From my poet/author/artist/ art gallery owner and all-around renaissance man friend. Brilliant:
A winter's gift for you ~ a favorite short story from my Lunch Break collection.
April's Justice
The point of focus was sixty yards away, four-and-a-half feet above the ground, centered over the wheel ruts of the frozen dirt drive where the drive crested the hill. There was nothing at that point, nothing but the chill, gray December air. The air was held steadily on the tip of a bladed front sight. The blade was couched snugly in a tight “U” notch—the rear sight of a 1903 Springfield .30-06. Inside the rifle’s chamber, a small lead ball waited impatiently for a slight contraction of the muscles of the finger on the trigger. On command, the ball would spin madly out of the barrel’s biting, spiraling grooves and, within a fifteenth of a second, hiss across the short distance. Should a man happen to be walking up the drive from the road at that moment, it would be his misfortune to cross the path of the ball—with his chest.
The thought gave her satisfaction, but she didn’t smile. Her cheek was pressed hard against the rifle’s walnut stock, the occasional snowflake that landed on her face melting there, unnoticed. The cold, oil-cleaned barrel lay steadied across the top of a neat stack of firewood. Over the summer, she had bruised her shoulder again and again as from varying distances she blasted jars and tins to smithereens. The bruises were yellow now; the weapon had become familiar, a constant companion, like the quilted blanket she had carried with her everywhere as a child....