Rated PG; firearms and implications of gun violence
Prompt: Write about a person of object vanishing into thin air
“Have you seen my gun anywhere?”
Mikom rushes into the room. His long hair is in a half ponytail. It was probably a full ponytail 15 minutes ago, but sprinting around the house has disheveled it. Now, black hair sticks out at odd ends and a chunk of it is spilling over his left shoulder, reaching his elbow.
I exhale, snapping out of my thoughts.
“Did you say gun?”
Mikom’s eyes widen. His face is frozen. He pales a bit. He realizes his mistake too late.
“You’ve lost it again?”
I put down my fork, disregarding my eggs. The wooden chair scrapes as I stand up.
“I didn’t do anything! As soon as we got home, I distinctly remember you took it when you saw a scratch on the side.”
Now that he mentions it, it’s true. I saw that his expensive revolver had a scrape running along the side. He tried to hide it, but it was too late. I grabbed it from his hands and inspected it under the light at the front entrance.
“Young man, what is this?”
“It was dropped. But it’s not a big deal! It still works.”
Now, I think about how the gun had been there, in my hands, as I stared at the imperfection, caused by Mikom.
“Okay, so, you had it last night. Did you sneak out?”
Mikom’s scared face morphs into an offended one. He touches his hand to his heart.
“What? I’ve never snuck out, not once! I would never do that. I can’t believe you would ever-”
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
I hold up my hand. He stops what would have been a long rant.
“We have to work strategically if we want to find it. A very expensive weapon.”
Mikom nods, pulling on his hair. This just makes more fall out.
I walk past him, out of the kitchen. He follows right behind me.
“Where have you looked?”
“My room, and Nimad’s.”
I turn to him. “Why would it be in Nimad’s room?”
“I was talking to her last night. I thought maybe I left it there.”
“. . .and you didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “Not as far as I can tell.”
I go left and am in Nimad’s room. I gasp. Mikom held almost no respect for her property. It’s a mess. The bed is unmade, the mattress is askew, the dresser drawers are open. Nimad’s own weapons, stashed under her bed, are now strewn around the carpet.
“Mikom, what is this?”
“Do you want me to find it or not? I was being thorough.”
I turn to him. He’s staring at the chaos he made. He shows no signs of remorse. He is scanning it to see if--by some miracle--his gun appeared there.
“You may have lost something expensive, but it’s hardly Nimad’s fault.”
“It was partly her fault. She distracted me after dinner, when I was getting my gun out. She wanted to show me her new boots.”
I frown at him. “Why did you have your gun with you at dinner? the job took place at noon.”
“I shoved it in my binder after you yelled at me and forgot about it.”
“I didn’t yell at you.”
“Well, you didn’t speak calmly.” he insists.
I curl up my fist in annoyance, but let it out. We have more important things to do at the moment.
“And you checked your room?” I ask.
“Yes, obviously.” Mikom huffs.
“Did you do as good a job as you did for Nimad’s?” I point to the horror within the doorway.
“Of course I did.”
“Well, let’s check again.”
He groans as if he didn’t lose a very expensive ite and I’m not helping him find it.
He needs to be more responsible. He’s only had the thing for 5 months, and already he’s misplaced it. If he does that right before a job, we’ll have to cancel. He’ll have to pay from his cashier earnings to make up for the money. Luckily, we don’t have another hire for a few weeks. If we even find the thing.
We head over to his room. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I. . .need my room to be neat. Nimad doesn’t care.”
His bed is perfectly made. The carpeted floor is clear. His closet is shut, but I’m assuming it’s pristine inside. It doesn’t look like Mikom’ even tried to find it here.
“Did you look here?” I ask. “Be honest.”
Mikom tugs on his hair. “Well, not as good as with Nimad’s, but. . .”
“So, a no, then.”
I roll my eyes. He simply came bursting into the kitchen without trying to find the gun in his room.
I walk over to the wooden dresser and start opening the drawers.
“You need to be careful with your things,” I say, verifying the top drawer is firearm-free.
“I am!” Mikom protests.
“Then how did this happen?”
I do a quick assessment of the bottoms drawer. Only pants and shorts.
“I just got distracted. And it’s in the apartment, so it’s not on the streets for someone to find or anything.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. I crouch as I see that the undergarments drawer doesn’t have anything.
“That’s right. Someone might be able to trace it back to us. You used it at yesterday’s job. Irving Sasey-Uzunlar. What if one of their children found the weapon? They might hand it over to their mother, who might then-”
“Give it to the police.” Mikom finishes.
I check the last drawer, stand up, and make a beeline for the closet. “Exactly. You need to be careful, Mi-mi.”
He bites his lip. “I know.”
I slide open the closet door. You’ll never guess what I find. There it is, on top of a box destined for goodwill. It’s sitting scratch-side up. Other than the previously discussed damage, it looks fine. I hold it up behind me, making Mikom sprint to where I am.
“How did it get here?” I ask.
Mikom takes it, hugging it to his chest.
“I’m not sure. I probably just put it there when I was changing and forgot about it.”
I smile. “This is very costly. If you actually lose it, you’ll have to pay to replace it. You can’t get the new computer. Got it?”
Mikom smiles, kissing my cheek. “Got it. Thanks, mom.”
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