This is a flash fiction story written for my creative writing class. - River
Ever since his son became old enough to hold a gun, Lee had fantasized about his first kill. His own had been a rabbit, nothing special. It took him four shots to nail the sucker. But for his son, he could just picture bringing down a big ten-point buck, strapping it to the truck and bringing it home. Then they’d strip it, make some jerky, and take the head to get stuffed. Maybe even hang it on the wall above the boy’s bed.
Instead, whimpering and moaning on the ground in front of them was a man. Before the shot, the birds had been singing and the rain had been pattering. Now the only sounds came from a dying man, and his groans were all the louder for it. His orange had turned brown in some places, and red in others. One hand clutched his side tightly, as if he could keep the broken pieces together. The other hand clawed at the ground around them, frantically searching for any sensation to distract from the pain.
His son stood at his side; shotgun held with both hands. Pointed away from anyone, just like he was taught. He was frozen in place, looking down at the man he shot. He realized his son had never seen anything die. He had certainly never killed anything, until now. He looked back at the dying man and his hand went to his chin, a habit he picked up from his father.
Lee learned everything there was to being a man from his father. He learned how to shoot and how to spot a buck and how combining the two put food on the table. He learned how to fix a pick-up, the same pick-up that brought them here. He learned how to fix the plumbing, and grill a steak, and build a shed with his own hands. He learned how to fight, and when it was okay to do so. One time he scratched a neighbor’s truck while riding his bike, and his father marched him over to his house to apologize, and he mowed the neighbor’s lawn for weeks until he paid off the paint job he’d need. A man owns up to his mistakes.
Lee’s father led by example, and he tried to do the same. Once, his son stole a candy bar from the grocery. Lee had no idea where he learned that from. He made him march back in there and apologize to the cashier. When he let his dog run off, Lee made him look for the mutt all day, calling his name as they walked the roads around their house. He tried to teach the boy things, but he just didn’t seem interested. He tried to get him to help with the truck, but he just wanted to play his video games. He took him fishing, but he spent the whole day on his phone, barely touching his pole. He found himself wondering what his father would do.
He realized he was still scratching his chin, the stiff hairs there scratching back. He looked back at his son. His son was looking at him, his face wet from either tears or the rain, he couldn’t tell. His boy. He looked back at the dying man, and the blood leaking out into the mud and grass around them. He had hoped hunting would change his son. Now he was afraid it would.
“George. Give me the gun and get back to the truck,” Lee said, not looking at his son. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had heard him. He may have still been in shock.
“What?” George finally whispered, hardly able to get the words out. Lee looked at his son again. His little boy. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and held them out.
“Give me the gun. Go back to the truck and stay there until I come back. I’m going to call an ambulance.” His son took the keys, and he took the gun. He watched as George took off up the hill toward where they had parked the truck. The rain had driven off most of the other hunters, so he shouldn’t have any problems. Wiping the gun with his jacket, he turned to look back at the man on the ground.
“I’m sorry this happened,” he told the man. The man didn’t respond. “I really am.”
He was stalling. Thinking about what he would have to do. He thought of George growing up without his father. Seeing his face only intermittently, aging years at a time. He thought about the lessons his own father had passed down to him, that he had tried to impart in George. He thought about how he had told George they wouldn’t be bringing their phones on this trip.
He thought about whether George would love him or hate him after this.