Ficlets

The American Dream

Wait. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. I mean really, a rifle? I’m supposed to be quail hunting. Since when do you hunt quail with firepower like this? I swap the rifle for my trusty Perazzi 28. By the time I bring the shotgun to my shoulder, he’s looking right at me. Instead of the panic I had feared, a calm washes over me. This is it.

BLAM ! Birdshot sprays his face, his neck, his chest.

My God. I just shot an attorney. The American Dream.

“Mr. Cheney? Sir! Sir!” One of my secret service guys runs up to me.

“Agent Charles. Take care of this, will you?”

I finish my beer.

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