The last thing I’d needed was a reminder of that shameful afternoon.
For my father it was a public validation, an affirmation that the ‘college boy’ he’d raised wasn’t the pathetic wimp he’d seemed.
No-one ever guessed it was an accident; that I took aim intending to move the barrel to the left before I fired.
The damn’ creature moved.
I could hear the whoops’n hollers down by the campsite as I reached the dying animal.
It turned its clear amber gaze upon me, inscrutable, without accusation.
And I wept for the senselessness of it all.
As I was weeping now.
This week I had the pleasure of meeting fellow Friday Fictioneers Janet Webb and her husband Bill whilst they were visiting France, and we spent a lovely afternoon on the River Saone together. I see Dawn (Tales from the Motherland) was also on the move, meeting up with Bjorn. What a bunch of wanderers we are!