Before I was born, before I was even though of, my father had two boys, one six and the other, four. My father also had a gun. One warm day my father was in the backyard playing the drums with his band. My brothers were off being boys in the house. Tyler, the youngest, crawled under the small space between the floor and bed. Out he crawled and with him was his dad’s gun. So excited, he ran to the bathroom where his older brother was using the restroom, to show off his discovery. Travis and Tyler did no know the power of a gun. Everyone heard the loud noise. Dad, Jim and the rest of the band ran inside to find a pool of blood, Travis lying in it and Tyler shocked. My father, in tears, picked up his oldest and shook back and forth yelling.
To this day my father feels that his son’s death is his fault. Tyler’s life was destroyed from that day on. His mother went crazy, started using drugs and left our dad. Kids, teachers and other adults accused Tyler of being a murderer. The poor kid, only in kindergarten, they accused him of killing Travis. I have seen the tragedy even though I was not actually there. I have witnessed Samantha, Tyler and Travis’ mom, become more and more insane each day. I have lived a home with no guns allowed because of my father’s past. The only time I have ever seen Tyler cry was when my little six-year-old brother called him a mean person for killing his brother. I have seen all three of their lives break down. I did not see Travis’ life end, but I know it did and I know why.
I believe that gun killed my brother, just as many other guns have killed people. Because my father had a gun, people’s lives were shattered. If my father did not have that gun, then Tyler would not have killed Travis. Tyler never had the thought of killing our brother and would. Maybe Travis’ life was meant to end that day, but that gun killed him, not my brother. This I believe.
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