The aberrant behavior/fun wasn’t limited to animals, though Golbert found the animals to be a great learning experience, they taught him a rule of thumb which would serve him well in the years to come. It worked especially well when applied to humans. As long as the rest of the herd remained unaware, weaker humans could be identified, cut out and properly disposed of. Although the human animal had mastered mathematics, if the herd wasn't culled too much in a single outing, and as long as the grass was green and lush where they were grazing, when one of them suddenly disappeared, they would do little more than pause and sniff the wind for danger. They would return to grazing almost immediately and the missing were quickly forgotten.
Across the street from Norman’s, just down the block from Golbert’s, lived Curtis Fitzpatrick. Curtis had some sort of ailment which confined him to a wheel chair. “A muscular dysfunctional disease,” as Norman called it, “had turned Curtis into a vegetable on wheels.” The wheel chair wasn’t so Curtis could get around; it was so other people, namely, Curtis’ mom, could get Curtis around. Norman would state and then reiterate many times, that, “Curtis couldn’t scratch his own nose with ten tries, for a million-dollar prize.”
On nice days Mrs. Fitzpatrick would shove Curtis out into the front yard, so the dying kid could get some much needed sun. She would tell Curtis that this beautiful sunny day was created special, just for him, made to order by God. If she had ever bothered to listen closely to Curtis’ grunts and groans, she would have heard that he hated those made to order days. What his mother misinterpreted as Curtis’ excitement to be going outside, was actually vehement protests against the idea. Curtis’ “muscular dysfunction” wasn’t just limited to his motor skills; it had also affected his speech to the point that the only person on Earth that could understand him, was his mother. Even so, sometimes people only hear what they want to hear.
From Norman’s bedroom window, there was an uninterrupted line of fire right into the Fitzpatrick’s front yard. From Norman’s window to the flower bed, where Curtis’ mom always parked his wheelchair, the distance was perfect, according to Norman. Not too far that you had to use a bunch of “Kentucky windage” on the aiming, but far enough that it wouldn’t penetrate the skin.
“What won’t penetrate the skin?” Queried Golbert.
“The BBs.” From under his bed, Norman produced a mint condition Daisy Red Ryder and a yellow, cardboard tube of ammunition. “It’s far enough away that they won’t penetrate the skin, but this beauty still has some stank on it at this distance. Stings like a bitch.” Norman took up a squatting position in front of the window and rested his elbows on the sill. He took a practice aim. “You don’t want to shoot through the screen, it slows the BB down too much, it won’t even clear the street. You have to stick it out the firing port.”
The firing port was a small slit Norman had made in the screen with his pen knife. Poking the barrel of the Red Rider through the small slit, Norman explained his technique. “My uncle taught me too shoot. He says it’s all in the breathing. Slow your breathing down, steady the front sight under the center of Curtis’ stomach, line the front sight between the notch in the back sight and exhale.” Pop! In less than a second, Curtis could be heard raising a ruckus from across the street.
“What’s he saying?”
Norman smiled from ear to ear. “Flies, he thinks flies are biting him. Ain’t that a daisy?” He cocked the gun and took up his position again. “Front sight between the back sight, exhale...Pop!”
“Ffffuuuhliiiiiiies!” Curtis moaned. He hated nice days, specially made by God. Despite Norman’s assurances that the Red Rider was Daisy’s best model, Golbert could never manage to put a fly bite on Curtis.
“Damn Boy, you couldn’t hit sand if you fell off a camel.” Finally, they both decided the game was far more fun if Norman did all the shooting. Even so, Golbert felt as if he was being cheated, he wanted to inflict suffering on a human. He would get his chance, soon enough.
May I offer you a Round the World Cruise of a lifetime for the price of a novel?
Not only do the seas roll on but two romances,a death at sea, uncovered past lives, history uncovered in Brazil, caves in Australia, poetry in Senegal, the Lux Mundi
Pieces of Eight is an eclectic collection of eight imaginative novellas/short stories. Themes represented in the work are science fiction, paranormal, psychological drama, humor, murder/revenge and astrological fulfillment. Pieces of Eight is the com
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