Child

He was just playing around.
His actions were in no way borne of a desire to be released from despair.
He was ignorant of his new toy.
He’d thought that the chamber was going to revolve after the squeeze of his finger, not during.
It was the last mistake he ever made.
Those who were with him at the time said he was smiling.
He had a beautiful smile.
He was a handsome young man.
A man he was termed because he was eighteen, though he was really just a child.
My child.