..:s k i d : a n d : t h e : b e a r:..

Note: This story is actually the first one I've written for English 205: Writing Fiction. The professor gave us a picture and we had to write a story about it. If I could find the picture online, I'd post a link, but I can't. So hopefully, you'll get it...and hopefully you'll enjoy!

Skid and the Bear

He didn’t want to shoot the bear. He didn’t want to hold the gun at all, actually. Not since he’d seen what it did to his father just under a year ago.

But that wasn’t an option for Skid Nickels. Despite his name, Skid was supposed to be one of the bravest men in the county, according to the people that lived in Nantasket—although the small town in Tennessee hadn’t seen too many of those over the years. Skid’s father had been one, but that was before the accident.

Since then, Skid had proven himself able to take down any deer, any bear, any anything that dared to walk in the woods just on the edge of town. He’d taken his father’s place as the best shooter for miles: everyone knew that Skid could take down any animal with a single bullet.

The truth was, though, that Skid hadn’t touched any kind of firearm since the accident. He hadn’t felt the weight of a gun barrel balancing in his palm, couldn’t remember the tension of a trigger beneath his fingertips.

Yet there he was, staring down his rifle’s dusty shaft, acting like he’d done this a thousand—no, a million times before.

He was surrounded by neighbors he’d known all his life, people who were suddenly resting a lot of weight on his bare shoulders. Because this time, a bear had crossed the line the trees made just on the edge of the field that was Nantasket.

“You can do it, Skid!” someone yelled encouragingly from behind him. He didn’t turn around to see who it was; it didn’t matter, anyway.

None of them knew how, exactly, Skid managed to kill so many animals, but it sure as hell wasn’t done with a gun. What he did with the animals was just about as secret as how he’d gotten his name—and that information was never going to leave his lips. He would just let them have their strange fantasies about both things.

He was shaking badly as he lowered himself down on one knee and took aim at the large brown bear that was slowly coming toward their clearing. It was rare to see such a thing in this part of the state, just loping out of the trees and steadily gaining speed every few feet.

Skid heard his nephew Johnny gasp behind him. His mother had to grab him by his little white shorts to stop him from running forward and jumping on Skid’s shoulders. A year ago, when Johnny had been two, they’d all seen what could happen if she didn’t watch him.

Finally, Johnny stopped struggling against his mother’s bonds and watched with his mouth securely fastened to his upper arm. He hated guns, hated how loud they were. He hated that Skid, his hero, was standing there with one in his hands, pointing it at the bear—which really didn’t look that threatening at all, if Johnny could say so. It kind of looked like the teddy rug in his bedroom back home. How could Skid be so brave as he pointed the gun at a big teddy bear?

But Johnny, just like the rest of the crowd, couldn’t see how terrified Skid was. They couldn’t see the images of his father’s accident flashing through his head, a bullet piercing the face that looked so much like his own. They didn’t know that there was a good chance he’d miss the bear altogether, just making it angry.

But he, apparently, was the sharpshooter. He was supposed to be the best marksman for miles.

“It’s now or never,” he heard Johnny’s dad say from behind him.

Skid held his breath, trying to forget about the cold sweat running from his head down to his boots and the images of blood and bullets in his mind. Johnny’s dad was right—it was now or never.

He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.