The City of Detroit had a history of gang violence. And unemployment. People with no money and nothing to do seek out cheap thrills. Apparently that means shootouts. Small arguments leading to shootings where in other circumstances people would have shrugged it of, now they draw a gun. But what if the gun at hand didn't shoot bullets but paint pallets?
'Killing' an enemy now doesn't land you jailtime and on top of that the 'dead enemy' can easily return and become your foe again so you can be macho again by taking a big gun, aiming it at him and experience the thrill of him shouting and seeing red stains on his clothes. Not blood but paint. Apparently the brain sees no difference. But his mom does.
Want to read (more of) my short stories?
My author page: Terrence Weijnschenk at Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00K4007NG
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