art/life

It was very quiet in the big house on Cypress Street.
Melissa's little hand gripped the handle on the night stand drawer. She was not much taller than the huge king sized bed that stood next to her. The colors in her parent's bedroom were carefully chosen - mauves and creams, and crisp white trim.
Melissa's raven-haired friend Rhonda stood back, holding herself stiffly, as if Melissa were about to unleash a frisky dog. The drawer slid open quietly. Melissa lifted a layer of black cloth, and then lifted the pistol. She held it with both hands, her tiny index finger on the trigger.
"It's so heavy," she said.
Rhonda held her eyes tightly closed.
Melissa pivoted on her socked feet, the gun held out in front of her in her two
pink hands.
When Rhonda opened her eyes the gun was pointed directly at her chest.