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Before I could beg her to stop, my mother had ripped the drawers straight out of my dresser and began to rifle through them. With each scratching noise she made as she rummaged through my things, I could feel my throat constrict. I screamed at her, grabbed her arm and started to cry. But she would not stop. Not until she found exactly what she wanted, strike me across the face, and find a reason to kick me out.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 10.30.2015
I’ve never lived in the US, but it seems people there are just so obsessed with their guns; rifles. Weird. Scary.
By frei on 10.30.2015
Never been much of a shooter. Never held a gun. Always wanted to though. Well, sometimes. Sometimes when I encounter a particularly rude, ignorant person, I imagine shooting them in the head in my head. No, that’s a lie.
By inchingastray on 10.30.2015
I used to practise rifle shooting when I was younger.
You had to be calm and focussed in order to be successfull.
By BR on 10.30.2015
He fired the rifle once. He fired again. The big Skeleton wasn’t losing a beat, bearing down on him hard.
The Skeleton King dispatched the rifleman with his cutlass. The rest of the infantry dropped their arms and scattered like so many cats.
By Rover on 10.30.2015
I rifle through drawers and papers. I’ve never shot a rifle. The word rifle sounds like kind of a silly, whimsical word, unfitting for something with the potential to end life.
By Angel Gage on 10.30.2015
I slubg the rifle over my shoulder and slammed the door behind me shut I stopped down the hall draped with smelly old red carpet I heard her coming and the I knew it was over
By Djj on 10.30.2015
Does rifle mean gun?
What is this word?
Can it be violence or something else
What is the meaning of this
Something that means problem
By Leslie on 10.30.2015
Rifles were never my favorite tool, and that is what they are a tool. They just hurt people physically and mentally. If you give a man a rifle he will have the feeling of power.
By freedom on 10.30.2015
someone had brought a rifle to the fair. right in front of that stand, with the fake one. the guy with the stand just looked stunned.
“yours is rigged,” the rifle chick said, and her boyfriend nodded, like he was pulling strings and covering up. “I can prove it. And I’ll get that tiger.”
The stand guy just blinked, unsure about what to say to that weird old lady with flowers braided in her hair and a dangerous loaded weapon shaking in her crispy hands.
By thefrenchcrayon on 10.30.2015
it was well past midnight, and the young man had been standing guard for over six hours. The dark called.
He looked at his sister, asleep in her bedroll, her hair still golden despite the pale moonlight. he frowned. he should have woken her hours ago, but she hadn’t slept for days.
the dark called louder.
the young man’s eyes drooped for just a moment… as he snapped back up, his skin went ice cold.
there were howls.
they were close.
they were getting closer.
By Benjie on 10.30.2015
Bring it close to the eye, squint down the sight. Target is stretches away, and you only have the magnified scope to guide your shot. One chance — blown, it gives away your cover, but nailed…
By Ashi URL on 10.30.2015
Reminds me of Old Yeller. I don’t know anything about guns and have no desire. It makes me sleepy and bored to even write about this. So I’m going to shift my perspective and write about the verb “rifle.” Like I’m going to rifle through the toy room and clear out some clutter. That’s a bit better. Bonanza. Old West. That’s all I got.
By Corinne Grimes on 10.31.2015
Shoot with the rifle, kills the young boy that will become national news for everyone to see. How sad how the world thinks it’s his fault but not the fault of the mad man holding the gun. A shame I say. A shame. Society is corrupted.
By Joy on 10.31.2015
She held the rifle in her hands and felt so powerful. Like she could decide who lived or died, who felt pain and who felt joy. And most importantly, she could decide whether she had to continue to feel pain, or to just end it all.
By Nikkie F. on 10.31.2015
Cuando vio el rifle pensó en disparar a la primera persona que viese por la calle que llevase camiseta de tirantes. Tan convencido estaba de ello, que lo agarró con fuerza, salió a la calle, y no vio a nadie. Qué decepción… Comenzó a caminar, sentía rabia con el mundo, por ello, iba a hacerlo. Iba a disparar.
By David on 10.31.2015
I pulled things out of the drawer carefully, moving objects to the side, making as little noise as possible. The party continued at a quiet roar outside the bathroom door, but something could happen at any moment to draw focus away from the distraction. I didn’t have much time.
