The Best kill of the day

My hair became sticky with a five year old’s sweat, as I searched through my Grandfather’s house for a nail to finish my project. I had everything else ready. I had selected the perfect board from the woodpile. (The only one small enough I could hold in my hands). I walked to the garage and placed it on my Grandpa’s workbench. The board flat and as long as my forearm, was weathered but not warped. On one side, close to the end of the board, I taped the bottom of a clothing-pin down so I could still push on it and have it open. It was ready for the nail.

There’re usually millions of nails around this house, they always seemed to be there when you didn’t want them, but like Grandpa always used to tell me “When the nails catch word you need one of them, they’ll all run and hide in their secret places, and the only way you can get them out of hiding, is to know their name. Lucky for me I know all the nails’ names.”

Mom, with Grandma, cooked something in the kitchen that smelled like vegetable. I hated vegetabled food. My Grandpa was sitting in his chair. They told me not to bother him because he’s sick from the cancer, but like he’d always said, “I’m the only one who knows all the nails names” I pulled on his sleeve.

“Grandpa, can you find me a nail? They found out I’m looking for them, and now they’re all hiding again.”

“There’s one in the bottom drawer of the cabinet in the kitchen.” He coughed as he sat up, and looked at me his tired, blue eyes.

“What’s its name?”

“Honey, leave Grandpa alone” Mom’s voice echoed from the kitchen. I turned slowly, and started to walk away when a week hand caught me and turned me back.

“Its name is Tom.” Grandpa whispered with a smile.

I turned quickly this time, and hurried to the kitchen. Lunging into the lowest cabinet drawer, I searched. Removing old bags and used paper I searched.

“Tom? Tom? Where are you?”

There he was! I snatched Tom up before he had a chance to run, and escorted my prisoner down to the torture chamber. I found my wood waiting patiently, for Tom. I placed him on the opposite side, as the cloths pin, and crushed his head down twice, with the hammer. Then I bent him over, away from the jaws of the pin.

“Perfect” I said aloud to myself, “Now I need a rubber band.”
I fled from the torture room back into the house. The rubber bands are easy to find. Grandma always locked them in a plastic bag in the kitchen. I removed tiny handful from their captivity, and stuffed them into my pocket. All except for one that I placed carefully between Tom and the wood then stretched him back into the jaws of the cloth pin. I ran to the stairs eager to show my new gun to Grandpa. But halfway up, out the front door window, I noticed the neighbor’s cat. The PERFECT TARGET! Opening the door I aimed over the barrel of my gun. BAM….REEOOOWWW… SCAMPER SCAmper, scamper……

My first kill, but not my last.

A tree, a chair, and my sister fell under my fury that day, but the best execution I give credit to Grandpa.

After standing in the corner for ‘killing’ my sister. Grandpa beckoned me over to his chair.

“Let me see that fine rifle.” He whispered so quietly I could barely hear him. (He didn’t want us to get yelled at by Mom again, I guess) I handed him my rifle and a rubber bullet. He loaded the weapon like an old pro.

“Go stand in the hall, and call for your Mom.” He said with a gesture to hurry. I walked quickly to my position, signaled, “thumb up” to Grandpa, and called.

“Mom! Mom!”

Making the fatal mistake she turned the corner facing me, her back to Grandpa.

“What do you need?” SPROING, SNAP “OW!” she yelped, spinning around she exclaimed “DAD!”

After Grandpa got out of the corner. We laughed for hours.