One simple task

One simple task. That's what you woke me up for. I was asleep in the car and you woke me up to get the gate. That's fair enough, you were in the driver's seat, I was in the passengers. I got out, opened the gate, you drove through, and I shut it. Simple, right? Done in thirty seconds. So why couldn't you do it? My job was to open the gate, yet you couldn't shut a door?

I was getting ready to leave, dad called for me to get in the car. But it was still light outside. The birds wouldn't go in yet, not even if I fed them. I asked you to do one simple task. Please shut the chicken coop door in ten minutes. Don't worry, they've been fed and have water, I just need you to shut the gate. 

You said okay, and I left. I trusted you. You were more than capable as an eighteen-year-old. So, what happened? Ten minutes turned into twenty. Twenty to thirty. Then an hour. Then two. Three, four, so on and so forth. It's funny, right? How such a simple task can affect something so greatly. 

I didn't know. I didn't ask. I only found out the next day when we got home from school. Mom came over and told me what had happened. About how you forget to close the door. About how the fox came along and decided to grab some dinner from our backyard. It dragged them from their beds, plucked them from their perches. No one knew how many we'd lost, no one bothered to check. Mom said you felt bad. She said she was sorry and then she went to check on you. To make sure that you didn't do anything silly. 

She didn't trust you with a blade. She thought that you were feeling worse about the whole situation. But you never cared about them. You just thought of them as loud. And a source for your eggs. 

She didn't trust you with a blade. Yet she handed me a gun. We walked around, using the fox whistle. Whilst looking around, we found bodies. Two of the missing chickens, but they themselves were missing something. They were missing their heads. They were missing their heartbeats. They were missing their blood. Missing their lives. What a joke. The fox only killed them for fun, huh? 

I took a few shots. Two more lives lost. Rabbits were good bait, right? I sat around for hours, waiting for the fox to show itself. Waiting to see its lithe body and narrow, arrogant face. Finally, it appeared. It started feeding on one of the bodies it had left there the previous night. I was shaking. Why was I shaking? I shot those bunnies easily enough. It was a simple task. Aim, switch the safety catch off, and pull the trigger. 

I leaned the barrel on top of a wooden post. I could barely see; it was so dark. The stars twinkled overhead, ready to greet the new spirit that was about to ascend. My finger danced on the trigger before tensing up and pulling the trigger.

I missed. It was right there, and I missed. I missed my one chance, my one shot. The little bastard fled. It retreated into the darkness. I sat down and waited again. For hours, I was left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts of how I was such a failure for missing such an easy shot. Finally, I was basically dragged inside by my dad. You came outside to talk to me. You said you were sorry.

Sorry? Sorry's not going to fix anything. It's not going to give those birds their lives back. It's not going to give me back my shot. It's not going to give you my forgiveness. Why are you apologising? To make me feel better, or to make you feel better? 

We lost a lot of animals that night, you know? Four chickens, two ducks, and five doves. Eleven deaths, on your hands. I won't say I forgive you, because I don't. Go on, tell me how petty and childish I'm being. Tell me how I should have locked them up in the first place. Tell me how my grief over eleven birds doesn't even come close to the pain someone feels when losing another person. Tell me how I should forgive you because you were busy doing an assignment that you left until the last minute. Tell me how I should forgive because "they were only pets" and "I'll get over it". I'll tell you about the two headless bodies in our yard. I'll tell you about how poor Delylah was decapitated, left to rot on the ground or become crow food.

I can't tell you about the blood, they'd been licked dry.  But I'll tell you about how much I hate myself. I hate myself for so many things. I hate myself for being the disappointment of the family. I hate myself for letting the fox that was responsible for all this escape. I'll admit, I thought about it. I mean, they gave a grieving fifteen-year-old a rifle. Don't worry, I have my gun license, I know how to be safe with a firearm. But just for a second, I really considered it.

I'll forgive you eventually. But for now, just stay away. That's easy enough for you, right? After all, it's just one simple task.