Pot Shots

“You’ve got to hold it steady, close your left eye, aim, and pull the trigger,” explained Brian to his little brother.

“I know,” said Neil. “I’m not stupid.” Neil aimed the BB rifle toward the teacup and saucer mounted atop the first spindle. He took a deep breath, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

“Swing and a miss!” laughed Brian. “Give me the gun and let me show you how it’s done,” he said, grabbing the gun from his younger brother’s hands.

Brian put the butt of the BB rifle up against his shoulder, lined up the cup in his sight, and shot. “Boom!” He yelled out as the cup shattered into tiny pieces.

“Give it to me,” Neil pleaded. Brian handed him the gun and said, “Just do it like I did it.”

Neil mimicked his brother, pushing the rifle’s butt into his shoulder, closing one eye, squinting, aiming, and shooting.

Both boys started jumping up and down and shouting when Neil’s shot his its target.

And that’s when the shit hit the fan. Their father, hearing all the ruckus, ran into the backyard.

“Your mama’s gonna whoop your asses,” he said. “Them cups was a wedding present from your great grandmama.”

(202 words)

Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.