When Warren first saw the blue jay, he only pondered the glory of good marksmanship, never considered killing it. But when the bee-bees didn’t reach, Warren inched closer.
He still relives that shot—slow motion, stealthy as a criminal. Receiver hard in his fingers, a slight kick. The jay thumping to the ground, flapping in the dirt, turning in circles. Wing distending, body pulling slow as silly putty.
Warren never told, just buried the bird then stomped the earth flat. Often, he wonders if he’s damned for hovering over the quarry, praying his misdeed stay hidden rather than asking for forgiveness.
Wow!!!! Powerful story.
Could see this as if I were right there watching!!!!??
Brilliant piece. Well done. So visceral. I, too, witnessed a bird being shot by a pellet gun. My brother, in his bravado, and in front of his friends, killed a blue jay. I’ll never forget and never forgive my brother for doing so.
Excellent. I can picture it perfectly.
The story is so well written that I almost felt guilty! Good job.
I feel Warren’s guilt, shame and regret. As always, job well done!
Vivid! Great flash fiction, I enjoyed your work. I was transported back to my childhood.
Hits home! Great story
Wow Chad! This sounds so true to a human guilt trait. Super coverage in 101 carefully chosen words.
Excellent Work!!! So vividly expressed, I actually Believe that I Was There!!!
Vivid and haunting. Well done.
Amazing! Well done.
This is a fine work of art! The poet in me says this reads like a prose poem. I love the sounds — “When Warren”, “glory of good”, “hovering, hidden”, “quarry, praying”. And the story places me right there. I not only see but feel this blue jay struggling for life, and I also feel Warren’s guilt. The poet in me loves the brevity of this story. A fine piece!!!!