Bullets

My roommate's father came to visit and brought a pistol with him, one that he'd recently bought out of paranoia of the state of the States. We went out to shoot it, at this alcove dug into a mountain. Most of the rocks were volcanic and pieces of shot up computers and broken bottles littered between them. Train tracks were nearby and when we weren't deafened by gunshots, the racing rattling of an Amtrak overpowered our hearing. It was a strange environment, far from the Flagstaff I'm used to.
It was great fun, since I've barely ever shot a gun. I think I was pretty accurate. The best part of the day was when a chipmunk scampered by our shooting range and Kyle tried to shoot it. Every blast seemed to confuse the varmint and it would run over to the puffs of dust where a bullet had just hit. It wasn't smart enough to run away until Kyle was out of ammunition.
Then I tried loading a clip and it snapped up and caught my pinkie finger. I'm a moron and have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to guns except 'pull the trigger'. It left an interesting wound however, like leprosy or little leeches.