My Gun, Part 1

“Big Bro?”

The rifle was already aimed. This small can at the back of the range always gave the most points, so that’s what a skilled player shoots first.

“Be quiet. You’ll break my concentration.”

This shooting range had less traffic. It meant more suckers who hadn’t heard of the crack shot who’d bet you for everything owned and take it in less than a minute. It also meant less crowds. And less crowds was always, always a good thing.

“Start shootin’!”

The owner of the cheap game rang his bell, watching the teenager mop the floor with the challenger on the other side.

“What the-“

The opponent that day was mean and hairy. As gullible as they get, the gunslinger thought. The man was freaking out by now, his ego weakened. Please just hand over the money. Please just hand over the money- that’s all the betting child could ask for.

“You’re a cheater if I ever damn saw one.”

His breath rank, he probably ate the same trash the two of them did. He just had the cash to afford a lot more of it.

“Bet’s a bet. Pay up.” Fighting anxiety, the gunslinger stuck a palm towards the man.

He shoved his hand in his pocket. But it wasn’t a wallet he pulled out.

“H-hey!”

The sore loser didn’t hesitate to drive his brass knuckles into the teen’s stomach. The game operator got up immediately, but only to call staff over. He couldn’t deal with this himself. Neither could Saint.

“Big Bro!”

The man noticed the little boy behind the grounded, coughing, crying shooter, and scoffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re this kid’s brother? You wanna be a role model, how about you learn to take a punch first, sissy.”

“A-are you okay?”

Saint tried to communicate- but as the losing shooter left, his caretaker wouldn’t say so much as a word to him.

Walking the park was an exercise in deprivation.

All the food stands, gift shops, and attractions… and less than once a week would they make use of any of them.

Saint wasn’t sure how he was supposed to take it, the sight of everyone else running to the crowded spots like watering holes, free for use. All that kept him going was the never-changing, never-feeling face of his sibling as the two marched on. With that by his side, he could muffle it. The want for material possessions, or some permanent home. The hunger for food. The entitlement, worst of all- the belief that he deserved to be as happy as these other kids he saw, who came here for fun. More than anything else, that was the hardest paining itch to mute.

Still, he’d manage. He always would, because the gunslinger by his side was doing the same thing every single day. He managed.

Until he saw that machine.

He stopped moving when he found it. With no other kids to take up the space around it, he felt like it was speaking to him. The claw machine was old, and unwanted. Inside, things were no different- just a few cheap, undesirable toys. But they looked special to him- a reminder of his own image.

Even so, he dared not ask for one. Before he even could, he felt the tired, shaking hand on his shoulder.

“Give up on what you want. We hardly have time for what we need.”

“But…”

“I don’t like to see you like this. We can go on some cheap ride later, okay? At least that’s guaranteed to give you what you pay for. We don’t have cash to waste.”

“We can?” He jumped, all the uncertainty leaving him for a moment. “Even…”

“No. Not that one.”

“Why? Why can’t we go in the House of Mirrors anymore?”

“…Like I said… we- don’t have the cash.”

“B-but-“ Saint tried not to cry in front of his stronger counterpart, but it was becoming very hard not to for such a young boy.

“H-hey.” He didn’t notice the sheer desperation in the shooter’s voice then. “I’m… sorry. I really am. Look, we’ll- how about you and I go on the Ox Snake instead.”

“R-really? I- thought you said we couldn’t go on that one! Isn’t it… didn’t you say it wasn’t safe enough?”

“It’s free, so… if you wanna go, let’s go.”

“Thanks… thank you so much!”

The hollow siblings made their way to the most important ride they’d ever take.