I was born in the time of war. There was a rush to build my kind and the need was great. My operator picked me up, and away we went to war. My operator took very good care of me, cleaning, oiling, and we were never apart. We fired many rounds, got full of mud and brush, but I was always well taken care of.
Then one night my operator was hurt and we were sent back to the U.S. I was hung up on the wall right below the American flag and there I stayed for years.
My operator got ill and was taken away. Others came in and took the flag and myself. We were in the trunk of a car with other guns, knives and things I didn’t know about.
One night I was given to a new operator, very young and unable to really take care of me. I was put under a mattress in a bedroom.
I could hear my new operator talking and playing a game on some type of screen. He would swear and say things I didn’t understand like “Die,” “I’ll kill you,” “I’ll show you tough,” “I can take you out if you don’t treat me right, teachers can’t flunk me and get away with it and others will also pay.”
I didn’t understand the game, and at the end a button pushed in and all is back to normal and no one is hurt.
One day I’m put in a backpack with lots of loaded magazines and off we went. I’m taken out of the pack in a bathroom in a large building with lots of young people.
I am loaded, and my operator steps into a hall, screams and jerks my trigger. People are running and falling down.
I know I will be blamed for this, but I can only do what my operator makes me do. I don’t see a button to push to make it all go away.
My operator was shot and killed.
I was taken to a large grinder and came out in very tiny pieces that were recycled into even more dangerous things, cars.