You are the owner of a magic backpack; every morning you stick your hand in and it contains exactly what you need for the day. One morning it contains a gun.
The backpack was a gift from your grandmother. It had saved her life more than once during WWII, and when she passed it on to you she explained that it had four specific rules.
“Regardless of whether you’ve put anything in the bag, the first thing you pull out each morning will be the item you need most that day. Items pulled out only last for 24 hours before disappearing. You never have to use an item, though there are always consequences for ignoring the bag’s help. And one day you will pull out a slip of paper with a name on it. That is the person you must pass the bag on to. The bag will never work for you again after that point.”
She gave you the bag when you were twelve and for seven years you pulled out an item every morning. Most days it was something simple, like a pen or pair of sneakers. Once you pulled out a rubber chicken (that was an interesting day).
It’s a bright spring day when you pull out a gun. You stare at the weapon in disbelief. Why would you need a gun? You’ve got a test in Anthropology 110, and an essay due in English 110, your younger brother needs you to drive him to pick up his car (’cause it got towed), and your girlfriend’s play is opening that night. None of which would ever make you think you need a gun.
Published
Time's Vengeance 