murder one two

 So I have been thinking about that story about the guy with the crossbow. It was about fifty years ago and there is nobody around to corroborate details.  I didn't live in that house, nor did I witness the incident, but I heard about it second hand before and after.

We were all more or less peace and love hippie types.  We had no acquaintance with guns. and it was surely illegal to shoot a varmint in the city.  Coming to think of it likely a crossbow would have been illegal too, but guns were a weapon of war, and crossbows were kind of a sporting thing, and weren't there zen archers, almost organic even.

It seemed like a good idea to me at the time.  Something had to be done about the critter and this seemed nice and clean and almost sporting.  I remember the guy talking about it beforehand, and like I said I didn't voice any objections, and later I heard that the mission had been accomplished, and I expected there would be a buzz for a week or two, but nobody, even the shooter, wanted to talk about it.

I did not see the racoon lying on the table amid the cereal that had seemed like such a boon before the bow snapped, blood seeping out of the wound into the soft clean fur, that surprised look frozen on his face, his little hand-like paws curled back.

What did it seem like to the gentle folk who had calmly discussed the matter in prior days, who had thought that this was a practical solution to their problem, but had never expected so much blood, the little paws curled up, and realizing their complicity, the horror.

Well I am surmising all this.  I only witnessed this second hand and that was fifty years ago, so who knows.  Probably it would work better as a short story.  Well I'll get back to you on all this.