The old man pulled the small gun from his pocket and studied it in his hands. He felt its weight, balancing it in the palm of his open hand. So much power, he thought, for such a small object. He sat on the bed and looked at the picture of his smiling wife on the oak dresser. “Soon, honey.” He whispered to her. The picture of their twenty year old son sat next to it. “Soon.” He raised the gun slowly to his open mouth until he tasted its metal tang. His finger, steady on the trigger, pressed down. Now.