Dolch 96 Deadeye

DOLCH 96 DEADEYE. (See also, GERMAN FIREARMS, PISTOL) It was vital that the scope modification to the Dolch 96 avoided hindering the pistol s ability to effortlessly holster. It was affixed slightly to the side of the pistol to not interfere with the action of the receiver. This way it can be wielded as a surprisingly dynamic weapon: a quick-firing sidearm that is effective at much longer distances than comparable pistols which aren't as lightweight.

Journal of Daisy Duch
Very worn, brown leather 4.25" x 8.25"
2/2

June 8th, 1895

Six days since Daisy disappeared.

This is unmistakably my mother s pistol, the taloned Dolch she thought I never saw under her pillow. It's all that's left of her, save for this journal at the feet of this strange boat-scrap-shrine. I struggle to grasp what happened, and I struggle more to write about it.

Hands that comforted me, stroked my hair as I panicked in the dark. They taught me how to tend a flower, to birth fruit. Those same hands robbed me of both trigger fingers. I do not fathom. What duty has she done? Did she bring another's heart for the ritual, or did she offer her own?

All I had was hers, and now all I had is taken.

She writes of leaving her body behind, and her new friends oft encouraged her to forsake this coil. I fear she has, yet I also fear what I might do to her if she remains. Turn her pistol against her? Her pistol blade has blood on it, and salt water too. I misspeak it is coated with blood and was at the foot of this shrine. If she has forsaken her body, where then is her soul?

June 14th, 1895

I can await a sign no longer. I hear her voice upon the wind, but I also hear my heart's own fears whisper in my ear. The bayou tries to rot my mind and it will succeed if I am not steadfast. I leave this journal here, mother. May your unquenched soul see these writings and rejoice that your daughter will survive. I will defang your pistol, perhaps add a scope, and burn your legacy. This journal does indeed die with you.

I hope you are tormented in that wooden prison. I love you, mother.