Warrior

Chapter 2

    I woke up at about 5:25 am this morning. A bit later than normal, but hey, we all need our beauty sleep right? My alarm was just you average loud, blaring nuisance that I had grown to detest. The off button was broken on the clock so I had to roll myself out of bed, unplug the damn thing, plug it back in and reset it. I would buy a new clock, but this is a surprisingly good way to wake yourself up in the morning. I walked out my door and into the bathroom. A quick flick of the switch and my vision was taken by the bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling. After wincing and rubbing my eyes, I looked in the mirror. I honestly was always proud of my appearance, even when I was completely out of shape. I ran my hands under the faucet and splashed some water up into my face. A quick refreshment to start off the day. I reached over and turned the shower on and sat by it to wait for the water to heat up . The benefit of sleeping naked is that you don’t have to waste time getting undressed before a shower. You just walk right in. The water only takes a few seconds anyway. I’ve always had the strangest habit of whistling in the shower. I never knew why. It was never really an actual tune. It was just something I did.

After a nice shower and getting dressed, I sat down on the couch and flipped the TV on and to the Outdoors channel. Here in Montana, hunting and fishing are huge. I didn’t need to be to work by seven so I just settled in for some relaxment. I lazily walked over to the pantry and grabbed a small pastry out for breakfast.

“Why the hell do I get up so early?” I quietly muttered to myself as I plopped back down on the couch.

After a bit more time in front of the TV and several pastries wolfed down, I got up and walked outside. It was summer so it was a nice crisp morning. A cool breaze wafted over me as I walked down the steps towards my truck. I’d had the same truck my whole life. A 2004 Dodge Dakota that I had gotten from a friend of the family back when I lived in Colorado. A gas guzzler sure, but it seated six people comfortably so I couldn’t complain, not like I drove far anyways. Another great thing about Montana is its gun-friendly population. I had a Glock 22 handgun on my hip almost everywhere I went, completely exposed, and no one thought anything of it. Probably because everyone else has a gun on them though. I set my Glock on the console next to me in the driver’s seat and started up the engine. I loved the sound this truck makes. A nice throaty rumble. Sounds a lot better than my neighbor’s Fiat. Pulling out of the apartment parking lot, I met a wall of fog.

“Oh for the love of god.” I lamented. I liked fog, but driving through it when it’s this thick is nerve racking to me.

I slowly pulled into the parking lot of my job. I was a gunsmith for an old friend of the family at his shop, Twisted Wire Tactical. It paid really well and I worked with things I loved. I’ve been shooting and working on guns since I was six so over 20 years of experience has made me an expert. I put my Glock back on my hip and walked into the store. The owner, Kyle, was behind the desk. He waved to me with a big smile on his face.

“Murray! Your dad called today.” He said. “He hasn’t talked to you since you left the Army. Think you should call him back?” He smiled at me while he polished a rifle barrel. I shook my head and walked behind the counter.

“Nah. I doubt he wants to talk to me.” I said.

“He said he did.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to him.”

Kyle shrugged as I walked into the back and sat at my workbench. A disassembled AR-15 lied in front of me. Kyle followed me back.

“What’s up?” He asked. I shrugged and started putting the rifle together.

        “I don’t really have anything in common with my family anymore.” I said.

Kyle sighed and walked back to the shop floor. “Okay.” He said. “It’s time to open up though, so we’ll talk later.” I nodded and kept working.