Boundless Freedom
Guest Post by Michele Savaunah Zirkle
I stared at the revolver on the coffee table knowing I’d better not touch it. Dad had said not to. I was eight years old. I took a few steps, inching closer to the shiny, black object. I peeked around and sure enough, there he stood in the kitchen doorway watching to see if I was going to obey his orders or dare risk getting a spankin…
