Fourteen year old Clark knew where his dad hid the pistol, but had never thought to looked for the weapon, until today. His new friend, Merle Webster, was all about guns. Clark let slip that his dad had a Colt .45, and right away Merle wanted to see it.
That afternoon after school the two boys went to Clark’s home. The house was empty. Clark carried a chair into the parents bedroom; standing on it he extracted an old cigar humidor buried under some folded blankets. The box was heavier than Clark expected. The weapon was wrapped in a handkerchief.
Merle reached for the box, “Here, let me see it.” Merle extracted the loaded clip. “Now it’s safe,” he said. Merle, and then Clark, waved the weapon around the room pointing at odds and ends. Clark sat on the chair, examining the .45 in his hand. He pulled the trigger. The explosion from the bullet in the chamber was loud in the bedroom.
“Oh my god,” Clark said, dropping the pistol, then looked at his left hand where a hole in the palm of his hand appeared.