The Secret

“We have to go to the police.”

As he whispered those words, my brother dropped the gun with a soft thud to the carpet. He backed into the middle of the living room, his face blank with shock. Finally, his eyes met mine.

Tears pooled in his eyes. I saw the start of a sniffle twitch his nose.

“Do we really?” I said, “You didn't know the gun was loaded.”

His lower lip trembled. Tears began to spill down his smeared cheeks. I tiptoed over to the couch and peered over its side into the hole the gunshot had made in the floor. Through the cloud of smoke, I could see that the edges were still smoldering. In fact, I could see all the way down into the basement. Grandpa's “souvenir” gun from the First World War had worked after all.

That's when I noticed that the blast had just missed the area rug. Without speaking, I reached down and yanked the rug over the gaping hole. I threw open the doors and windows. Grabbing a magazine, I started fanning the smoke out of the house as best as I could. My brother snapped out of his daze and went to return the firearm to its hiding place.

An hour later, when our parents arrived home, we were innocently playing cards at the table, ever watchful for their first signs of suspicion. Although dinner was subdued, and my brother begged off of watching TV, my parents seemed blissfully unaware of what had happened.

I sneaked into my brother's room well after our parents were snoring. I stood over his bed until I knew he was completely freaked out.

“You so owe me,” I muttered and turned on my heel to go back to bed.

Word count: 297