GUNS

Her cousin was a handsome thing—a wild, free, studly dude. She was unusually beautiful and budding nicely since womanhood hit her three weeks prior. He’d befriended her, held her hand through troubled times, read her poetry, enjoyed her art. But on the course of a particularly traumatic night, when her parents—his aunt and uncle—were duking it out, he rescued her. He gave her whiskey, parked on that long-stretched road, draped her over the seat of his red GTO, and raped her. Months later he lost a game of Russian Roulette badly. Oh well, she thought. That’s life.