Pheasant Hunting: A Narrative Fiction

On October 31 Alex and his grandfather Chuck were out on opening day of pheasant season. They had been up for hours, sitting in the truck waiting for shooting hours to open. 10 minutes left. It was the perfect day for pheasant hunting, there was no one else out that they new, it was cold and lightly snowing. 5 minutes left they got out and got the guns ready. Alex had never gone pheasant hunting before. He had shot rabbits and pigeons with his air rifle at his grandfathers farm before. Alex’s grandfather walked over and pointed out how to load ammo and then said, “This is the safety it should only be off if you are aimed at ur target and want to pull the trigger.” Alex looked at him with determine. They started walking out in the field. Alex shouted out through the chest high sorghum, “ Where do I walk.” Chuck chuckled, “ Walk through the sorghum in a zig zag to cover the most area. Make sure

We will be swept away and die.” His grandfather looked at him and asked, “Do you remember the stream we swam in this summer. The same one we fished in for bait?” Reaching the edge of the stream said, “ Of course, what does this have to do with anything.” His grandfather smiled and announced, “This is the same stream, if the ice breaks your foot will go through hit the bottom 9 inches down and all you have to do is pull it up and keep walking.” Alex feeling really dumb for not recognizing the stream walked about 5ft across where his grandfather was waiting for him. They finished walking across together. Now walking in knee high alfalfa he was determined to show his grandpa he could do this with out being scared. 150ft feet into the alfalfa field a pheasant jumped up and Alex yelled, “ BIRD!!!!!!!!!!!.” He pulled up put the sight about a inch in front of the bird pushed the safety off and pulled the trigger. BANG. The bird fell out of the sky as a huge smile fell across his face. THE