By J M Jackson
In a final attempt to win over his son to the family business, the father died. The son capitulated, resigning himself to the path of least resistance. The money-hungry devils at the funeral spoke to the son as if he was his father.
Soon, he married. Three children followed. The gun business boomed. Two civil wars made sure of that.
Reaching retirement, he sat in his sumptuous study surrounded by the luxuries of wealth. He stared blankly at the revolver before him. His life had been made from other men’s blood. He would soon spill his own to negate the pain.
A complete story spanning two generations in 101 words? Impossible! Good story and work. Thanks – Jack
I agree with the first commenter. Well done. Nice dark ending.
“His life had been made from other men’s blood.” Thank you for your perception and understanding. I once heard a young man, at a party, say that in any great rebellion there must be much blood. I told him he had no idea what the smell of great quantities of blood is like. I have had it invade my nostrils and I never want to experience it again. The stain never leaves. Even if you were “doing your duty” or merely trying to survive. Some are not as affected as others. As for me, I still fight the demons.