Careful Wishing

Everywhere I go someone has one and I'm getting pissed off, I want one too. They are beyond cool, they ooze war movie and my patience wears thin. I find discarded paper work, empty cups and trivial parts of other lives but not what I want.

It is raining when I find one. Heavy drops of water splash onto the wood and metal and I no longer want it. I take off my helmet, my hair has been crushed flat into my skull and I run my hand through the stiff matted clump.

Rain drops splash onto the Kalashnikov. Little puddles pool on the butt and the barrel gleams. The dead man holding it is wet and ugly. He has buck teeth and is fat, and rain gathers on his face.

His cold fingers grip the weapon but his legs have gone. Pink and brown worms are all that are left now. I kneel down and touch the rifle I wanted so much. Its owner ignores me. Death is complete.

I walk away from my prize, wet boots in the mud stick and pull. I look back and the dead man gathers rain. I am cold and no longer want a new gun. I want it to end, I want to go home. My spade bites into the wet sand and rifles rust as men decay..