One Felled Swoop
Johnson was out with his new rifle that he bought with
saved lunch money. He put his rifle in a guitar case and walked
out into the woods hoping to find something dangerous that
he could shoot in good conscience. He passed by a sick bird
and cradled it in his cupped hand and worried about it’s
mortality with shaky eyes.
He stopped worrying and looked up and thought about who
should be destroyed for harming this bird.
He found a mountain lion with a top hat and knew this
cat had done wrong because of his look.
“Hey there, cat. What’s your deal? You like hurting
little birds?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This!” and he showed the evidence that demanded some
answers.
“Oh, that,” said the cat. “I was helping it figure out
a word problem.”
“That don’t make no sense at all.” Johnson then lifted
his rifle and pointed at the cat, feeling more Weight in
his questioning. “One more time, cat! What’s the deal
with hurting little birds?”
The cat tilted his head, gestured his paw in a manner that
anticipated bullshit and replied, “I think I made myself
clear the first-”
BOOM!
And the cat fell.
It was only an accident but Johnson was so excited he looked at the
only being to share his joy with and said,
“Birdy, I killed your enemy in one-felled swoop.”
And the bird vomited and walked away and fell down and slept.
Johnson went to look at his kill and noticed the cat was winking
in it’s death pose.
Johnson cried at the death of the cat and broke his gun by poking holes
in the barrel, turning it into a flute.
He sat next to the cat and composed a dirge on his flutegun, playing it
very sadly. The gun accidently went off when he tooted a high “G” and killed
him.
His ghost walked the forest and eventually he caught up with the cat.
“Hello, cat.”
“Hello, Johnson.”
“I have some Uno cards.”
“I have some free time.”
And the two ghosts visited each other every day that year until The Day of Spirits’
Vacation. They never saw each other again.
c. 2004