Flash Fiction by Andrew O’Kelley
Calvin felt an itch arise near his ankle and willed it away. Steady, purposeful movements, his father had insisted. That didn’t include scratching, toe-taping or picking your nose. The dry leaves ticked in the branches around his tree stand, twirling downward in a gentle wind. A tree can’t reach to scratch, so why should he. The sun had risen now above the ridge, the tall grass bending in the breeze. He studied the trail, the clearing, he’d get nothing today it seemed. But he’d wait.
He heard a soft knocking sound, lower, over the crest of the hill. Moving steadily, then faster, much faster. He scanned the grove of pine that hid the trailhead. A flash of blue. Then into the open field; a woman, running. The wooden bucket swinging wildly on its rope handle, her long dress buffeting, catching here and there on the dry brush. Her dark hair twisting across her face as she glanced back. No sound but the rapid draw of her breath. And then a movement. He almost missed it.
He almost missed it. Women will do that to you. His father had a lot to say about women, but Calvin had hoped to learn on his own. The Taylors, preacher Bob and his wife down the ridge, had two daughters just about grown. Probably one of that clan he guessed, but he was more concerned about the movement. Coming low through the tall grass, stalking. He’d only seen it once before, far off, but there was no mistaking the malevolent crawl of a big mountain cat. It moved like the shadow of a cloud; skimming across the valley, the color changing with the terrain, relentless as the wind. He raised the rifle, steady, purposeful, tracking the muscled blur. He had its speed, but it was keeping low in the grass and gaining on the blue flutter at the edge of his view. Closer. Now too close.
He had a clear shot. But only one. She would be caught, screaming. Screaming across the valley in the cool morning air. The big cat doing as big cats do. Or she could drop quietly in a soft gingham heap, the wide spring sky overhead. Peaceful.
Calvin squeezed the trigger. A steady, purposeful movement.
Andrew O’Kelley uses an old laptop to arrange words in the best order he can manage. Having tried similar feats with photography, wood working and guitar, his results may vary. He does all this in Minnesota. His stories have appeared in Emerge Literary Journal and Eastern Iowa Review.