Morning Carnage

[deanna dickinson mccall]

I woke to gun shots, shots from a large gun and far too many shots, all sounding from about 10 feet from the bed where my husband and I nest every evening.  I rolled out of the now empty nest to find out what the hell he was shooting at while the sky was still in shades of pink and I was looking forward to the cool breeze floating through the lace curtains to caress us while we had a rare chance to sleep beyond 5:30.  “Fuckers”, he said aiming down the barrel to where my eyes followed to the scene of carnage, the smell of blood,freshly torn organs and guts mingling with the acrid gun powder. The last coyote was running with tucked tail for the hill, dust kicking up as the bullet tore into the ground behind him. The doe was probably the one who crashed my garden fence 2 nights earlier, thin, but heavy with fawn, my husband discovered when one of the coyotes ran away dragging the unborn fetus in its mouth while the doe still fought.  His weary eyes meet mine as he stands the gun against the porch and tells me they won’t get her, he’ll take her far away.

[Bill Floyd]

Touching.  I can see why you had to write this.

[Toby Tucker Hecht]

Done well without sentimentality.  Excellent.

[Teresa]

Sad and real.  I can't name what is beautiful but I agree with Cita.

[Cita]

Whoa.  Brutal but in its own way, beautiful.

[Mike Handley]

Very well written, Deanna. Thanks for sharing it.

[deanna dickinson mccall]

I haven't had much time to write on here lately, but was moved to write this. Thank you, Angela.

[Angela]

This is powerful stuff.  Not an unnecessary word in the whole thing.  Fine, fine work.