‘Keep coming you little fucker, that’s it, come to daddy?’ he whispered, as a chirping sparrow hopped into the cross-hairs. ‘Just stay there, just there, perfect.’
‘Got him!’ he yelled. Clean shot, no blood on the lawn – as always. He hoped that one day the dumb sparrows would get the message. However, another part of him hoped they wouldn’t – he had grown to like the sport.
The following morning the green-keeper was once more lurking in his shed. Through half dozing eyes it seemed the sky had gone black. ‘What the fuck’ he muttered,’ as he staggered out of his tattered deck chair.
A single shining, black raven sat perched atop his precious had painted sign.
‘Cheeky little bastard, I’ll have you, just you wait!’
Resting the barrel of his shotgun on the open window ledge he quickly had the interloper in his sights. For a moment they watched each other – the raven’s blinking, green eyes drilling deep into his thought’s of murder. Slowly, strangely, he wondered what this was all about: all the killing – was it worth it? The raven kept looking, its green eyes blinking.
The darkness left the skies as the raven swooped for the heavens. In its place came a hungry sparrow, pecking for worms. In the shed, the brains of the green-keeper trickled down the walls, the tip of his gun still smoking.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.