Oranges To Ashes
©Ronald Robert Moore

Nick and Ralph ambled slowly between the linear rows. Nick proudly gripped the Sharpshooter bee-bee gun his father had given him for his tenth birthday.

He squinted and peered down the long straight lines of orange trees.  His right hand was in a salute position protecting his eyes.  The trees ran parallel to each other as far as he could see.

Crimson sunlight on the horizon had begun to dip behind the green tops and blurred his vision.

He tapped Ralph on the shoulder. Then ran over and stood next to a tree in front of them.

"Did you see the blue-jay, it's in this tree?" 

Ralph's young blue eyes searched the tangle of green leaves and brown branches.

“I see it right there.” The pudgy boy acknowledged the center of the tree. 

Nick poked the barrel of his handsome sharpshooter inside the outer layer of leaves tapping them gently so as not to cause the bird to fly off.

He almost jumped when he saw the eye of the creature blink.

It had a big black eye with a red lid.

Nick moved the barrel slightly in the bird's direction and  took aim.  He had been angry at everything since his mom died suddenly three months ago. 

A pop sounded from the gun and the blue bird flapped its wings in a frantic attempt to fly. 

A pain filled screech cut through the evening air and filled Nicks ears.  The bird fell at his feet.

He knelt down and scooped it up.  Nick was scared and knew his father would be mad.  His leaf-green eyes stared at the small creature.  It was limp, it flapped weakly once and turned an ashen hue.

Nick started to cry, and hit his gun against the tree trunk.

The brand new Sharpshooter split in two at the trigger. Then he turned around and ran back home with Ralph tagging behind.

Nick grabbed the screen door handle and threw it outward and ran over to his father.

"Dad, Dad, I didn't mean to kill it, I really didn't. I broke that stupid gun, I hate it."

"What happened son?" Nick had a death-grip on his father's neck.

Ralph blurted out, "He shot a bird and it died!"

"I did not, it was a mistake," tears streamed down his cheeks and he stood up and glowered at Ralph.

"Get out of here you, go home," Ralph turned around and ran out the front door.

Nick stood there looking at the open door for a long time, his crying grew less until it stopped.

Nick finally fell belly-down onto the carpet.

Their living room grew silent and then dark.

"I told you about that gun son, it is dangerous.  Don't point it at living things, only targets.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Why did you break it, I could have taken it back.  Money doesn't grow on trees you know!”

“I should give you a spanking for this but I haven't had the heart to discipline you since mom died.  It's been hard on both of us.”

“Remember what your mom used to say. Everything has its season. We'll bury the bird tomorrow, okay."

“I try not to remember mom, alright. It just hurts too much."

"I know son, we both loved her very much. She's up there right now talking about us.  Saying things like now son, don't you worry after me.  Just go out and have fun with your life and I will always be beside you."

Nick flew into his father's arms and they held each other for a long time. Then he lay back down on the carpet.

His father waited in silence until it was time for Nick to go to bed and turned on the light. He lay there pretending to be asleep.

"Poor little guy he is all tuckered out." Nicks father picked his son up gently and put him to bed.

                         ***

"I hate guns they make things die.  We got to bury that bird tomorrow.  Mom would like that,” nick thought and smiled before he dozed off.