Flash Fiction Entries

The Hunting Buddies

Sam and Larry were hunting buddies. It was deer season, and their blind had been in place for a couple of months now. Walking through the pines and oaks toward their hidden spot, Sam sniffed the faint scent of wood smoke. Even though he stepped lightly, the dried needles and leaves crunched under his feet.

“There it is. Man, we did a good job, didn’t we?” Larry, the carpenter of the duo, liked to blow his own horn, but Sam had to admit the tree stand had turned out perfect. Larry propped his shotgun against the trunk of the oak tree and hoisted himself up the wooden boards nailed onto it for a ladder, his orange vest getting smaller as he climbed higher. Sam caught the rope he dropped down, secured the two guns to it, and Larry pulled them up into the blind.

“Come on, Man. Get your butt up here. Times awastin.”

Sam climbed up and settled in, back to back with Larry. The crisp November air intensified everything. Then he saw the buck nonchalantly walking toward them. Sam slowly raised his shotgun, sighted, and squeezed the trigger. He knew he had missed when he bumped Larry’s back from the kick. The buck jumped high and ran away.

“Jesus, Man. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know how to shoot a gun? What a a..hole! Listen, Man. Don’t take it personally, but we’re through huntin’ together. I ain’t buildin no blind to waste my time with you no longer!”

Larry threw his gun on the ground and tramped down the tree ladder. Sam watched, open-mouthed, as his orange vest moved away. The gall began to rise up in his throat. Slowly, he lifted his gun, sighted, and discharged the second barrel.

“Nothing personal, Larry.”


W.C. 296