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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A Friendly Dinner

Another prompt from the Pocket Muse...

Write about trouble from resulting from a good deed.

The last thing dad told me as I bounded out the door this morning was that my slingshot was not for killing animals.  I knew that.  No killing animals. This was the spit-palm promise Dad and I made when he bought me my 500 Sling-Back Cardinal for my birthday last week.   So, the first day out with the new girl, the last thing I wanted to do was to go back on my word.

It was quiet in the woods.  The dew still clung to the green carpet of moss beneath my feet, and the sun was just peeking through the leaves as I tip-toed along to our hunting camp.  As I meandered along our beaten path, I could feel the three stones rattling around begging to be let out of the darkness of my jean's pocket.  

I pulled the first rounded-to-perfection stone out of my pocket.  I slowly, carefully placed the stone into the rubber elastic of the slingshot.  I was pinching the stone so hard, I thought for sure my hand would start bleeding.  I slid my fist and forearm up underneath the metal brace.  I knew I could fire that stone into the hole of that old rotting maple. 

Just as I was about to let 'er fly into the tree's abyss, I saw it.  That old thing must have been older than  dad.   I knew there was no way I could hit it, but I just wanted to practice getting something lined up in my sight.   I slowly pulled my arm up, squinted my left eye, and put it in my sight.    I don't know what happened, I swear.  The next thing I knew, the rabbit was squealing and wailing and crying like a baby.  I've never been so scared in my whole life!  I shoved my 500 Sling-Back Cardinal in my back pocket, covered my ears with my hands, and ran like hell back to the house. 

Everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for that damn Mr. Murphy.   Wouldn't ya know, he was in the woods this morning.  He arrived with a big pot of rabbit stew for dinner tonight.  He told dad it would have been a sure waste to not have me enjoy my first kill.  Mr. Murphy told dad he's never seen anyone so accurate with a slingshot before.  

Mr. Murphy stayed for dinner, Dad insisted.  It was the quietest dinner I've ever had.   I quickly excused myself from the table and came up here as fast as I could without appearing rude or unappreciative.  They're still down there talking.  I got a pretty good idea that's the last time I'll be using my slingshot for a while.

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