LJ Idol 2011; topic five.
Inconceivable
“It’s no good, Jenny. It’s just not coming out.”
“Did you get all the screws?”
“All of them-even that little one on the bottom there.”
“What about these little ... rod ... things?”
“I got all of them too. Eight of ’em, right? I’ve got eight.”
“I don’t even know what those are for ... okay. There’s something jammed in there. Have you taken a look down the other end?”
“Yeah, and it looks clean.”
“I’ll get a flashlight.”
“Jenny, it’s-”
“Here, got one. Lift it up for me. ... What? What’s that sigh for?”
“Nothing. ... Got it?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing in here. Dammit! Why can’t they make these things with the right-sized pieces?!”
“Maybe you put it together the wrong way.”
“What? That’s impossible; I followed the instructions exactly!”
----------
“No,” she said flatly, and I sighed.
“Ma’am, I assure you-”
“He’s a sweet boy,” she snapped, clutching her purse closer. Part of me wondered whether it was meant to be a defence or a weapon; the rest of me focussed on her face, the way her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed. “Is it school policy to level ridiculous accusations? I’ve read things-you teachers, you pick out one ‘problem’ child in every class and then everything bad that happens is their fault! I won’t have it!”
“Ma’am,” I cut in, straining to keep the exasperation out of my voice and the steel in. “Your son was caught stealing from a classmate’s locker. This isn’t hearsay from students or one single teacher; he was seen in the act.”
“And I suppose it didn’t occur to you that he was simply returning something he borrowed,” she said, her voice shrill and hands gripping the purse tighter. “Or that perhaps that classmate said he could borrow something and set him up? Well, you’re wrong; my son is not a thief!”
----------
He breathed slowly, his mouth open to control the sounds and make them quiet. His muscles were beginning to ache with remaining still, but the birds were chirping around him, unworried by his presence. Wings fluttered overhead, foliage rustled and leaves dipped in front of his face. Carefully he moved his head so he could see around it, his gaze darting around the glimmer of moving water and rocks in the distance.
The corners of his eyes were a wash of green and brown and grey, of blurred leaves and bark and the occasional flash of feathers. As long as the birds felt he was safe, so would everything else. And finally, after so long waiting, there was movement ahead of him that belonged to more than simply a bird. He exhaled and eased the safety off his rifle, his movements slow and unthreatening as he focussed on the long slender legs, rough tan fur, the rack of antlers which at first seemed to be branches.
The buck stepped between the trees with hardly a sound, head lowering to the water’s surface to drink. The hunter cocked his rifle and peered through the sight, his finger easing onto the trigger. The bird on the branch overhead took off with a flutter of wings.
Abruptly the buck’s head snapped up, his ears flared forward. The gun snapped back against the man’s shoulder. The shot rang through the forest with a crack, but the buck’s haunches surged and he leapt across the creek, quick and darting as he bounded unharmed into the forest.
With a grit of his teeth the hunter bit down on a curse. I can’t believe I missed!
[Written for therealljidol, week five, topic five.]
“It’s no good, Jenny. It’s just not coming out.”
“Did you get all the screws?”
“All of them-even that little one on the bottom there.”
“What about these little ... rod ... things?”
“I got all of them too. Eight of ’em, right? I’ve got eight.”
“I don’t even know what those are for ... okay. There’s something jammed in there. Have you taken a look down the other end?”
“Yeah, and it looks clean.”
“I’ll get a flashlight.”
“Jenny, it’s-”
“Here, got one. Lift it up for me. ... What? What’s that sigh for?”
“Nothing. ... Got it?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing in here. Dammit! Why can’t they make these things with the right-sized pieces?!”
“Maybe you put it together the wrong way.”
“What? That’s impossible; I followed the instructions exactly!”
----------
“No,” she said flatly, and I sighed.
“Ma’am, I assure you-”
“He’s a sweet boy,” she snapped, clutching her purse closer. Part of me wondered whether it was meant to be a defence or a weapon; the rest of me focussed on her face, the way her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed. “Is it school policy to level ridiculous accusations? I’ve read things-you teachers, you pick out one ‘problem’ child in every class and then everything bad that happens is their fault! I won’t have it!”
“Ma’am,” I cut in, straining to keep the exasperation out of my voice and the steel in. “Your son was caught stealing from a classmate’s locker. This isn’t hearsay from students or one single teacher; he was seen in the act.”
“And I suppose it didn’t occur to you that he was simply returning something he borrowed,” she said, her voice shrill and hands gripping the purse tighter. “Or that perhaps that classmate said he could borrow something and set him up? Well, you’re wrong; my son is not a thief!”
----------
He breathed slowly, his mouth open to control the sounds and make them quiet. His muscles were beginning to ache with remaining still, but the birds were chirping around him, unworried by his presence. Wings fluttered overhead, foliage rustled and leaves dipped in front of his face. Carefully he moved his head so he could see around it, his gaze darting around the glimmer of moving water and rocks in the distance.
The corners of his eyes were a wash of green and brown and grey, of blurred leaves and bark and the occasional flash of feathers. As long as the birds felt he was safe, so would everything else. And finally, after so long waiting, there was movement ahead of him that belonged to more than simply a bird. He exhaled and eased the safety off his rifle, his movements slow and unthreatening as he focussed on the long slender legs, rough tan fur, the rack of antlers which at first seemed to be branches.
The buck stepped between the trees with hardly a sound, head lowering to the water’s surface to drink. The hunter cocked his rifle and peered through the sight, his finger easing onto the trigger. The bird on the branch overhead took off with a flutter of wings.
Abruptly the buck’s head snapped up, his ears flared forward. The gun snapped back against the man’s shoulder. The shot rang through the forest with a crack, but the buck’s haunches surged and he leapt across the creek, quick and darting as he bounded unharmed into the forest.
With a grit of his teeth the hunter bit down on a curse. I can’t believe I missed!
[Written for therealljidol, week five, topic five.]