George never misses.

Darla Callsby

Miss Darla Callsby was what they called her. Emphasis on the Miss. If one were to ask any fellow (man or woman) on the street who the most desired person in the town was they'd answer Miss Darla Callsby. 

The asker would be confused, for isn't there four or more beautiful women across the street dining in the most expensive diner? Whoever answered would simply laugh and tell them to talk to her themself and they could decide.

Curiosity did kill the cat and the moment they heard her name it was inevitable that they would take to Miss Darla. She had a certain charm to her that drew the townsfolk to want to sit in her company for hours. Not unlike a popular girl or boy in school who every child wanted to be or to be friends with. 

The soft drawl to her vowels, a sweet sugary scent that followed her around, and a quiet depth to her eyes that led people to want to know her. To want her. 

Yet they never would know all of Miss Darla Callsby. 

For instance no one knew where she lived. Or if she was actually unmarried. Even if she was a local or had moved there some years ago. 

'Where are you from, Miss Darla?' Men would ask trying to strike up a conversation. 

'Oh, dear. I'm from a town a few miles from here.' She would always answer, a coy smile playing on her lips. A secret seemed to gleam in the hidden light of her eyes. There was no town within a few miles and no one questioned her further. Instead she would turn the conversation onto them.

Women were harder. They weren't as enraptured with her. Simply because they felt no special desire towards Darla. Those turned out a little more like this:

'Oh Darla, darling! Your gown is absolutely illustrious! One day I must see your sewing room! I can't imagine the equipment you must have stored to create such a pattern!' An almost desperate ploy to learn the whereabouts of Darla's home, but a rather flattering one so we'll let it by.

A tinkling laugh could be heard. As if Darla was entertained by the notion of the woman coming to her house. 'I would absolutely love for you to come over! But I am afraid you mustn't. My elderly grandfather is visiting for the season and he is weak. We wouldn't want anyone else coming in to disturb him. Once he's gone back to his home I would hope your offer of coming over would still stand.' A small, apologetic smile was offered after this response and she was immediately forgiven. Of course they never did end up seeing her sewing room. A sick cousin had come over to stay.

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

"George, darling, I'm home! Have you got anything for me, honey?" The small tells of his mother were easy for George to read. A slight crinkle on her left eye? Bad news, more people wanted to speak with her today and she was tired. The slight lopsided bun that was perfectly symmetrical this morning meant today was a full day and she would want help with dinner tonight.

"Uh huh, Momma." He shook his head. "Granmom said I could go outside and play all day!" Of course he had something. He knew his mother knew too. Everyday George would go around to his traps and bring back what he found. More often than not there was something in it. 

"Okay, if you're sure, sugar."

"I'm sure Momma!" He chirped.

"What should we do first then?" 

"Play with it!" This was his cue to stop pretending. George would lead his mother to the catch and they would work on releasing it and then playing with it until it got too tired.

They walked towards the back of the small home where a little cage sat. Barely large enough to contain a full-grown man.

"Did you have to use the big one or the small one, George?"

"The big one! The big one!" George cried growing excited. After all this was his favorite part.

"Good boy," his mother smiled, gently rubbing his head. "Now run along grab my tools. Oh, and a few extra towels. This one might be messier."

George happily scampered off as she walked up to the crate grabbing a crowbar along the way. He didn't look it, but George was rather strong especially when armed with a hammer.

Humming she pried off the top and looked inside. Perfect. Her darling boy had done well.

"Miss Darla! Help me please! There's a feral child in the woods! Its like some sort of rabid animal, it overwhelmed me when it took me by surprise!" The man in the crate cried out. He'd been in there for hours and was starting to become numb to the numerous bites and scratches littered across his body.

"Oh, well Mr. Wright! How horrible! But, are you not the one who catcalled me earlier today?" Darla didn't expect him to answer but the red flush of his mottled skin gave him away. "Oh! Mr. Wright how scandalous! You are a married man and should behave like one!" She'd started helping him out of the box at this point and he was almost out.

"Yes, yes. I know, but would you help me out of this cursed box first? My arthritis isn't going away anytime soon." As if to demonstrate he stood straight and popped his back.

"I'm sure you'll find it will be going away soon, Mr. Wright." A slight pause as she let the ominous words sink in. "Have you met my son George? He's a great marksman and never misses. As a hunter yourself I'm sure you can appreciate his aim."

"Y- you have a son?" To him a son would mean that she is or was married and that his advances could have him landed in a mountain of trouble if her husband caught wind of him.

"Yes, and George never misses so please. Start running Tobias Wright." Her voice grew deeper and a sudden chill permeated the warmth of the summer afternoon.

A sudden thrill of fear shot down Tobias Wright's spine. He took off like there was a herd of alligators on his tail. Zig-zagging and tripping over himself in the direction of town. His frenzied escape caused him to run right by one of the most dangerous creatures on this planet.

George stood up from his little nook in between a tree and a rock and stared at his prey. It wasn't the most coordinated, or the hardest thing he'd hunted. He looked towards his mother and she offered him a gentle smile and a slight shooing motion of her hand to tell him to get going. He grinned and took off after it.

It was thrilling knowing his mother got him toys everyday. A warm glow filled his chest everytime he saw a full trap. His mother loved him and he would kill anything for her.

Darting past the back of the house again he grabbed his little gun. She had it custom made for him since the bigger guns were cumbersome and heavy.

Bang!

"AAAEEE!" The yell rang out around the woods as a thump followed shortly after.

"Good job, baby! This one was quicker you're getting better my little marksman." George dropped his gun and allowed Darla to scoop him up in her arms and nuzzle him. George giggled and melted into her arms. He loved his mother so very, very much.

After all if she said he would never miss, then he would never miss.