I'm studying for a diploma in Creative Writing and wanted to share with you, and those who may be interested . . . some of the assignments I have done as part of the studies. Let me know what you think.
I remember it as though it were yesterday; there she was eyeballing me with her small squinty eyes, oblivious.
I hadn’t felt this shaken in a while and couldn’t work out why? I’d done this before, only the victims were . . . smaller; a rabbit, some possums and the odd goat (at a distance). She was within two meters of me, silently standing there with only the occasional–confused grunt! Where is my food? She might have asked; she had no idea that we were thinking similar thoughts of her . . . Food, come on this is part of farming life boy.
Dad was standing to my left, poised and ready; knife in hand. Just as well too. I was swallowing and yet my throat was not satisfied, it was too dry. I raised the rifle and gently laid my finger on the trigger, my sweaty finger and the blood was pulsing noticeably to my extremities; I sure was nervous. Looking down the barrel, through the open site; I took aim. Calm Ian, calm. Hold your breath. Ready . . . BANG!
My right ear rang, but not only with the gunshot, there was another noise . . . a high pitched squealing! She had dropped but was still very much alive and thrashing violently! Darn! Too high you idiot!
I didn’t know what to do, if she went on like this for too long, then the meat would be tainted with adrenaline, and she might even wriggle herself into that stinky–shit pile to her left. Fortunately, dad jumped over the sty wall and finished her off with the knife to the throat, blood gushed in great spasms, making a red–pool of considerable size. I was still shaking and felt cold, clammy and stupid.
After the thrashing stopped, I could see where I’d gone wrong. Yep, too high. Idiot!
Assignment 1B HERE: