Robert S. Wilson
There are only a handful of factors that distinguish the trajectory of a bullet. Wind speed, velocity, the shooter's aim, steadiness, control. Only a few definable variables come into play when examining the result of that bullet's expulsion. The tissue damage on impact; flesh, bone, skull, brain matter, arterial shredding, that thin line between life and death.
Physics and biology, that's all it is. The two biggest claims to fame for any asshole trying to prove that there's something behind the clockwork elements that work together to make the universe tick. It's practically a joke. The complexity of the living organism, the intricacies of the universe? All just a long list of interacting facts, laws, and falsifiable, tangible integers, text book diagrams, and testable, repeatable building blocks of reality.
If you want to prove that something magical exists, why look for answers in fact, algorithm, precise increments of measurement? Take meteorology for instance, economics, sociology, or psychology. Try predicting anything within a millimeter of a doubt with one of those crybaby, diaper-filling, thumb-sucking excuses for a branch of science and see what you come up with. They're practically one wrong forecast away from predicting unicorns.
What do all those infant branches hold in common? Sheer number of factors. And every single one of them consists of or is affected by a living system. An overwhelming multitude of tiny factors called living beings that each introduce a new integer into the equation while holding a poker face with thousands of unknown possible variables.
And if you think meteorology isn't affected by DNA, then consider for a moment that once you've calculated the amount of sunlight entering into the Earth's atmosphere, every single factor involved becomes tainted by something living. The atmosphere, filled with gasses created by living things; plant life producing oxygen, animals pumping out carbon dioxide like it's one of the planet's platinum-selling greatest hits, and that's not even beginning to break the ice on the amount of non-biologically produced gasses that your friendly neighborhood fossil fuel market puts into the air.
We are all fucked by life.
Thus introducing the precise reason I choose to take that delicate little flower you so cherish and cling to.
The door is locked and the SA58 I bought online with the 20-round clip waits patiently in the middle drawer of my desk.
I stand in front of 27 ten-year-old children in my hemmed-up gray slacks, white ironed dress shirt, and brown polyvinyl chloride pocket protector grinning and pointing to a single word written in chalk on the blackboard.
“Class, today we’re going to learn all about the word: Reduction.”