Dylan Davis hails from the suburban streets of Newport News, Virginia. He is currently packing for a move to Seattle, Washington where he can learn to play in rain puddles again. His fiction has appeared in several publications such as In Media Res, Eunoia Review, Magnolia's Press, and The Camel Saloon. Reading, writing, watching French New Wave films, riding his yellow bicycle, and playing Indian Poker is all he does.

Bang (April 20, 2011. Issue 27.)

Pow.

That's how I imagined it to sound.

It was Halloween night, which was unusually cold this year. I was sitting in my car, pretending to shoot passersby with my fingers. I only aimed at the adults who were dressed up like their kids, holding the hands of little pumpkins and farm animals.

The passenger door opened. I returned my revolver to its holster.

"Hey." My breath could be seen.

"Hi." So could hers.

"Did you—"

"Yeah." She looked out the passenger window. Her eyes reflected the light of the fluorescent sign.

"Okay." I turned the key in the ignition; it turned over a few times, but then kicked up.

I was getting used to the idea of it. Or him, or her. Initially, I didn't believe it. It scared the life out of me. Even when I saw the evidence, I made her take the test five more times for assurance. Before this, I thought doing my homework or following curfew was hard to do. It felt like I had walked out on thin ice, and it had broken beneath me. My lungs froze, but I kept breathing.

"Do you want to go home?" I couldn't see her breath anymore. Hope she is still alive.

"No, I don't think I'm ready yet." I couldn't see my breath either. She kept looking out the window, the passing street lights crawling across her glassy eyes.

We decided it was best to do it. She didn't like the idea of it, and neither did I, but it was necessary. We had our entire futures to think about, and this jeopardized everything. No longer did it feel like I'd be going to school in the city of my choosing. No longer did it feel like I'd be going to school. I want to be a writer, and even with my desire for all kinds of experiences this was one I'd never imagined having. Maybe a trip to the Great Wall of China or living out of the trunk of my car during a cross country road trip, but not this. This was a trip to an undesired, unknown destination.

"Do you want to go to Rachel's?" Another one of those costumed adults. My revolver beckoned me.

"Yeah, that'd probably be for best." The barrel of my gun let off a cool smoke.

I had named it. Cole. Or Margot if it was a girl.

"I'm sorry." I used the grip of my firearm to put the car in park.

"It's not your fault Ben." She opened the passenger door and looked at me. She wore a scarf around her neck; it made her black shoulder length hair look longer than it was.

"Still." I could see her breath again; it gave me a crooked smile, the assurance of it all. "Tell Rachel I said hi."

"I will." She gently closed the passenger door, and shoved her hands in her coat pockets.

I took out my trusty revolver. As she walked away I looked down the sight, and let off a round. The only thing that came out was a white flag, like the ones in the cartoons I watched as a kid. The flag read "Bang".