Silent Scream

She swept in with a sort of truculent grace, balled fists figuratively on hips and jaw metaphorically out-thrust. "I'm doing this thing," she said. "Don't even think of trying to talk me out of it!"

I am perpetually astonished and grieved that people can do these terrible things with righteousness in their hearts and justified certainty in their brains. But they do, they do.

"You are aware," I said politely, "that there is a 24-hour waiting period ..."

"Yeah, yeah," she interjected impatiently.

" ... and the pictures," I continued. "We have to take the pictures, and you have to listen to me as I describe them."

"Sure, sure," she grumbled, a bit uneasily. I cherish the uneasiness.

"If you will just follow me," I began, "the technician can do her work ..."

She stopped suddenly and slammed the piece on my desk. It had carved pearl handles. Double-action single set trigger. Delicately fluted barrel.

"How much do you think I can get for that in a buy-back?" she asked callously.

The barrel screamed, silently.