G is for Guns

When I was sixteen, my sisters and I went shopping a few days before Eid (the one we celebrate after fasting). I was tired and cranky, and decided to wait with the trolley near the exit while they ran into one last store. I sat down on a bench facing the store and suddenly I heard screaming and gunfire. It was a good few seconds before I realised that I was in the middle of the crossfire, and ducked behind my trolley. I managed to sprint into the store when the firing stopped, and thankfully, none of us were hit. But when I got home, I went to my room and burst into tears.

Ever since that day, I’ve had an issue with weapons. Even if I saw a police officer (trained and licensed to carry a firearm) with his weapon, it caused a mild anxiety attack.

My phobia was cured eighteen months ago. My younger sister decided on a very unconventional “Cowgirls and Indians” bridal shower. There were the usual games and food (but of course) and her fiancé had sent along an assortment of handguns and rifles (these all fired pellets, not live ammunition) and set up targets in our back yard for archery and shooting. I became acquainted with a rifle called Buttons, who helped me get over my fear of weapons.

Last year, for my new brother-in-law’s birthday, we arranged a paintball shooting party and there was a section of the park with metal plates placed at various distances for target shooting. My bro-in-law is anally safety conscious and is a patient shooting instructor, and that day, I discovered that shooting is, within a controlled environment, a great way to relive stress, and that I have quite a skill with a rifle.

I had to wait a few months, but finally managed to purchase my own one.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Loki.