Hunting Creative Writing

Miss

A single shot echoes through the canyon. Looking up at the darkening sky, I notice how the dark grey and blue puffs of storm clouds match the bruise that has already begun to form on my right shoulder. The orange, clay discs lay shattered at my feet, cracking from the hard impact of the ground instead of the numerous shots I fired. Two more shots echo around me, both of them a miss, and I am once again filled with disappointment.

I am eleven years old, still “daddy’s little girl”, and trying my best to make my father proud in every way possible. Hunting is and always will be the way to my father’s heart, so signing up for a Hunter’s Safety Course seemed like the natural thing to do. Confidence flows through me once I receive my results, and I dance and float around my living room all night, bragging to anyone who will listen.

Unable to contain my excitement, my endless chatter fills the car on our short drive to our destination. Showing me the proper technique for shooting, my father effortlessly hits every clay disc thrown his way, which only makes my smile widen as I prepare to shoot. I hold my head high in the air and stride over the rocky canyon terrain to take the gun from my father’s hands, certain that I will impress him once again. As soon as my hands touch the cold firearm, though, my confidence disappears and is replaced by shaky breaths and trembling fingers. The gun feels far too heavy in my hands. Fear grabs hold of me as I looked down the barrel of the firearm, too scared to pull the trigger and disappoint my dad. Forcing myself to breathe slowly and deliberately, I take aim and