A man mugged me tonight, but he clearly had no weapon. He just held his hand out, pointed at me in a gun shape.

“Give me your money,” he said, “or I’ll shoot you in the heart.”

“You’re not holding a gun,” I told him, and I almost laughed at how silly the situation was.

“I am. It’s an imaginary gun. It only shoots things that are intangible. You’ve got a big heart. Makes a good target.”

“Look,” I told him. “I’m not going to be mugged by finger guns. But I’ll buy you a hot meal, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, and pocketed the imaginary gun.

His name was Douglas, and he ate two chicken sandwiches and a slice of pie. When he was done and sitting back looking content, I decided to ask about the imaginary gun.

“Oh yes, it’s very real. It was a gift many years ago, but it’s done me more harm than good. Guns are like that, you know. Here, I’ll show you. See that girl?”

She was dressed for a date, but across from her was a plate with a half eaten burger. She’d been alone since we came in, with red eyes and smudged makeup that hinted at tears.

“Do you think someone broke up with her?” I asked my strange guest. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Hold on, I’ll do even better.” The finger gun reappeared, and he pretended to carefully sight down the length of his index finger. “Great big blob of heartbreak right there. Bang.”

The girl flinched. I flinched. Douglas held steady, the gun barrel of his finger pointed safely at the ceiling. I look from one to the other as the girl shook her head, smiled, and waved over the waiter. It looked almost like she was flirting with him as he handed her the check. She practically skipped out of the diner.

“A coincidence.”

“I can do another, if you like.” His gaze wandered across tables until it settled on an old man and a young girl – his granddaughter, I thought – a few tables over. The man's gray body drooped with age and exhaustion, but he smiled at the child as she kicked her feet under the table and pushed food around on her plate without eating it. “Should I shoot her in the innocence? Or his love?”

“No!” Douglas raised an eyebrow. “If your gun is real – and I’m not saying it is – why use it like that? Shoot bad things, like sadness and cruelty.”

He leaned back with a sigh and shook his head. “You’d think so. I did, at first. Thought I could carve all the darkness out of men’s hearts. But sin and sorrow is like a hydra; destroy one head, and two grow in its place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew a man who was a true monster. The things he did, the things he enjoyed doing… you’re too young and innocent to need to know about the kinds of people that exist in this world. But I thought I could shoot the evil in him, slay it and make him a good man.”

“And that’s not what happened?” I wasn’t sure at what point I had dropped my skepticism, but a good story is a good story whether it’s true or not.

“Oh, I killed his cruelty, his hunger for other’s pain. I know I did. But it didn’t stop him. He just hurt even more people to try to catch the feeling again. The police got him in the end, but I can’t say I helped the situation any.

“So then I thought I’d try a different tack. I had a friend who was drowning in despair, and no words I could say seemed like the right ones. So I shot his sadness. But I couldn’t grow happiness to replace it; the gun doesn’t work that way. So he was just empty, and lost, and so much worse than before. I watched him slowly waste away.”

He shook his head again. “It’s a lesson to be learned, I think. A monkey’s paw. If I’d confronted that monster, if I’d tried harder to reach my friend… a gun’s only good for destroying, no matter what you shoot, but by the time I learned that it was much too late.”

“I don’t believe that,” I told him. “I think a tool’s a tool, and if you can’t use it right the failing is in you.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “And then again, maybe not. But you’ve given me a fine meal, and finer conversation, and it’s only right that I pay you back.” He laid his hand on the table between us, fingers bent into the shape of a gun. “Take it. I’m past done with it, and maybe you can find some good for the cursed thing after all.”

And hesitantly, I reached out to take the imaginary gun.

I learned its lesson too, in the end. But we always have to do things the hard way.