Here’s goes nothing (short story in less than 300 words):
“That’s a nice piece,” the man with the Fedora said, handing back the gun.
The two men stood next to each other on an icy bridge, the milky sun setting behind them.
“Yep,” said the other, tucking it away into his waistband. “I’ve always had a sorta closeness to guns.”
“What does that mean?” Fedora scoffed.
The other pulled the gun out again. “I dunno exactly. I guess it’s just . . . I like the feel. A gun tells the truth.”
Fedora guffawed loudly.
The other man continued, clicking the safety on and off. “My Dad never really told me anything but lies, you know? Like every word outta his mouth could just float away and never matter. But a bullet’s a bullet no matter how you look at it. It just comes, and it’s there, and it gets the truth. You can’t escape it, you know? You can really put your faith in a bullet . . .”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard . . .” began Fedora.
The silver barrel was at his head.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” said the man. “The truth can be cold sometimes. Just think, Jerry, one word from this mouth and you’re gone. No denying it. You’ll be dead right here in front of my eyes.”
“Frank, I think I get the point,” Fedora said, his eyes rolling to get a glimpse of the gun.
“Do you, Jerry?” said The Maniac. “Do you really . . ?”
The pistol report echoed across the water, and several geese flew into the dusk.
He was found the next morning with a bullet lodged in his brain, lodged deep where it could tell no lies.