𝐱𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐢. ✭ 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐏

566 25 144
                                    

NOVEMBER 21, 1973; WAYNE
10:21 - 10:56 a.m.

Background Music
——————————————
-All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix-
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

"Five, six, pick-up sticks." The little redhead girl who lived in the next trailer over sang. "Three, four, shut the door." She had a BB gun slung over the slight of her shoulder. Tommy had lent it to her that day.

Chance marveled over the gift while Eddie quickly grew wary. He shadowed behind her in the open trailer park like some skittish creature. I observed his nervous behavior from my spot on the porch. A cigarette dangled from my mouth, trailing out smoke in the same rhythmic pattern as the Hendrix song crackling out on my portable radio.

"Seven, eight, don't be late." My nephew called out timidly, looping his arm together with the little girl.

She raised her head to a thicket of trees bordering the park. Her torn-up cowboy boots turned sharply in all of the grit she was exploring.

"Nine, ten, big fat hen!" Bending down, Chance scooped up a rock from the silted road. The hunk of earth she threw sailed all the way into the emerald hardwoods.

She's smart.
God damn smart she is.
I used to do that shit with Nick all the time as a kid.

A flock of birds cawed from the missile sent by the seven-year-old menace of a tomboy. They jetted out of the trees, a college of cardinals fleeing their invaded home to seek refuge in the sky.

Quick as a whip, the girl adjusted her weapon, aiming it at the center of the swarm of red wings flapping. Her index finger stroked the trigger.

"Hey, no!" Eddie yelled, far too late to stop his friend. "No! No!" He messed up her aim, giving her a great big push. "Chance, stop!" The gun wavered around, slipping out of her control.

What the hell's he doing?!
No!

"Eddie, don't be messing with her!" I hollered, shooting up to my feet. "She's trying to shoot! Step back!" Clambering off of the porch, I broke into a sprint to stop them. "Step back!"

CRACK

The gun's pellet spat out of the barrel, shooting itself to a place I couldn't quite see. Horrified, I froze in my tracks, sickened by what I thought I would see once I opened my eyes.

I was waiting for a little boy's scream, gushing blood, and a trip to the emergency room. My worst God damned nightmare. However, instead of a child's shriek, I heard a screeching wail from a bird above. A streak of red nosedived from the rest of the flock.

"What-?! What did you do?!" My nephew screamed, slapping the girl across her face. Chance fell to the ground dazed, clutching where he had hit her. "What did you do that for?! Why would you do that?!"

"Eddie!" I shouted his name, reaching out to him. "What the hell were you thinking?!"Roughly, I jerked him toward me. His face had crumbled into a devastated expression. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"Look what she did." He whispered, chin wobbling. Eddie shakily pointed at the shot bird. It was nothing more than a crumpled pile of pulpy flesh, blood, and scarlet feathers. Its wings twitched pitifully. The cardinal's black eyes glistened as it let out a strangled chirp. To my distaste, the boy kneeled, stroking its chest.

𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂Where stories live. Discover now