i open the case, my rifle inside
Twenty rounds, semi-automatic.
I load them ten at a time, slide them in with ease
I see my targets, level the crosshairs.
magnified by four.
Breath stops to steady the sights.
On the exhale, I hear my hearbeats.
Squeeze, not pull. Don't expect the recoil.
And so it goes, the lever is pulled.
The reaction begins with a person.
Inside, the lever trips, kinetic energy moves the pin forward.
Striking center, the brass indents show.
miniature explosion sets up a flash fire.
Release comes by way of movement.
The lead and copper, 7.60 milllimeters thick.
the shape shifts, the gasses follow.
As they travel through the tube, the bullet spins.
The friction causes this; the effect, a straight path.
Nearing the end, some gasses defect to a new tube, this one leading to a rod.
They push against the rod, sliding it backwards against its spring.
Finally they escape through the release valve at the end of this tube.
Pressure is lost, the steel returns to its former position.
A new round is chambered.
Meanwhile, the bullet and remaining gasses leave the barrel.
The brake does its job as some gasses defect upwards.
THis equalizes the force of the barrel, which now hops less.
The bullet, now free, travels downrange.
Open air for now.
The target grows near, not expecting.
The conical tip pierces the surface.
Passing through the pulp, ripping it to shreds.
Exits. Damage done.
Loosely hangs the target, not moving.
Millions of time this is repeated.
Maybe even someone you know.
I have been involved more times than I can count.
I am the shooter.
Yet I have never killed a person.