Rachel Has a Gun
An Inner City Short Story
Rachel sits in the hard chair nearest the door, long legs stretched out. As she listens, one hand toys with brown hair spilled over her shoulder. Violence in the air tonight. Four cold walls, vinyl floor covered with a circular braided rug. Two sofas. Two chairs. Six women.
The brunette named Hazel digs red nails into her palms. Head down, eyes closed. Short hair, dark frown for last week, her thirtieth birthday in the psych ward at St. Paul_s. Her head jerks and she glares at Alice on her right. _You ever want to kill a man with a gun?_
...Rachel has a gun.