Girl (rifle)

Her love was lying prone on the grass, an enormous rifle wedged beneath her. The breeze held itself still, and suddenly flame burst from the end of the rifle. The girl (rifle) shuddered once. There was the ghost of what looked like a brass cartridge flipping through the air. The eye could follow it like a magician’s feint, but it faded into nothing at its apex. A faint rustle marked where it should have hit the grass.

Something exploded in the distance. Her love grunted in satisfaction as she stood up, her tattoos shining brilliantly in a trail from her trigger finger to somewhere under her shirt.  Both the girl and rifle seemed to breathe together. They were at home, even though their physical differences denied compatibility.