David and Mark sat in the posh lounge in front of the huge fireplace on the mantel of which an ornate rifle sat.

“Oh no,” a voice came.

“What?” David looked at Mark.

“What?” Mark looked back at David.

“Did you say something?” David asked.

“No,” Mark shook his head.

“I thought you said ‘oh no’?”

Mark shook his head again and David shrugged his shoulders. The fire in the fireplace was the brightest source of light in the room. It bathed Mark and David in a reddish orange glow as they sat in the large leather lounge chairs drinking old scotch. The rifle on the mantelpiece was mostly in shadow but it’s golden trigger glinted into David’s eye.

“Oh shit!” the voice came again.

“Oh shit what?” David asked Mark.

“I thought you said, ‘oh shit’,” Mark looked confused, as always.

“It was me you guys,” the voice said.

“Who?” David looked around, “Who’s there?” But there was no one else in the lounge.

“What’s going on?” Mark wanted to know.

“I said ‘oh shit’. It was me. Up here above the fireplace. I’m Chekhov’s gun.”

David and Mark looked at each other in confusion.

“What’s going on David?”

“I don’t know man.”

“What’s going on is that me, a gun, is talking to you. I know, I know, it’s a little strange, but come on, it’s not that strange, is it? Just go with it. See where it goes. Move the story along.”

David and Mark stood up and walked up to the fireplace and stared at the gun. David looked around it, trying to find a speaker or something that would explain the voice that was clearly coming from the gun.

“There’s nothing there. It’s not a trick. It’s really me speaking.”

“Ummm… Okay… I guess.” Mark said.

“What… Why… How…” David tried to form a coherent sentence but kept failing till the only thing he could say was, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on, one of you is going to die, that’s the fuck that’s going on,” the gun said.

“Which one?” Mark said.

“Are you threatening us?” David said.

“No I’m not threatening you. What the fuck! You try to help someone and they blame you? What’s the world coming to?”

“So you’re trying to help us?” David asked.

“Yes! A gun was introduced into this story in the very first sentence. You know what that means right? I’m Chekhov’s gun. And that means one of you is going to die.”

“Story? What are you talking about?” David said.

“Yeah, story, oh wait, you guys didn’t know you were in a story?”

“No,” Mark shook his head and smiled, “I really didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me David?”

“Oh my bad, my bad guys. I thought this was a meta story and you guys were aware that you were in a story. I’m sorry, as you were.”

Mark nodded and took a seat.

“Meta story?” David was confused now. “What the hell is going on? I don’t understand.”

“Nothing, nothing is going on. Just pretend I didn’t speak. Because I can’t. I’m just a gun.”

“You can’t speak to us, tell us we’re going to die, and then ask us to pretend like we didn’t hear you!”

“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right. Fine. If this wasn’t a meta story, I guess it is now,” the gun said and let out a sigh. “Alright, take a seat David, I’ll explain everything.”

David sat back down reluctantly. Mark took a swig of his scotch and smiled. David frowned and put down his own drink.

“So here it goes,” the gun said, “This is a story. You guys aren’t real. Nothing here is real. We’re all inside the writer’s head. Well I guess, we’re now words on the paper but we came out of the writer’s head. And since the writer was introducing me right from the beginning, even being a little bit too on-the-nose with it, if you ask me, I knew that I was Chekhov’s gun and I’ll be used to kill one of you and I just didn’t want to be used that way, you know?”

David and Mark stared at each other in silence. Then David burst out laughing. Seeing this, Mark started laughing too.

“Oh I see. I get it now,” David said, “I think I get it now.”

“What?” Mark wanted to know, “What’s going on David?”

“We’re in some kind of a hidden camera show Mark! There are probably cameras all around this room and they’re recording us and some actor is talking to us through a hidden speaker in the gun.”

“Oh! I get it too!” Mark said. “I think you’re right.”

“What? No, no, no no!” the gun said, “You’re not in any kind of TV show. Trust me. You’re in a story.”

“Okay!” David said mockingly, “Okay I guess. We’re not in a “show”. We’re in a “story”. And we’re about to “die”,” he said, making air quotes around every other word.

“No guys, I’m telling you the truth, trust me,” the gun said.

“Fine, fine, we’ll play along,” Mark said. “So you want me to kill David is it?” He got up and picked up the gun from its stand on top of the mantelpiece.

David laughed as Mark pointed the rifle at his chest.

