Chico

At an age earlier than three, Chico would manage to get his hands on a gun. Living in a household that saw protection in owning firearms, his parents would be stunned when their toddler found one, and on that day, mixed feelings would begin brewing as the child toyed with the weapon with innocent curiosity. Where his mother expressed horror and great concern, his father saw this and smiled down at the young boy. With a look of indescribable friendliness in spite of his serious tone, he would make one demand, "Can you promise daddy you'll never pull that trigger?"

No matter how tempted Chico was to understand what pulling the trigger did, he kept his promise. Though to his mother's great dismay, his father allowed their child to indulge in his otherwise morbid, holding and playing with guns like they were toys. As he grew older, his father would tell him that on his thirteenth birthday, he would show him what pulling the trigger would do; and from then on would he look forward to that, and of course, continually met with a reminder whenever he asked about it.

His father believed there was something special in the boys interest, claiming there was no wrong in his curiosity as long as Chico practiced safety. Into adolescence, he would remain close by the boy's side and teach him how to fire a handgun. Aim for the center of the target, he'd tell Chico, and with his first shot, the recoil would land him a black eye to be remembered since that day. Nevertheless, he loved going out to the range and practicing with his father. Where his mother moped with disgust over the support of such morbid wonder, his father handed down all the lessons he could to his dear son.

One day, tensions boiled to a new all time high as a heated argument rose one evening. In anguish, the mother vented immense concern in the way Chico was being raised, expressing that he should have participate in normal activities for boys his age—such as having friends or playing outside. Her frustration brewed when her husband retorted with indifference in return, arguing their boy was free to spend his time however he wanted and that was his choice. The whole time Chico watched from the crack of a door, no other emotion on his face except surprise.

Unfortunately, this would only foreshadow a great tragedy as Chico neared adulthood at almost 17. Arguments grew more frequent as marital strains eventually met their peak when in the heat of an argument, his mother would fatally shoot his father. Once again met with surprise, Chico happened upon his weeping mother as police sirens rang outside, watching his family shatter in an instant—from a single shot. However, he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't do anything but stand there with shock in his eyes.

Following after was a trial, Chico would stand as a witness and watch his mother sentenced to life in prison. It was an accident she pleaded, though it would be seen as a murder in the heat of passion. Thrust early into independence as he returned home and was offered financial help from the state to satisfy the needs no longer handled by his parents, life grew quiet in his house. Remaining was the pistol that brought about the silence, yet also his earliest curiosity. Its sight wouldn't make him sad, however, simply reminiscent.

For some years after, he would regularly visit the grave of his father, striking up conversations with himself as if he were visiting him there. Everyone around thought he had a strange way of grieving—comparing it to a lack of disbelief, or inability to move on. Apathetic? Maybe he was. Lost? He seemed so.

"...My father taught me to be the best gentleman! And to know how to treat a lady right!"

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✪ Fact in spotlight

• Has a hyperfixation on guns to a degree that others may consider a bit odd; for example, you could ask him any kind of question relating to guns and their history and he'd inform you like an excited child explaining their favorite interest.

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