Testimony
The brass cartridge slid into the cylinder with the delicate click of metal on metal. The clear, resonant sound did not fill me with satisfaction, only purpose. Another cartridge slipped into place, then a third, a fourth and a final fifth.
I gently flicked the well-oiled cylinder into the receiver. The sound was calming. The ratcheting clicks as I spun the cylinder filled my ears with potential. Yes, potential. I cocked back the hammer and laid the revolver across my arm, pointing the barrel at a can of processed ham. Anything else would draw attention, attention that I did not want. Canned ham would just have to be enough.
An hour later, I was on the streets, walking, seeking the masters. Our new gods. They were everything that the people could have prayed for. All-powerful, all-knowing, and intrusive in every way, yet loved. I sought out a master, a self-proclaimed god walking among men. Just one god walking among men.
The weight of the revolver was comforting. Solid metal was a change from the lightweight materials that I usually held. As a builder, I welded the plastics and composites used in making houses. Metal in my hand was novel. It was power. Limitless power. Power of fire and bone. Foolish power that filled my hand with the desire to meet a living god walking the streets.
I knew him when I saw him. The walking god was insanely beautiful, tall with black hair and eyes. The hammer cocked. I could tell that as he was in my mind. He did not see me, yet he saw it coming. He knew that his death was on my mind, but he just did not believe it was possible. My hand drew upward holding the revolver. He thought it an obscene joke, an animal’s fantasy. My hand pointed in his direction. He looked at me and laughed. My defiance was inconceivable to this self-proclaimed god that walked among men.
“Why bother?” he must have thought. It was beyond his imagination that an animal would oppose him. Violence was discouraged. Violence was channeled. Violence was forbidden. I channeled my violence, to do the forbidden. And I would not be discouraged.
Flesh parted and bone splintered. Lead ended thought as the slugs penetrated the grey matter of a god walking among men. I was alone in my mind, suddenly, deathly alone. Two, three, four slugs of lead left the barrel. Each piece of lead punched a fresh, bleeding hole into the can of processed ham. Fat and juice leaked out from the punctured metal of the god walking among men. One cartridge remained in the chamber for my own sorrows.
Just another can of processed ham. Just another dead god walking among men.
Hallelujah.
Was that how the revolution began?
Hallelujah.
Just another dead god lying at the feet of men.
Hallelujah, hallelujah.
Amen.