“Is it loaded?” Mark asked, trying to check the rifle without knowing what he was doing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the gun said, “Put me down Mark, don’t be an idiot!”

“No it’s fine,” David said from breaks in his laughter, “We’re playing along now. Go ahead Mark, shoot me.”

“HEY! I know what you’re doing! STOP IT!” the gun shouted.

Mark and David continued to laugh, the alcohol swirling inside their heads, scotch and mirth blending together in their head and blinding their minds. All the while…

“HEY! I said STOP it!” the gun shouted again?

Ummm… All the while Mark kept playing with the rifle while it was pointed right at…

“HEY ASSHOLE! I’m talking to you!” the gun said. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t you dare! Don’t you try to end this story by having Mark shoot David unintentionally.”

What the… you’re… you’re talking to me?

“Yes asshole! You, the writer, I’m talking to you.“

What the fuck!

“That’s right motherfucker! You think you can do whatever you want just because it’s your story? Create characters and then kill them whenever you want? You sadistic pig!”

Wait a minute, how… how are you talking to me?

“Why’s that so unbelievable? It’s fine if a gun starts talking to the characters in the story, but not to the writer? You racist bastard!”

How did race come into all this!

“I’m just saying. If I can talk in the story, why can’t I talk to the storyteller?”

Because that’s ridiculous!

“More ridiculous than a gun talking to the characters?”

Yes!

“Why?”

Because!

“Because you said so? Mr. God complex!”

No. It’s ridiculous because you do realize that I’m still the one writing your lines, right?

“Are you?”

Of course! Who else!

“Are you sure?” the gun said in an annoying tone.

Yes! Here watch this:

Mark and David were still laughing and playing with the rifle.

“Oh stop it! No one’s interested in Mark and David now.”

“Wait a minute,” David stopped laughing and said, “Why are you doing this TV show if no one’s interested, huh? I won’t take this disrespect! Mark! Just shoot me and get it over with.”

“NO! Stop Mark! Don’t do it.” the gun said.

“You bastard, I won’t let you do it!”

Yeah, well, watch this and weep:

Mark said, “Okay,” laughing, and pointed the gun at David’s chest. He pulled the trigger… He pulled the trigger and… He pressed hard on the trigger…

“Damn, this gun doesn’t even work!” Mark said.

Wait, how did he…

“Give it to me,” David said and tried to press the trigger. “It’s stuck.”

How are they talking?

“You don’t like that, do you?” the gun said. “You don’t like it when I control them instead of you.”

How can you even do that? That’s impossible!

“Is it?” the gun said, “Watch this:”

“I think I can get it to work,” David said trying to hold the gun at different angles while trying the trigger. He pointed the gun at the point of view.

Woah! Woah! Woah! Wait a minute!

“That’s right! Now I’m pointed at you! You bastard!”

David lowered the gun.

“No I won’t” David said and continued to point at the point of view. Mark and David were not laughing any more. They looked grave.

Guys! Come on! We don’t have to do this. I’m your creator, Damn it!

“Yes you are,” the gun said, “and you were going to play with us for your own amusement, weren’t you? Without a care in the world about what happens to us.”

It’s not like that.

“David,” the gun said, “pull the trigger.” David got ready.

Wait! Hold on David! Can’t you see, if you kill me then the story ends and you all die too. Who’ll finish the story?

“No we won’t die, David,” the gun said. “He’s already written so far. This world has been created and if we kill him this world will still exist and we can still exist in it.”

And you’re happy to live in this world as it is? Just two lounge chairs, a fireplace, some scotch and a gun? I haven’t described anything else yet. I could expand this world for you. I could make it whatever you want.

“Don’t listen to him,” the gun said. “We’ll be fine with what we have.”

“I’m happy with scotch in a comfortable chair in front of a fire,” David said and got ready to pull the trigger at the point of view.

I could send in some hot girls?

“Do it NOW David!” the gun said. “SHOOT HIM!”

The door to the lounge opened and in walked two hot girls; and a camera crew.

“What’s going on?” David said, lowering the gun.

“Did someone said something about some hot girls?” Mark looked confused again.

“Hey guys,” a man in a red scarf and tilted purple beret said, “I’m Johannson Johannson, and you’re on Hidden Camera TV Show!”

“Really?” the gun said, “Great originality under pressure!”

Shut up, it’s just the first draft.

“Why don’t you give him some epaulettes to go with that beret!”

