Thursday, March 31, 2011

My Weapon

It started out as just an ordinary day. The sun was high in the sky. Birds were chirping. Merchants were calling out their wares. Shoppers moved through the marketplace, chatting and laughing. And the cops were on my tail.

I ducked behind a fishmonger’s stall, pressing my back up against the side, clutching my Akkir Blaster. This “gun” (for want of a better word) was the only one of its kind, my One True Love. There were so many special features it, that it had taken years to figure them all out – I was certainly the one who knew it best, and it still surprised me at times. I’d had it made for me years back, by a crazy old man off the coast of Nerk.

It was a pity he'd had to die.

The fishmonger, who had been busy with a customer when I had decided to use his booth as a hiding place, finally became aware of my presence.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, drawing an ordinary Rak Blaster from the pocket of his dirty apron, “But may I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Just examining your wares,” I said casually from my place on the ground, “But I just remembered something: I don’t like fish.”

I got to my feet and ran for it. The fishmonger shot after me. Luckily, the police seemed to have vanished. One of the shots following after me grazed my shoulder, burning through my tunic. Throwing myself around a corner, I took a deep breath, glad I had gotten away. Unfortunately, when I looked up, I found where the police had vanished to.

Turning back around, I ran for it. However, the little excursion with the fishmonger had brought me closer to the cops than before. They may have set their lasers on “Stun,” but if they caught me I was going to wish they hadn’t. Lasers flew by me on every side. I ducked behind a pile of crates, but it would only be a second before they caught up with me.

“Nix,” I swore.

Then someone grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into a dark room and shutting the door quickly.

“There you are!” said a woman’s voice very close to me, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” I pulled away.

“What are you talking about?” Suddenly, light filled the little room we were in. It illuminated the face of a woman with long, dark-blue hair, which she had wound into a tight braid, and a worried, pale face. This was not what concerned me. What did concern me was that the light seemed to be coming from a gun… a gun identical to my Akkir Blaster. There could be no mistaking it – I'd had my gun for nearly nine years, and had never let it out of my sight, I knew it like I knew my own face and there it was in the hands of this woman. But… that was impossible.

“Where did you get that?” I asked harshly.

“What’s gotten into you, Scottie? You gave it to me.” She said. Then her eyes fell on the blaster in my hands. “What—how? Oh no.”

“How do you know my name?” I demanded.

“Oh no, you—I mean Scottie—well, one of you is going to kill me.”

“I am Scottie, and I will kill you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. Um, good luck with everything.” She started to scamper out, but I wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. Quickly setting my Akkir Blaster to “Stop," I shot the woman in the back. She stopped running, though still retained most of her ability to move, unlike a simple “Stun,” which makes the victim completely unconscious and therefore unavailable for questioning.

“Oh, Scottie, please, you’ve got to let me go!” she squealed.

“How do you know who I am?” I asked.

“Look, I can’t tell you, honest, I can’t.” She looked frightened.

“How is it that you have my blaster?”

“L-look, if you’ll just let me go, I--”

The door opened. I spun around, expecting the cops. Instead, a man stood, silhouetted against the bright light. “Ginger?” he called, in a terribly familiar voice.

“Oh no,” the woman I had frozen in place groaned.

The man stepped forward, and I could see his face – my face.

“Well,” said the man with my face and my voice, staring at me, “This could cause problems.”


Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "A stranger explains how they have a replica of your weapon." Courtesy of Fantasy Writing Prompts.

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