Robert Scotellaro

Gun with a Conscience

In an attic apartment, a man invents a gun with a conscience.  It fits in the hand with a sigh and you can feel it squirm.  He hasn't worked out all the kinks, however.  It still will kill anyone—innocent bystanders: the child, mid-step about to board a bus, the old woman through the wall of her kitchen as she counts her change.  All gunpowder, velocity and intrusion.

Yet still he is hopeful—for the bullets all come out of the barrel weeping.