The day Gary got shot clean through the head started like any other hunting trip.
He and his pal had chased rabbits and hares in the woods for years. It was a lame excuse to desert their wives and have a few pints at a village pub.
Gary didn’t enjoy hunting much, but he had no other friends and he’d known Jacko since school.
They were poor hunters, and Gary didn’t mind when they went home empty-handed.
This day by luck really, Gary got himself a hare. Gary grinned like an idiot, holding it up as if he’d shot an elk, and Jacko took a picture for Facebook.
‘What do I do with this?’ Gary moaned. There wasn’t much you could do with a shot-up hare but put it in a pot, but who in Gary’s family would ever want to eat one?
He wished he hadn’t shot it, it was only good for next door’s dog, or he’d have to dump it in the wheelybin.
He threw it on the back seat of his car alongside his gun and set off to the pub.
Jacko told Gary to sell the hare to the pub, they could put it in a pie.
Maybe the hare heard them talking. It had other ideas. It was only stunned and as the car shuddered over bumpy ground it regained consciousness and touched off the trigger of the gun as it leapt out the window. The bullet took the back of Gary’s head off.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 