 Like a whisper from a friend telling a secret, the gun reveals itself only to invite, not start any trouble, mind you, just to invite the boy who listens to come out to play. And the boy knows not so much what the gun's pellet says as he understands what the pellet will mean to say, whistling through a windy afternoon past onlookers who neither hear nor see the streak of inhuman intent searing through the ether.