A Story of Fuity
Last summer, Fruity (ccds_assasin) went squirrel hunting with his dad. There wasn't anything remarkable about this, they hunt all the time. Don't usually go after squirrels, but everyone needs a change of pace sometimes. They were out there in the woods, and the squirrels were thick that day. Fruity had bagged four of them before lunchtime, and his dad had gotten five. Their bags were already nearly full, but they were having a good time.
They stopped beside a babbling brook to eat their lunches. Fruity had packed in three ham sandwiches and a package of pickled hogs feet. His dad had brought egg salad sandwiches and potato chips. They were neatly finished with their food, when a squirrel approached.
It seemed to be begging for a bit of food. Fruity laughed. Though it might seem a little strange, seeing as how there was a big sack of dead squirrels who'd met their untimely ends at Fruity and his fathers hands, but Fruity tossed the squirrel a bit of bread crust. The squirrel grabbed the crust and ran back into the woods.
Fruity and his dad decided they'd hunt awhile longer, that they'd split up for a little while and meet back at the brook in an hour or so. His dad headed west, Fruity went east.
He was walking quietly through the woods, keeping an eye out for squirrels. Not far into the woods, he saw one. It was standing in the middle of the trail, eating a bit of bread crust. He lifted his rifle and took aim.
But he did not shoot. He stood there, looking at that little squirrel looking at him. His rifle slowly sank down.
He did not know why he did not shoot that squirrel. He wanted to, in a way. A bit confused, Fruity sat down on a stump. He kept watching that squirrel. It chattered at him, and began moving closer.
As it approached, Fruity knew he really should kill it. It might be rabid for all he knew. He did know that wild animals approaching humans was a bad thing, but he rationalized that it was just hoping for another piece of bread.
Fruity removed his hat and rubbed his head. That squirrel kept coming closer, twitching its little nose at him, looking at him with those soft brown eyes.
It was at his feet, standing just next to where he had set his hat. It chattered at him again, and Fruity found himself answering its chatter.
He had a moment of clear thought, and kicked his hat towards it, hoping to shoo it away. The hat missed the squirrel and tumbled to the middle of the trail. That squirrel looked at Fruity, then looked at the hat. Then it walked to the hat, picked it up in it's little teeth, and carried it back to Fruity.
Fruity was fascinated. He tossed the hat again, and the squirrel brought it back. And again. He spent the hour playing with that squirrel. When he realized the time, he went back to meet his dad. That squirrel followed him, a few paces behind him.
His dad was waiting in the clearing, having bagged an additional 3 squirrels in that hour. As Fruity crossed the clearing, his dad began motioning to him to hurry. He did, not really knowing why, but as he reached his fathers side, it became horribly clear. His father took aim and shot that little squirrel.
From that day on, Fruity has been unable to hunt any creature, great or small. He can't admit that to people, he keeps telling everyone he's going hunting. But he isn't. He has started helping out at a home for the aged in Buras. He says he's hunting, but every weekend, he's playing bridge and domino's with the old folks.
They stopped beside a babbling brook to eat their lunches. Fruity had packed in three ham sandwiches and a package of pickled hogs feet. His dad had brought egg salad sandwiches and potato chips. They were neatly finished with their food, when a squirrel approached.
It seemed to be begging for a bit of food. Fruity laughed. Though it might seem a little strange, seeing as how there was a big sack of dead squirrels who'd met their untimely ends at Fruity and his fathers hands, but Fruity tossed the squirrel a bit of bread crust. The squirrel grabbed the crust and ran back into the woods.
Fruity and his dad decided they'd hunt awhile longer, that they'd split up for a little while and meet back at the brook in an hour or so. His dad headed west, Fruity went east.
He was walking quietly through the woods, keeping an eye out for squirrels. Not far into the woods, he saw one. It was standing in the middle of the trail, eating a bit of bread crust. He lifted his rifle and took aim.
But he did not shoot. He stood there, looking at that little squirrel looking at him. His rifle slowly sank down.
He did not know why he did not shoot that squirrel. He wanted to, in a way. A bit confused, Fruity sat down on a stump. He kept watching that squirrel. It chattered at him, and began moving closer.
As it approached, Fruity knew he really should kill it. It might be rabid for all he knew. He did know that wild animals approaching humans was a bad thing, but he rationalized that it was just hoping for another piece of bread.
Fruity removed his hat and rubbed his head. That squirrel kept coming closer, twitching its little nose at him, looking at him with those soft brown eyes.
It was at his feet, standing just next to where he had set his hat. It chattered at him again, and Fruity found himself answering its chatter.
He had a moment of clear thought, and kicked his hat towards it, hoping to shoo it away. The hat missed the squirrel and tumbled to the middle of the trail. That squirrel looked at Fruity, then looked at the hat. Then it walked to the hat, picked it up in it's little teeth, and carried it back to Fruity.
Fruity was fascinated. He tossed the hat again, and the squirrel brought it back. And again. He spent the hour playing with that squirrel. When he realized the time, he went back to meet his dad. That squirrel followed him, a few paces behind him.
His dad was waiting in the clearing, having bagged an additional 3 squirrels in that hour. As Fruity crossed the clearing, his dad began motioning to him to hurry. He did, not really knowing why, but as he reached his fathers side, it became horribly clear. His father took aim and shot that little squirrel.
From that day on, Fruity has been unable to hunt any creature, great or small. He can't admit that to people, he keeps telling everyone he's going hunting. But he isn't. He has started helping out at a home for the aged in Buras. He says he's hunting, but every weekend, he's playing bridge and domino's with the old folks.