The Magnificent Toy Gun

787 Words4 Pages
I walked in and took a left, taking my usual walking course around the aisles. I started at the model cars of Dodge Vipers and Lamborghini's. Took a right at the outdoor toys section, golf sets, Frisbees, baseball bats, and footballs, glancing and imagining what I could do with them. Not quite impressed, I walked down the aisle, slowly, waiting for something to catch my eye. Surely there is something in this heavenly toy store for a six year old boy to go madly insane over. I took another right perusing around and behold, my head had not fully swiveled before I saw the most magnificent and glorious toy. In an essay written by Anwar Accawi entitled The Telephone, the author dismally and sadly states, “I am still looking for that better life”. This quote so perfectly contrasts the way I felt because I was reacting as if I just found what Accawi was still looking for, that better life. I stood in front of this beautiful toy and admired the orange and blue tiger stripped fresh paint. This magnificent toy gun was bright with colors that stood out like a sore thumb, perfect for the imaginative warfare I conjure in my mind. It had a full stock, complete with a permanently attached clip that I tried for a few minutes to remove. I picked up this beast of a machine gun still attached to this god-awful, awkwardly rigid box. It felt so restrained; I needed to let it out. Squeezing the trigger produced images of cops and robbers dancing in my mind as I listened to the chirping sound of the repetitive, “click, click, click”. My mom quickly caught up with me as I was holding this machine gun over my head in anticipation of showing my friends there was a new Sheriff in town. My younger sister trailing behind my mom with the usual Barbie in... ... middle of paper ... ... on the driveway as each one of us took turns sipping from my water-hose. I was facing the ground with hose in hand gulping water when I faintly heard my dad say that he was going to run to the store and he would be back shortly. Then I heard it, a sound from a horror movie echoed through our cult-de-sac. It was a sound that no young boy should ever hear especially compared to the joy that was felt earlier. I heard a loud crunch, pop and a crack. My dad was backing over my toy in the driveway. Immediately I started screaming for him to stop, a flash flood of tears poured down my cheeks. How could this happen, this soon, I cried to myself. My sense of joy, my confidence, all the praises I was receiving was gone. My summers of boosted confidence and nights of fun with my friends were now gone. Oh, how quickly our material possessions leave us faster than they meet us.
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