{ c l i c k } of the { g u n }

[Death]

c l i c k  m e r c e r s o n  -  b r o t h e r  -  a r t i s t

Fear the corners you can't see around. Fear the darkness where who knows what lurks. Perhaps just a metal trash bin, juices from the cooling of night air or whatever shit has been slopped against its side dribbling down its silver surface, flies flicking from their flocks to frequent its offerings of garbage. Perhaps just a stray cat, swiftly silencing its kill with a slice of tooth against neck or the crushing of a little furry body. Cats will turn to look at you, though, and you'll see the glint of eyes staring back at you in the darkness. Perhaps someone used to head you off after you've been pushed to an alleyway by a group of thugs deciding following you and shaking you by your ankles until the last coin clinked to the concrete would be a great idea. The third option had been happening to me too often lately. Too often for my own good because, while a normal could be dropped on their head from their ankles once, I'd be dead by the time my body bent in half and my toes hit the ground, my skull cracked like an egg and quietly oozing crimson. I need to live too much to let something like this happen. I'd already broken a hip from some thugs who wanted to break little Ampere Mercer like the fragile glass bauble he is. I hate feeling weak. I'm sick of feeling fragile. Khaki canvas shoes with their white rubber soles scrape and scuff the street as I walk along. The high-noon sun beams down like a spotlight, heating Panem and her people like they're newborn chicks in an incubator.  I make brief eye contact with a brown haired girl with green eyes that scream "fuck with me and you die."  Sometimes I wished I could feel that tough and that confident. My mother says I have a hell of a sour face when I want to, but I'm not the "tough boy" type. Not yet at least. Until I am, I want something to keep me safe. I want to bring a gun to a fist fight. I don't want to be worried for my life ever again. The chime of a bell as I walk into a little shop, its windows a wide and clear glass that let in the sunlight in square patches, and glance to the front counter. A young man stands there. "I need a gun," I tell him. "A good one. You got something?" A/N: Sorry it's a tad on the short side </3 Hope to get this going  gamemaker kelsier