No Loss of Life by Jennifer Fliss
“Do you want me to shoot myself?” My father asked me, thick metal in his thick hand—loaded, I knew. It was always loaded. After one or two drinks, the gun was d...
“Do you want me to shoot myself?” My father asked me, thick metal in his thick hand—loaded, I knew. It was always loaded. After one or two drinks, the gun was d...
Ninety-one percent of domestic terrorists are white dudes, and they even manage to make up eleven percent of the jihadist terrorists overseas as well (yeah, whi...
I had been looking out of the window, just ten feet away. I had been at that spot since they began shooting and I knew I hadn’t moved, turned my head nor blinke...
Now, this gun, slung tight around my neck, is heavier than I thought it would be. And it’s loud. Louder than thoughts of home....
Time really does slow to milliseconds when you are about to die. “SHOOT BACK, SIR!” my driver yelled in panic from his seat behind the steering wheel.
I thought about Columbine. About thirteen dead, two killers, and me, seventeen-year-old me, crouched on the floor of the cafeteria while two of my friends gunne...
After that I guess my old inner city reflexes came into action because I’m saying in my mind, you got my money and you going to rape and possibly kill me, too? ...
“That’s his heart,” they said, needing no answer. It was warm in my hands, the pulsating memory still strong. I had never seen blood so red, not even my own.
I chucked the life of a CEO and civic leader to join the Mobile, Alabama police department. I was 50.
We are real people. We live in the aftermath of violence. We live with the consequences of too many guns and too few regulations. And the story doesn’t end the ...
Congratulations to everyone who submitted to the 2018 Memoir Magazine #Guns and People Essay contest! We thank those who have submitted their personal stories ...
The Second Amendment doesn’t cross your mind as Girlfriend 2 shakes and cries....