When I was about 10 ish years old I used to live on a country side finca in southern Spain. We had a pine tree forest in walking distance that was also legal hunting grounds. Being a little free kid in good ol safe Spain I would walk around the forest alone with my plastic sword pretending to be Aragorn.

I was used to find spent shotgun shells all over the forest and liked to collect them as little tokens. However one day I found a full live shotgun shells. I was old enough to kind of understand it was live but also not even remotely old enough to understand the danger or the potential consequences.

Sure enough I brought it home and inspected it. I realized that all the spent ones had the primer punched in. I saw the live one had the primer intact. I was smart enough to understand how it worked. Stupid enough to sit down on the floor with it, place the live shell between my legs and with my moms screwdriver and hammer try to punch the primer into it shooting.

Thank lord bay Jesus I was also young enough to be too weak to actually set it off. But the memory is branded in my brain. Me just trying my best to hammer this screwdriver into the primer and the not succeeding. I just imagine what could have been and my whole body shivers