Anon - Thousand dreams

>March 9th, 2018
>Today someone finally took me home from the gunstore, he was an older man but I didn't mind, just to be out again to smell fresh air is wonderful. I've heard him say he intends to use me as a hunting rifle, how exciting, I've never really done much, from factory to warehouse kinda gal, I'm sure it will be wonderful.

>March 10th, 2018
>I think this older gentleman, Bubba, isn't too familiar with me yet, he fumbled around quite a bit to take me apart and didn't really clean me up much outside of a quick wipe with a dry cloth

>March 11th, 2018
>My skin still burns, Bubba hadn't put me back together after yesterday, though he did take my stock to some other part of the house; I figured he still wanted to give me a proper cleanup, it truly did seem like he was going to when he walked into the room with a bottle of something.
The pain was unbearable, what I thought was an appropriate solvent turned out to be oven cleaner, his sponge and fistful of steel wool, I cried, begged him to stop, but I suppose he couldn't hear me. He must have simply not known any better, but I doubt my skin, red in most places, missing in some, will ever heal.

>March 15th, 2018
>I haven't been out of the safe in days, still without a stock; he hadn't even oiled me after my rather... Abrasive cleaning, but he finally took me out today and I'm beginning to wish I had never left that gunstore. He put me in a vice, no padding of any nature was used, the bare metal dug deep into my body; but the true horror began when he took out an electronic screw driver with a drill bit. He swore a lot as he spent hours haphazardly trying to drill a hole directly into my chamber, my screams again going unnoticed, the only respite I got were few hours where the drills battery died and he had to recharge it. It took him hours to drill the first, it took him even longer to drill the second into smoother surface.
I cried all night when he tossed be back into that dark, lonely safe.

>March 20th, 2018
>The wait to have my stock returned to me has finally ended and I wish I was still naked. My old clothes, worn as they were, were perfectly fine articles. What I got was a mockery, the same clothes only cut down to ridiculously revealing levels and painted in a sort of crude camouflage, spray painted of course. I now love the safe, feel it to be my best friend, for inside it's dark and damp walls I cannot see myself, mutilated skin barely covered buy torn clothing, with gaudy holes drilled into my receiver for some hideous purpose. I hope when he takes me to the range to sight me in I explode, would certainly be a preferable fate to live as this abomination, rusting away in darkness.

>March 22nd, 2018
>What he has been waiting for has finally arrived and my final mutilation begins. He took me out of the same and put me once again into the vice, my dreadful attire acting as the padding now as he opened the box containing his finishing touch. Scope rings and a scope, a cheap scope by the looks of it, I cannot even imagine walmart carrying such a thing. He never tapped the holes, instead he simply drove the screws directly into the bare metal, filling the free space with obscene amounts of superglue. When he finished that he attempted to mount the scope with some difficulty, the rings weren't perfectly aligned, so he simply seated it loosely and used the drill function on the screw drive to force the screws down as far as they could go, the back ring closed completely, the front didn't, it didn't seem to phase him, nothing does.
>I've learned screaming does nothing at this point.

>March 23rd, 2018
>Bubba took me to the range today, what I'd hoped to be my retired life a few weeks ago is now my nightmare. I felt more than shame when I stepped out of the car, cheap plastic framed glasses stapled to the side of my head, skin covered in burn scars in full view beneath my tattered splotchy "dress" that seemed little more than a ragged, oversized t-shirt. The other old men at the range glanced at me and gave Bubba full approval for his new "durr rayful." I noticed there was a young man at the range, looking at me with pity in his eyes, he seemed to cling desperately to his beautiful and well cared for Swiss rifle as if it would happen to her if he wasn't careful; the love he seemed to have for that gun made me start crying right then and there, knowing what I would never have.
>Bubba's groups even at 25 yards were horrible, I couldn't see anything with my awkward glasses so it's no wonder; but Bubba simply adjusted them to a ridiculously level before eventually deciding it was "gud enuf" and taking my back to his car. We'd only fired 20 rounds the whole day, the young man avoiding my gaze at all times as he put round after round down range with his own aged but beautiful gun.

>June 5th, 2018
>The hunt never happened, for months I simply stayed in the safe rusting away before Bubba decided to get rid of me, I realized I'd be here until the day I died when I heard him say "Imma put you on gunbroker, rare WW1 sniper rifle, only $2000"

>July 20th, 2018
>Apparently trying to sell me as a "rare WW1 sniper rifle" didn't work out very well for Bubba, my cold damp prison has been all I have known for the longest time now. I think often of the young man and his beautiful K31, oh how things could have been if he had found me first, I doubt we'd ever hunt, but simply to feel his loving hands truly appreciate me... It's just a dream, it will never be anything but a dream, will it?

