Me and my Brother Loftis came in by the old lady's window. Her hearing aid had quit months ago so we didn't even worry about the smash of the glass. Our arrival kicked up a cloud of dust, kicking Loftis' asthma into a fit. He hacked phlegm onto the festive rug as I looked around. All I had seen of the room before was what the window would reveal.

"I thought it was bigger," Loftis said between gasps and loogies.

"Doesn't matter how big the room is," I said. "All that matters is what we came for."

The bedroom was a time machine that only went to the mid-eighties. A broken flip-clock served as the death date for the former occupant. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling, swaying from a breeze the broken window let in. A shelf full of trophies was mounted above a generic sports-theme bed spread. Next to the trophies was a photo of the kid who had won them. Unlike the rest of the junk in the room, the picture was clean. No dust. The only other object in the room that matched the picture's recent activity was the flowers laid in front of the photo. It was the flowers that changed Loftis' mind.

"We shouldn't be here, Joseph." Loftis protested. Like the parents he mimicked, he only called me Joseph when he was upset. "This kid is dead! We're, like, pissing on his grave right now. Screw the gun, let's just get outta here."

"No, Loftis. We've already come this far; it's easier to finish the job. Do you know how pissed the Brothers would be if they knew we'd come this far and then sissied out?"

"Fine. But you carry it, I want nothing to do with this anymore. It's making me sick."

The way the rifle leaned in the corner reminded me of John Wayne in a saloon door. A bolt-action Ruger twenty-two; nothing special, but the Brothers liked guns. That means we like guns . And for reasons we'll never know, they wanted this gun.

As I lowered the bedsheets Loftis had modified into a sling to carry the rifle, the door across the room from us creaked open. Fear halted all thought processes; the blood draining from my hands into my legs told me to get the hell out of there. The old lady stepped in to the room and gasped as she looked from us to the broken window to the gun I was reaching for.

"You little bastards! Get the hell out of my house!"

Loftis scurried for the window. I grabbed for the rifle. The old lady's hand plunged into her blouse and came back up with a snub-nosed .38 special. I could tell she hadn't used it recently; the recoil knocked her ass to the floor as she fired a slug at my brother. 7.1 grams of lead embedded itself in Loftis' back. He shrieked and fell from the second-story window.

"You crazy bitch!" I screamed. My right hand found the bolt of the rifle and yanked it back. I was surprised to find a brass casing staring up at me through the breech. I jammed the bolt forward and aimed the rifle at the old lady's chest.

Her hand jerked the pistol in my direction, so I squeezed my finger. Her old dinosaur body jumped as the round struck her breast. Deep red began to soak her shirt.

I lept out the window and landed next to my brother. He was laid out on his back, struggling to breathe. He muttered something about not being able to feel his legs. I lifted him onto my back and began walking towards the Brothers' house. I hope to God they'll know what to do.