Wheat among the the Chaff

Or something.

It so happens that one of my best friends bought a rifle recently. But it wasn't just any rifle, not to me, not to him. He bought a Springfield M-1903 A1. After some serial number research, We found that it is roughly 98 years old. It's in excellent condition for a nearly century old weapon. Fantastic.

Now, for the reader's edification, I am a bit of a gun buff. I can figure out how to take apart most any firearm. I also spent 5 of the the most influential years of my life at a military school. It was a hell for me. This is the the very make of rifle with which I drilled at that academy. To touch it again brought on many memories.

I was a very confused, angry, ostracized individual back then. I was wierd, I was lovesick, I was violent, yet profoundly restrained. These things stayed bottled inside for a very long time, not many of them got out, well, ever. Bad times, then. Darkening times they were. I hate that place.

I used to work the armory at that school, repairing broken rifle stocks and replacing worn parts. Those were times where I found joy, to work on a finely made, though deactivated, piece of metal. I worked with my filthy hands and made each rifle I could get said hands on perfect as it could be, from the blade-style front sight to the butt plate. Those were the happy moments, that kept me sane. The S-type stock, tapering into the top sling collar, and the solid heft of it were all attributes I enjoyed. Needless to say, I put as many miniature modifications as I could onto my rifle. That was my drill rifle, and none were like it.

To hold one again was like meeting a long lost friend.

Congratulations Korenav!

-The0