I didn't stop to chuck them off. I couldn't. I've never been trained for this. Once again I cursed my father.

Amongst the wreckage of a traffic that I made when I was evading the bullets from my shooter on my bike, I saw a taxi. It sat empty horizontally on the road and I jumped across the trunk, dragging the gun case along as I sat down on the other side of the taxi, catching my breath. Guess they're not letting me go that easily, I thought as I eyed the gun case.

Screw this!

My father might kill me if I touch any of his beloved possessions, but I'm not dying in the hands of some unknown shooter. I opened the case and started to assemble the gun parts, the memories where I spent gazing at my father as
he takes apart and assembles the guns at home to wipe them guiding me.

And then I sat there. Completely realizing that in the worst case scenario, I'm going to take someone else's life.

I took a deep breath and cock the gun, then brought it onto the taxi's trunk.

This is so not worth 50 bucks.

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Note: The picture is not mine. It is only used as the story's prompt.