Elaine didn’t know a great deal about guns. Her husband D’Arcy had a gun; a rifle of sorts. He called it a 303. It was left over after the war. She had watched him fire the gun a few times, usually at birds in a tree; something like that. There was never any purpose to it; it was firing the gun at birds for the sake of nothing.
And then he shot her cat. It was just walking past, minding its own business, at the bottom of the garden. Elaine would never forgive him for that. She made meticulous plans to use the gun herself.
She knew to point the gun and pull the trigger. She would do it as he came in through the back door into the kitchen. That way, if the bullet went straight through him, it would go outside into the garden and not make a hole in the wall.
Here he comes now; home from work. He always used the kitchen door. Elaine had the gun sitting on the bench. She grabbed and pointed.
“Goodbye D’Arcy,” she said as she pulled the trigger. “You’ll never kill another cat.”
Ewen was beside himself with excitement. For his birthday his parents had given him a gun. It was the opening of the deer hunting season. Ewen would go with his father as he always did but this time he would have his own gun.
His father had given him lessons in firearm safety, and he’d attended evening courses on safety when hunting.
So off they went on their expedition, as did hundreds of hunters from all over the country! In his excitement Ewen had rummaged through the Christmas decorations and found one of those fun Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer pair of antlers that people sometimes wear on their heads at Christmas time.
A-hunting we will go, A-hunting we will go Heigh-ho, the derry-o, A-hunting we will go.
Ewen and his father didn’t have to go far before there was some action.
Yeah, well, I was walking down the street when this guy walking along in front of me dropped dead. Just like that. He didn’t have time to turn around and say Help! or pop into a shop he was passing and say Can I have a drink of water? or something. Just PLOP and he was dead. Lying flat on the pavement.
Of course everyone rushed to his aid. He must’ve hurt himself in the fall because there was quite a bit of blood. There were enough people helping him so I moved on. Too many cooks spoil the broth as the saying goes. So I thought it better that I don’t get in the way. Besides, if I’m to be really honest, I don’t know much about first aid. Anyway, when a guy drops dead he’s dead, and I saw he was good and proper dead as I passed.
You often don’t know what’s going to happen next half the time. The guy could’ve been a Chinese spy or anything for all I know. Although he didn’t look Chinese. He might’ve been a Russian spy. They look more like us. You never know these days who is walking right in front of you.
I dare say it could have been captured on video camera. Streets have these cameras for security, but as far as I know this section of street doesn’t have any security cameras because I checked it out.
I see in the paper that the police are calling for witnesses. Apparently he was a foreign national working as a double agent. It’s funny how things come out in the wash. The guy didn’t have a heart attack. He was shot slap-bang in the back the police said.
(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Chelsea Owens. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)
The esteemed and highly intelligent host limited them to one sentence each. “The esteemed and highly intelligent host” – yeah, right. He had a gun in his hand and had lined the three of them up against the wall. They were the enemies of the people.
“You’re limited to one sentence each before you get shot.” He was excited. You could tell he was excited. He was short of breath, and even though he’d done this dozens of times before you could tell he still got excited about it. “One sentence each so think about it carefully.”
Johnny Smith, who had been arrested on trumped up charges of plotting to hack into the Premier’s computer, spoke first. “Quite frankly I don’t give a crap about having to say…”
Angela McKay was next. “There are a few points I’d like to make…”
Only Freddie Flood was left. “I know where there’s buried treasure,” he said.
He’s still alive today, although not extremely comfortable.
Darling, there’s a horrible weasel killing the chickens. I see it there quite often in the chicken house. I wondered if you could get your gun and shoot it. I’m quite scared of it. It’s ferocious. Oh! Thank you darling!
Dear me! His gun misfired and he’s dead. (Calling out.) Our plan worked, Norman. You can come out of hiding in the hallway cupboard now.