(written with the narrative voices of 'The Gun' by Vicki Weaver and 'Chainsaw Versus the Pampas Grass' by Simon Armitage in mind)
A table, two chairs, two objects, two people. Each by their respective weapon of choice.
They sit, as motionless as their arms, observing in silence. Neither of them out of hostility or a sense of threat, more out of slightly morbid curiosity. Silence.
"Mine's better."
They speak in chorus, then smile. "Why's that?" she asks him.
"Yours is too tidy, straightforward. Mine puts on a show. The best show around."
"A show for the neighbour's hedgerows?"
"A show for me."
A pause.
"There's beauty in precision," she says, more as a private remark than an objection, but he takes it to be such.
"That's just vanity. Frills and feathers. I want it done properly. You know, with integrity."
"It's integrity to make a spectacle out of it?"
"It's integrity to express myself fully. And anyway, who are you to talk about being all honourable and having integrity and whatnot? You pretend to need something you don't just for the thrill of having it."
She doesn't answer at once. Their eyes trail down to the inanimate metal before them and now it doesn't seem so inanimate.
"My way is humbler," she defends. "Less blaring."
"Who cares HOW you do it, goddamnit. It's the WHY that matters. You do it for fun, for a trophy. At least I do it selflessly, to clean things up a bit!"
She looks up.
"Do you?"
He doesn't answer her gaze.
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