A Gun in the Wrong Hands
I led the way, my friend, Jill, trailing behind me, as we breached the sanctity of my parents’ bedroom. Tiptoeing to the bed, I pulled back the spread, then removed the pillow, proudly displaying a silver-trimmed revolver. Jill rushed over, arms outstretched, and grasped the gun in her small hand. “Nooooo,” I screamed. A gun … [Read more…]