>July 21st, 2018
>I heard Bubba talking to someone in his home, it seems someone had seen the post and had been interested for I could hear my name a few times. I thought it was simply my imagination, imagine how much my heart soared when the safe was opened and in the blinding light I saw a young man standing there, at first I though he was THE young man, but as my eyes adjusted I realized he was a different one. Not that it mattered though, he bought me from Bubba within a second for a considerably lowered price; I was free.

>July 22nd, 2018
>I sat giddy in the back seat as the young man drove me home, he seemed quite nervous around me, not that I blame him being as abhorrent as I currently am; still though I was happy, perhaps he was calculating in his head how much it would cost to restore me to my old glory. I whispered to him that I didn't need a full restoration, but I would serve him well as a tasteful sporter, a decent retirement...
>He didn't seem to hear me.

>July 23rd, 2018
>I've been spending time with many of his other guns, he had many of them, old milsurp and sporters to some of those more modern girls; they're all quite lovely, though oddly enough they all also seemed to have been bought quite recently. The first gun he bought, an A1 clone, claims she was purchased a mere two weeks prior. Perhaps he came into money recently, I cannot say for certain; but I've heard him talk about a "big day" tomorrow, I'm excited to see what this new owner has in store for me.

>July 24th, 2018
>He packed us all into a duffel back and put us in his car, every last one of us. Quite a bizarre thing, there were dozens of us, surely he couldn't shoot us all in one day, he didn't even have any ammo. I sat there with the rest, making conversation and pondering what exactly this special day was, for some reason the modern AR-15 with all her fancy gadgets seemed quite sad, when I questioned her she simple said "don't worry, it'll be over soon."
>I wanted to ask her what she meant by that when the car came to a stop, the man opened the door and the duffel bag and before I knew it we were all being practically torn from the car and thrown to the floor. I looked around to see many other young individuals with odd looks about them, beards and wide rimmed glasses and dyed hair seemed a common trend; but what I saw next made my heart sink worse.

>An anvil, large hammer, and a blow torch stood menacingly in the middle of the room. AR-15 stood first and glanced at me, once again saying her sad words, now I understood what she meant. Quickly, a young hispanic girl with a shaved head grabbed her by the leg and dragged her to the anvil, face scraping against the floor before several others grabbed her by the neck and slammed her head down on the anvil. She didn't even scream or cry when the blow torch was put to her face and melted he skin. She gave me one last glance before the hammer slammed into her head, all the life in her eyes disappearing as sparks flew.
>I watched this horrid display for what felt like ages, her body being beaten and broken into a misshapen mess, the young man directing the pattern in a way that implied they were trying for something specific, not just mindless destruction. Finally she was "done" and they tossed her aside, going for another gun, a small 1911, just a child really.

>Gun after gun was beaten and broken by this group, and it soon became obvious that they were using the destroyed guns to make some sort of statue, a "monument to gun violence" as they said. I never wished to hurt anyone, only protect, but they hate me all the same, it seems everyone hates me. When it finally came my turn I felt a strange kind of joy, joy to know this life of pain was nearly over. The hot steel of the anvil against my face was almost comforting, a caress from something kind enough to grant me a final, twisted mercy.
>I thought of my life, of the factory where I was born, inspected by the men who made me and deemed acceptable for service, service I never saw when I was put in a warehouse for a century. I remember being sold and sent to a gun store when the government decided I was too old to serve, ending up in the hands of some older man who seemed to appreciate me, but intended from the beginning to give me away. I remembered Bubba, who burnt my skin away to clean me, who tore and painted my clothes to better suit his tastes, who drilled mismatched holes in me and struggled to mount a cheap scope. I remembered the young man, who stared at me in pity, how he held his own rifle, how he loved her and would never allow her to live the life I had; I wish them the best and hope they live a long and simple life together. I remembered the other young man, who I first thought might love me too but who turned out only to despise me for simply being what I am, who wanted to kill me for the sake of killing me. A whole life of neglect and pain. When I looked at the pile I didn't see any guns staring in horror at me.
>All I see are a thousands dreams piled dead in front of me
>*CLANK*