****
Max got up from the bed and walked towards the pulsing red light. Its color was intense in the darkness, and Max was entranced by its glow. He reached his hand out and tried to touch it. His forefinger met the red circle of light, and blocked it out. Max quickly removed his finger, and the light came back into view.
"Don't touch that."
The voice was so cold and metallic that it sent a shiver through Max. He turned around to face the room, and saw no one. He checked under the bed and found no one there either.
"Who said that?" he asked, not sure where to face. No one answered him. "Hello?" he said, a little louder. "Why can't I touch it?" He still got no answer. Max felt a little disappointed. He wanted someone to explain what the little light was. It was so pretty.
"Turn around," said the metallic voice.
Max did as he was told. He expected to see the bright red light again. But it was blocked out by something.
"Where did the light go?" asked Max, walking towards the wall to see if he could find it again. He bumped into something. It felt like a part of the wall had sprung up to hit him. Max looked up, and was staring into the shaft of a gun, its metallic surface glinting in the light of the small bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Suddenly the memory of the gunman and Joe filled Max's mind, and a strange sensation filled his body, making him breathe faster and begin to have a cold sweat. It was fear.
"Hello, Max." The man's voice was the same one Max had just heard order him to turn around.
Max took a few hesitant steps back, unsure of what he was feeling or what he should do next.
"Who are you?" was all he could think to say.
The man stayed in the shadows but Max thought he saw him smiling.
"You ask a lot of questions, Max," he said. "But right now I need to ask you a question."
Max felt a little more relaxed. This man didn't want to harm him. He just wanted to ask a question.
"You see this gun?" he asked, turning it over in the light. Max nodded.
"I've seen it before," he said.
The man smiled again.
"I know, that's what I wanted to ask you about." His voice sounded more cold and lifeless than ever. "What I want to ask, Max, is why guns don't hurt you."
Max thought about this. Hurt him? What was that? Max had no idea what the man was talking about.
"I don't know," Max admitted. "All I know is that guns are bad."
"Why is that?"
Max thought about this. Why had he felt so bad when he saw the gun? Then Joe's face flashed in his memory. His frozen, wide eyed expression had filled Max with the strangest feeling, and he knew that Joe wasn't okay. The gun made him like that. Max didn't know why the gun made Joe act so strangely, but the fact that it did was enough for him to know it wasn't a good thing.
"It just is," replied Max.
"Oh, come now," the man chuckled darkly, "guns make everything a lot easier. Everyone always agrees with you when you have one, and it makes people you don't like go away."
Max remembered how the cashier had been willing to give the gunman anything he desired, just because he had a gun in his hand. Maybe guns were a good thing after all. But something inside Max kept him from accepting that.
"Wait," said Max, looking up at the man's face, half hidden by shadow. "What if the person you don't like is the one who has the gun?"
The man stepped forward from the shadows, and Max could now clearly see the face of this stranger. The yellow teeth that were exposed in his smile looked oddly in contrast to the bright, glinting gun he held in his hand.
"Then, Max, you're sadly out of luck."
***
Also, I know the plot is getting a little....confusing. I've started reworking it and am going to start posting a revised version of the story, and make the chapters less choppy and a little longer. If there's any aspect of the plot that seems like it makes no sense or isn't very realistic, please let me know.
-Tony
