You have no items in your cart. Want to get some nice things?
Go shopping
His finger slowly navigated the cool smoothness of the barrel, noting the tiny scars from the heat of exiting bullets. Ignoring the click of the trigger or safety that satisfied so many generations before, he wanted to feel where the lead last lived, much the way children centuries ago would stroke arrowheads, summoning their power and mystery, wearing them down to a polished sheen—too primitive to be dangerous or used again. He had heard the stories from elders—of man’s relentless brutality unleashed until the birds sacrificed themselves, falling, falling, awakening us through a ballet of plumed persuasive pain.
About Heather Bourbeau
Heather Bourbeau’s fiction and poetry have been published in 100 Word Story, Alaska Quarterly Review, Duende, Eleven Eleven, Francis Ford Coppola Winery’s Chalkboard, Open City, and The Stockholm Review of Literature. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has worked for the UN peacekeeping mission in Liberia and UNICEF Somalia.
