Guns and semtex

Guns and semtex
I know what your thinking, why is that todays title?
Well to be honest and old face from past called me today, and that can always throw me back a bit. I used to live in the East End of Glasgow and I ran a bar there. I married into a family who did use/hide guns and weapons (its a very long complicated story), anyway for many years it was just the way things were in that part of the city, I never used guns obviously ( though I did get to shoot one for a treat in the middle of a field at night, it smells funny and the kick back is awesome, I never actually shot anything that night-I hope!)
So about ten minutes ago of one my in-laws cousins called me to say they saw me in the newspaper last night and they want to come see my play. I explained it is next performed in London so that would be difficult for them. We chatted for a while and I keep forgetting it's been so long since I was part of that whole scene. He was the guy who helped us when we got caught with guns in my in laws house.
I do sometimes miss the old pub and the people there. He chatted for a while then hung up.
I ended up sitting there remembering a lot of my past and recalling how scared I was when the police actually found those guns and semtex in my father in laws house.
As I am writing this I realise i did actually shoot someone as a child, here's what happened, my brother had a slug gun that fired metal pellets. I was so fascinated with this rifle that I used to play with it when he was out of the house, so one day I opened the window a tiny bit and slipped the nozzle of the gun out just a peep.
I sat there for ages looking down the cross hairs on the sight part that sits above the weapon. Just then I saw a man I knew to be my school pal's father, I squeezed the trigger and felt the gun go POP! I saw that poor man fall to the ground screaming holding his ass! I was terrified and fell to the floor, clutching the gun. I scuttled across the floor like a commando and hid the gun back under the bed, slowly I crawled back along the floor and watched Mr Simpson stand there shouting angrily at whoever the fuck shot his ass.
My heart was thudding in my chest and I was so scared he would know it was me. I could not believe my first attempt actually hit a target!
I went into the living room really worried and after a while furtively asked my mum if a pellet could kill someone if they were shot in the bum.
my mum-"Well I suppose it could kill as the pellet could travel through the blood stream and then go into his heart and kill him stone dead"
I sat there and could feel the blood drain from my face in fear.
mum-"Why did you know someone who got shot by a slug gun?" Then she got more hysterical "Has your fucking daft brother shot someone with that fucking slug gun?"
me-"No, i was just asking"
I was worried about going to school the next day in case Mary Simpson told me her father was dead after being shot in the bum and the pellet had travelled to his heart and killed him stone dead.
He didn't.
Years later when I worked in the pub in Shettleston where I met my husband, I used to serve Mr Simpson his beer. I used to watch him closely and stare at his ass trying to imagine if the slug was still there or did it just bounce off him. I am sure he thought I fancied him, I was always checking his old ass every time he came in!
I have so much to do today and Ashley has a flu.
Poor wee chicken I will go get her some painkillers.