By Bridget Grace on 10.31.2015
He tried to reload but the magazine slipped from his sweaty, shaking hand. His head was throbbing. His back was against the half broken drywall and he could hear the shambling footsteps of the walker coming ever closer.
That walker used to be Kyle, he thought.
The rifle was clean, hardly used. They kept it in the house, and used to joke, about how good it would be if zombies ever came. A custom built AR-15, heat shield, rack mount laser sight, extended magazine, the whole thing was carbon fiber, could hardly be seen in the dark of night.
He wished he had a shotgun.
By Mark on 10.31.2015
The last round clicked into place. A drop of blood that had pooled at her side, sticky against her skin, fell from the shirt. She fired. She hit it. But it didn’t stop coming for her.
By Marcane on 10.31.2015
“So beautiful. So elegant. So…metallic.” The man said as he creepily
By Bradley on 10.31.2015
It hated the rifle. It wanted it to die more than anything. It caressed the barrel with its mouth, its tongues sliding down it and tasting the bullets at the breech. It felt a slight thrill, a tingle, a moistening of its undersides. It pulled the trigger, and refused to die.
By micamo on 10.31.2015
I hate the sound of someone rifling through papers or through a bag of chips. It makes me nuts. I do not hate however the sound I make whilst rifling though papers and what not. It is all perspective. I feel very important when I do it, I feel like I may be accomplishing something. Of course when you do it I feel like you’re just trying to irritate me to the point of insanity.
By Marcella Termini on 10.31.2015
The thing moved fast, too fast for something that was supposed to be dead. With a half-rotting face dangling to its shoulder, it croaked in warning. Candice fumbled back, heart in throat and her hands sweating against the trigger. At 5’2 and 120lbs soaking wet, she knew either the undead thing or the kick from the rifle would hit her. It was still approaching, so she pulled the trigger.
By Soft URL on 10.31.2015
The rifle fell from her hands.
“I promised not to hurt you.”
By nobody on 10.31.2015
I caught her in my bedroom, rifling through my sock drawer, ” What are you looking for, a gun?””I know you’re into the drugs!” “What? Mum, no, why would you think that?” “You’re moody and wild and you don’t shower often enough.” “I am a teenager, that’s kinda how we roll.” “That’s just it! That’s exactly it! I don’t want you rolling anything!” “Mum, get out of my room. Please.”
By BeccaJean on 10.31.2015
Gimme a rifle
and I’ll shoot a hole
in your story.
I’ll riddle your
theory with bullets &
leave you sitting on a log
without a tale to
a big white lie
on your tongue.
By dinamspice URL on 10.31.2015
He grabbed his rifle of the mantle and sat in a dark corner trying to relax his breath. It was almost here and he hoped it just moved on by. Just don’t make too much noise or it will know he is here. His hands shook and he was on the verge of tears. This can’t be it, he had spent years surviving without being noticed, now isn’t the time to be discovered. He heard the snorts and grunts of the creature sniffing around and trying to find its next prey, then it got quiet. Really eerily quiet. It found him.
By Amanda on 10.31.2015
I think of the American Revolution. Rifle is such an old-fashioned word. Where I’m from, we don’t talk about guns a lot, rifles included. I don’t see a need for a rifle nowadays, even for hunting. I don’t even know why hunting is a sport for some people.
By Mary Dawson on 10.31.2015
She raised the rifle and pointed it at him, her whole entire body trembling. Sweat formed on her forehead as her eyes looked cautiously at him, her heart beating a thousand times more than usual. Aurum could not believe what was happening; she was scared and terrified at how easy someone she trusted so much could turn out to be the biggest danger in her life. With the rifle still pointed at him, she gritted her teeth, trying to bring her fingers to pull the trigger albeit she couldn’t. Maybe it would be easier to do it if only he was someone that didn’t hold a big chunk of her heart, maybe it would be easier if only she had never known him like she did.
By Randompeepur on 10.31.2015
Her Daddy kept the rifle behind the door but until that first time a boy came to pick her up for a date, she had no idea why. He let him inside and slowly closed the kitchen door, He stood beside the door, arms folded across his chest and glared. She hated being the youngest.
By weakmoments on 10.31.2015
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.