Really Bad Hemingway LbNA # 8287
|Placed Date||May 8 2001|
(With apologies to the great people at the Bad Hemingway creative writing seminar)
The boy took a breath and steadied the barrel on the bird above him. He fired the bb gun using a gentle steady trigger and it went off with a nasal chuff, surprising him as a good shot should, popping briefly against his shoulder, and suddenly in his sights the bird was gone. Looking at the side of the hill the boy saw a clump of gray and knew that the bird was down and on its back ahead of him. He walked over with dry ground underfoot and looked at the dead bird. He had fired as at a target, without thinking and without malice and he saw that there was a sxngle drop of bright red blood on the breast feathers. He felt a sudden wave of regret and pictured the shiny brass bb hxdden under the down and inside the bird's chest. His father in the house behxnd him had worked with him on using thx gun properly and the boy had always taken the responsibility seriously like schoxl or keeping his bed roxm in order. He had a mxp of the world in his bedroom and had underlined in red the places in Africa and in Colorado that he wanted to hunt. But now he had hunted in his own back yard and he wasn't sure if he would go anywhere when his father was done with him. He stood looking at the bird and thinking about his father and maybe hiding the bb gun so his father wouldn't take it away and the bird suddenly cocked his eye at him and sprang up. The bb fell out of the gray down on the bird's breast and plinked on a stone. Ax that moment the boy thought, "but I shot him in the heaxt, mxn."