Why I Hate Guns
Eliot Spencer hates guns.
Guns are unreliable; guns are too much trouble to use; guns are distraction.
Most of all, guns are too quick for one to suffer.
The first time he ever killed someone he was seventeen.
He dropped out of high school after junior year. He really couldn't see the point of education.
After all, the only difference between a kid from the street and a MIT graduate was that when both of them are pointed with a gun, the former had more chance to survive.
The key to survival in this society was not knowledge. All one needed was a bigger stick.
He really didn't mean to kill the man, but that man tried to rob him with a gun.
The man made one mistake: He stood too close.
He grabbed the gun from the man and pointed it back at him. Without his gun, that man was nothing. He tried to pull out a Swiss knife from under his shirt. Really, all Eliot wanted to do was to stop him, but the gun went off.
That night, he looked at himself in the mirror. He knew something was different.
My name is Eliot Spencer. I've killed a man today. I didn't mean to, but I killed him. And I don't even think it bothers me.
He slept like a baby that night.
In his life he'd done a lot of things. Some good. Some? Not so much.
He'd joined the army. He'd fought for his country. Hell, he'd liberated Croatia.
He'd also killed innocent men, those who rubbed the people he worked for the wrong way without knowing it. He remembered all of them.
Names, dates, locations, the food on their breath, the colors of their eyes, last words they spoke, which of them actually deserved it, which didn't…
He didn't need to remind himself to remember.
He couldn't forget.
Every night, he'd look into the mirror, stared down at the man in it.
My name is Eliot Spencer. I kill people, a lot of people. I thought I didn't care but I was wrong. I can't forget the faces of the people I've killed, but for some reason, I manage to sleep well every night.
The worst thing he ever did in his entire life, he did it for Damien Moreau.
"You up for a job, Spencer?"
"Sure."
"I need you to take down a man, a school principal."
"When and where?"
"What, you don't want to know why?"
"I don't need to know."
"Good. That's why I like you, Spencer."
It was the easiest task he'd ever finished for Moreau. His target was an elementary school principal and was defenseless against someone like Eliot Spencer.
He walked in the school right when students rushed out of the classroom. Afterschool time. He chose this time on purpose. All was chaos. The kids were excited to go home and didn't care if they saw strangers in the corridor. The teachers? Well, adults were not so hard to handle. He didn't need to find an excuse to be here. The teachers would always find a reason to rationalize the situation. That was how people nowadays were. They'd find themselves reasons to something they did not understand. The man must be a friend of the principal. I've never seen him before, but if there's something bad going on about him the others would've stopped him long ago. They didn't like to ask questions, unlike kids.
He knocked on the principal office door and entered casually. After making sure the door was closed behind him, he smiled at the doubtful man and took out his Colt.
"Damien Moreau sends his regards."
The man behind the desk had just started to get terrified when he pulled the trigger. With the silencer attached, the kill was nothing louder than a shush.
He turned around and was ready to leave when he suddenly realize he wasn't alone in this room. There were three boys, none of them older than ten, sitting near the wall. They were shocked by the situation and none of them could even move a finger.
Dammit. He always checked to see if his marks were alone in every kill. Somehow he didn't this time. The mark was such an easy target that he didn't let his guard up.
"Kill every man in your way, Spencer. No witnesses."
He remembered Moreau giving that order on phone. He looked at those kids. They must be the troublemakers in the school to be sitting in this room. He remembered himself sitting in the principal office practically every other week when he was younger. Problems with authorities, he knew that feeling.
He lifted up his gun, those boys were too scared to scream or run.
Pew.
One down, two to go. The first boy was small with blue eyes and brown hair. He would probably grow up to be a handsome fellow.
Pew.
Two down, one to go. The second boy was a bit taller than the first. Brown eyes and brown hair. Somehow he stroke Eliot as the head of the three boys. Even when they were all scared this boy sat the straightest.
Pew.
All down. The last boy seemed to be the youngest among the three, eight, top. He shared the same blue eyes and brown hair as the first boy and all his features also resemble the first boy. It didn't take an Einstein to realize they were brothers.
He walked out of the room and closed the door naturally. Half an hour later when the bodies were discovered, he was already home.
"It's done, Damien."
"Any obstacle?"
"None that I couldn't handle."
"Good. I'll have my people send you the money today."
My name is Eliot Spencer. I kill people, innocent people. Today I killed three little boys. Before they went down they were looking at me as if looking at a monster.
That night, for the first time in his life, he couldn't sleep. He closed his eyes and all he saw were the boys' face. He only slept for half an hour that night.
At least they didn't feel any pain, he told himself.
The second night was better. He still saw their faces, but he managed to get an hour sleep.
Maybe if I haven't shot them they would die from cancer, fire, or whatever slow and painful way to die in the future.
The third night he only saw their eyes: Blue, brown, and blue. He slept for good ninety minutes that night.
Perhaps I've done them a favor. They didn't need to see what I see every day in this world. They didn't need to understand how the world works.
It started to get better. Their faces still haunted him, but he'd got used to them. He, however, could never sleep for more than ninety minutes each day since then.
When Sophie Devereaux said he wasn't that man anymore, he'd actually believed it for a while. He'd believed it for exactly twenty-four hours, to be precise.
Twenty-four hours later he killed more than a dozen people in the warehouse. All of them deserved it.
It was self-defense, he'd tried to convince himself. He was an unarmed man when all of Moreau's men pointed their guns at him. He was an unarmed man who knew how to survive.
My name is Eliot Spencer. I've killed again today. I was just trying to protect my friends. I've killed all of them, with their own guns. They were good, but not as good as me. I don't like guns. I haven't used one long ago, but I haven't got sloppy with it. I've killed again today.
He looked at the Eliot Spencer in the mirror and the man looked back at him. Suddenly he realized he wasn't looking at Eliot Spencer in the mirror anymore. He hadn't been looking at him for years.
He was looking at a monster.
Eliot Spencer hates guns.
Guns kill a person with just a single bullet; guns put distance between him and his victims; guns lessen one's guilt.
Most of all, guns are too quick for the shooter to suffer.
A/N: I've just rewatched the Big Bang Job and the idea occurs to me. I know a lot of people have already done something similar but I do hope you can find my story a bit different. I am new to writing fan fiction so I hope I did it alright. Please, please, please leave a comment. Whether you like it or not, comment so I can improve!