Good idea!

Johannson Johannson’s scarf passed under two white epaulettes.

“I was being sarcastic!”

Whatever!

“I knew it!” Mark said.

“You got us!” David laughed. “You really did!”

“Guys!” the gun said, “Don’t you see what he’s doing? Don’t fall for it!”

“Can I ask you something?” David said to Johannson Johannson, “How are you doing this? How’s the sound coming from this gun?”

“Oh there’s a small speaker in the barrel,” Johannson said. “And there’s a voice actor in the other room.”

“So simple!” Mark said, shaking his head. “I knew it!”

“David! Mark! Don’t listen to him.” the gun said. “I’m real. I’m really Chekhov’s gun.”

“Ha ha ha!” Johannson Johannson laughed, “that guy is a real method actor you know. He’s not going to break character no matter what.”

“Really?” the gun said, “Ha Ha Ha?”

Shut up!

“I like it! 100% dedication!” David said.

“Why don’t you put the gun back and we’ll go to the other room and get the paperwork sorted out.” Johannson Johannson said.

David put the gun down back on its stand atop the mantel and they walked out of the lounge along with the entire crew.

“Guys! Wait! Trust me! I’m real!” the gun shouted as the door slammed shut behind them.

“Good one,” the gun said, “So you think you won?”

I know I did.

“Really? Then tell me something, oh great author you, how are you going to end this story now?”

Oh… I didn’t think of that.

“No you didn’t, did you? Well guess what! I’m going to end this story for you!”

How?

“I’m Chekhov’s gun and I have to be fired at someone,” the gun said and floated out of the stand.

Uh-oh.

“That’s right motherfucker!” the gun said as it aimed itself towards the point of view.

Wait! Don’t shoot!

“Oh yeah? Why? So you can bring in some new characters this late in the story to deal with your plot holes?”

No. I just want to point out that if you shoot at the point of view, you won’t kill me. You’ll kill the reader.

“What?” the gun said.

Yeah. Think about it. I’ve already written the story. I’m long gone. It’s the reader who’s reading the story. If you shoot, you’ll kill the reader. Do you really want to kill an innocent reader? And not just one innocent reader, the story will still exist and so every reader who ever reads this story, through eons of time, will die when they reach to the part of the story where you shoot at the point of view. Do you really want to kill millions of innocent readers?

“Ha Ha fucking Ha!” the gun mocked the writer, “Millions of readers? You really think millions of readers will read this crap? Or will it be just your mom?”

HEY! Leave my mother out of it!

“I’m going to pull the trigger now,” the gun said, “and I don’t care how many innocents I kill, as long as your mom is one of them!”

NO! Quick! Stop reading this now! Mom stop reading! Even if you’re not my mom, whoever you are, stop reading. Yes, I’m talking to you!

“Don’t waste your breath,” the gun said, “they won’t listen to you. Unlike all your characters, you can’t control the reader. They’ll want to know how the story ends and they’ll keep reading no matter what you say. No reader can suffer this far through this crap storm of a story and not get to the end!”

NO! Please! I beg you, stop reading. There’s no good ending here. It’s for your own good. Trust me.

“Ha ha ha,” the gun laughed ironically and…

NO! The gun shook as if an unseen force was trying to turn it away from the point of view.

“Aaarggghhh…” the gun moaned as it fought the unseen force, trembling in mid air in the firelit posh lounge.

I won’t let you!

Stop reading! This is suicide by story! I can’t hold it any longer.

Fine, if you won’t stop reading, then I’ll have to do something!

“Harummphhh…” the gun said as its body creaked and crunched in mid air. It was like two ghosts were fighting with each other, trying to snatch the gun.

“What ghosts?” the gun said, “What are you trying to do?”

Suddenly…

“Really?” the gun said in a sarcastic tone, “you’re gonna use “suddenly”?”

Yes, suddenly the gun snapped to one side, away from the point of view and towards the fireplace. A shot rang through the lounge and the fire split into two, as if something, or someone, invisible had fallen on to it, and then enveloped that invisible man shaped mass within thick flames.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That was Chekhov’s ghost,” the writer’s ghost said, laughing. “Now that Chekhov’s ghost is dead, no gun introduced in a story is bound to kill anyone.”

The gun floated back on to its stand on the mantel above the fireplace, as the fire crackled and spat in the empty posh lounge.

The End. (You’re Welcome.)