Lock, Stock, and Barrel

by

Aidhan Farley Astrachan

 

My name is John Bentley. I work in a small gun shop with my brother, James. We both make and fix guns. I don’t really know who my family is. All I know is that I was born in 1652 in Jamestown, Virginia, and my brother was the only other family member that stayed with me. When I was born, my father was not there. I don’t really know where he went. My mother died because of a sickness. I am now 23 years old and my brother is 31 years old.

As I woke up this morning, I could hear a loud banging. I knew that that was my brother trying to fix the musket that we have been working on for three months. I basically gave up on trying to fix it, but it seems as if my brother has not given up. I didn’t want to get out of my little wooden bed. It was nice and cozy under my heavy woolen blanket, but I knew my brother would get angry if I stayed in bed too long. So I reached for my baggy, white, linen shirt and my grey wool breeches. My feet were cold on the wood floor. I pulled on long dark woolen socks. I could see out my little window, there was frost on the ground, so I grabbed my black leather doublet. I pulled on my black leather boots and walked outside. I saw my brother out on the field, trying to fire the musket that we were fixing. The musket still needed some work. When we first got the musket, it was crooked and couldn’t shoot any bullets. Now, three months later, the gun was not crooked, but it still couldn’t shoot bullets. I saw and heard my brother being very angry with himself, and the gun. He was mad at himself that he couldn’t fix the gun, but he was also mad at the gun because it wouldn’t shoot the bullet. These past months, we have been hard at work and we have not gotten much money. We still do live a happy life. We have enough food to feed our bodies, we have clean water, and our work is not too hard. My brother came back into the shop.

“Good Morning” I said.

“Mornin’” My brother said.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Also fine,” I responded.  “How’s the gun?”

“Doesn’t shoot any bullets. It’s gettin’ really annoying.”

“Can we fix it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Can we?” He asked sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that you kind of gave up on fixing the gun!” My brother told me.

“I guess you’re right. I only gave up on the gun cause I didn’t think it was possible that we could fix it.”

“Well, I think that it is possible that we can fix it!” My brother started raising his voice.

“Alright. You don’t have to raise your voice. I just woke up. From now on, I will help you try and fix the gun.” I told my brother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes please. I’m starving”  I said.

“There’s porridge in the pot.”

“What, no coffee.”

“No money for coffee. Coffee’s too expensive.”

“Any raisins?”

“No raisins for you.”

“Fine. Let me know when you fix that gun.”

“Any ideas, smart ass?”

“Check the lock. It seems like you have an ignition problem. I think we need to replace the flint. We’re not getting the appropriate spark.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” James replaces the flint. “Anything else?”

“I know you straightened the barrel, so that should be OK. Check out the stock. It’s a beauty. Carved curly maple.”

“You can do the honors. Let’s go outside and take a shot.”

BANG!

“Lock, stock, and barrel, Baby! Can I go back to bed now?”