| Marty tugged my sleeve and motioned for me to stop.
“What's wrong?” I asked, balancing my fishing pole over my shoulder and trying to keep the can of worms from falling.
“Look at that sign on the oak.” I squinted, staring at the sign.
“NO TRESPASSING,” I sounded out the word.
“So what?” I shrugged. “That sign's old anyway. Let's go. You want to see my fishing spot don't you?”
My best friend wavered for a minute, then wrinkling his freckled nose, he replied, “I guess so. But if we get in trouble...”
I plunged through the brush to the river bank, Marty crashing clumsily behind me.
“Ain't it perfect?” I asked, bursting with excitement.
We fished for nearly three hours straight, and when Marty caught seven fat trout he realized that I was telling the truth.
The sun was sinking towards the trees when I heard it. Crunch. Crunch. Someone was walking through the woods, and the fallen leaves betrayed them.
Marty tensed beside me, and we watched the opening, motionless.
The branches parted, and a straw hat appeared. Beneath the straw hat was a man. And the man was not a happy man.
He shook his fist, then pulled a gun from behind his back. "Who do you think you are, trespassing on my land?" he yelled furiously, veins bulging in his neck. "If you don't watch it, I'll put this bullet right through your head!" he shouted, waving it in front of Marty's face. Suddenly he tripped on a stone and fell flat on his face. Marty burst into giggles. I kicked him in warning, but it was too late.
The farmer did as he had promised. I found a new fishing hole. But unfortunately, Marty will never be replaced.
Prompt: bullet, kick, sleeve
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