The first thing I remember when I pick up my old rifle was its kick. And then I remember its smell, a mixture of my father’s gun oil and the gun powder used in the bullets and the old leather from the sling. Even though there shouldn’t be a distinction, there is. My gun smells different than other rifles. Read more.
When I was six years old, I fell into a coma. I was out for about two weeks, but when I awoke I discovered several things: 1. A packet of letters and flowers from my kindergarten classmates wishing me to get well. 2. A room full of strange doctors. 3. My memories had disappeared. 4. My voice had disappeared. Read more.