The Ritual

A quick snap of the wrist opened the cylinder; shells dropped out as he tipped it back and spun the chamber. After checking the shells, He dabbed oil onto a rag, and wiped the gun down, working dirt from the elaborate engravings. Steven completed the ritual, working the brush through the barrel fifty times; a hundred on days he fired. Replacing the revolver in its holster, he drew its twin and began the ritual anew. Every evening, his routine soothed him; the smooth motion of cloth on metal, the soft sound of the brush in the barrel. It was peace.