Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came, or: A Catechism

by jmiland1 Wed Jun 10, 2009 8:54 pm

After leaving the Circle, Joshua sat in his car, plotting out the best route to get to the Museum so he could pick up Ollie and Ryan. As he thought, his hands idly pulled one of the pistols from his shoulder rig, and he checked it over as if on autopilot. When he realized what he was doing, he just looked at the gun, admiring its design. The rubber in the grip, perfect angles of the steel, the lineup of the sights. The heft in his hand felt natural.
When he was 19, he'd picked up a book simply because of the title. Joshua had never read any of this author's works before--he'd never thought they'd be worth the time or have any sort of practical value--but he'd ended up reading the entire series that this book kicked off.
They were... good, not great. Not really his thing, but sometimes, there were passages that described shooting in a way that felt very True to him. True, in a way that was almost Supernal; a touch of some Reality that the Abyss couldn't take away. They made his gut tingle and the hairs on his arms stand up.
He'd memorized one of these passages, and recited it to himself now, quietly, as he held the handgun:

I do not aim with my hand. He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my eye.
I do not shoot with my hand. He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.
I do not kill with my gun. He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.

He finished murmuring the words to himself. Trying hard not to think about all the killing that his heart wanted, he slid the gun back into his holster and started up the car.