He learned to shoot from a high marksman. Oil like tears of joy and rags handled as delicately as a dove's wing. Banana clips and beer cans and the ring of shots, small snaps of thunder across the ridge, the only conversation. The hand that took his, fingers curved one over the other, an easy squeeze on the trigger, was his hand, was his future, shaky already at midday.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wikiphotomicro: Day 13 - Coming By It Honest
He learned to shoot from a high marksman. Oil like tears of joy and rags handled as delicately as a dove's wing. Banana clips and beer cans and the ring of shots, small snaps of thunder across the ridge, the only conversation. The hand that took his, fingers curved one over the other, an easy squeeze on the trigger, was his hand, was his future, shaky already at midday.
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