Jane Frances

Shutterstock.com  This is the first time I've held a gun.  I stare down at it as my grip tighten on the cold metallic casing of the revolver. Now, a little back story. I've been a petty thief for as long as I can remember. From the time I knew the pain in my intestines, the loud growling of my tummy that wouldn't stop no matter how many cups of water I juggled. Since those early years when other kids made fun of my ragged clothes and worn slipper; when a razor wound on my scalp caught an infection because my old man and Mama could not afford proper medication. I've been a thief since I knew lack. Stealing electronic sets, stealing car parts, cracking vehicle locks were things I felt most alive doing. You know why? They put food on the table, they drove away the lack. There's really no guilt in this. Today is strangely different. Maybe it's the gun? Or my mother's request the day before nudging me to go ahead " do it for my sake" she had said. I fee...