Bambi & The Bullet

The woods should've been quiet that morning.

Frost on the leaves. Breath in the air. Nothing but the sound of a heartbeat and wind brushing through pine. That's what hunting felt like to Colton West - like being inside the ribs of the earth, listening to it breathe.

His cousin, Luke, was crouched ten yards ahead. Too young to have a license, too stubborn to stay home. Colton had promised he'd keep him safe.

He remembered saying it.

"Stick by me, yeah?"

Luke had just nodded, fingers tight around the old .22 his dad said was unloaded.

But then the wind changed.

It started like thunder in the dirt - far off, vibrating the soles of their boots. Then came the scream of engines - loud, raw, and ripping through the forest like it didn't matter what was in front of them.

Flashy and expensive dirtbikes.

Colton grabbed Luke's arm. "Move."

The first rider flew past, not even seeing them. A blur of blue and chrome.

The second veered off trail.

That was the one.

He didn't know it then. He didn't even see it. Just the flash of the tire. The crack of bone. The silence that came after.

Luke lying still, eyes open, blood bubbling in his throat.

And behind the helmet of the third rider, paused just for a second, was a face Colton recognized.

Anthony Tories.

But Anthony never looked back. None of them did.

And when the police came, and the town circled its wagons, and the motocross dads hired lawyers - no one ever said who it was.

Anthony walked free and Colton buried a ten-year-old.

And neither of them would ever forget that sound.