Gun Fingers

The boys played in the empty space behind the tents and makeshift structures they called home, as they had for months now.

Here, they didn't think about their grumbling bellies, or their grumbling parents. Here, they rode horses, or flew on the backs of dragons. The large rear fence was a castle wall. The poles with signs they didn't understand were trees.

Here, they were whatever they wanted to be.

The Guardians were always watching. But occasionally they joined in. Just friendly gestures, or a sly point to a not-so-hidden boy. One even lifted Tom all the way above its head once, seeing that he was pretending to fly.

But to the boys, they were far less exciting than building villages out of scrap and drawing paths and roads between them all in the dust. Overly pointy sticks were confiscated swiftly, but that was their only complaint.

The boys often played at being cars. They zoomed loudly as they weaved between obstacles, real and imagined. Tom and Andy spotted each other over a distance and drove directly at each other. Daring the other to move first. Friends, but not friends.

Just as they were about to collide, Andy flinched first, and veered to his left. Too much. He found himself on the ground, surrounded by dust and laughter. Suddenly, a hand appeared. Like his but not like his. Andy took it and stood up. Brushing himself off, he turned to say thanks but the Guardian had gone back to its post.

Later that day, after the excitement of fresh water arriving had passed, the boys reconvened in their familiar space. The five of them slowly followed the shade as the sun moved across the sky, chatting about this and that. For whatever reason, known only to the boys, Andy decided that Tom would no longer be allowed to pass, and raised his arm up as a barrier.

Tom, never one to flinch first, raised his right hand with the thumb pointing up to the sky and two fingers facing Andy.

"Open up or I'll blast you!" He yelled.

"PUT THE WEAPON DOWN AND RETREAT" came an unfamiliar voice behind them. One of the Guardians took a step towards the boys.

"It's just my fingers!" Tom said in response. Indignant, as if speaking to one of the boys.

A flash of light. A horrible sound. The smell of cooked meat.

At the first recognition of that sound, all of the boys instinctively dropped to their knees, laced their fingers behind their heads and looked directly at the floor. Tom did not do this. He had fainted. Dust coated his stump.

The Guardian lowered its hand, moved towards Tom, scooped him up over its shoulder and walked away.

The companion Guardian walked over to the boys, indicated that they could rise, and offered a hand to them to get up from the ground. Wordlessly, they got themselves up and walked back home.