“Omigod, Hank. You couldn’t hit the floor if you fell out of bed,” Jimmy said, trying to control his laughter.
“Pull!” yelled a determined Hank. As the clay pigeon became airborne, Hank pumped the shotgun, took aim, and fired. Once again, he missed the target. “Dammit,” he said.
“With aim like that,” Jimmy said, “I pity your wife when she has to clean the floor around your toilet.”
“Hey, cut the dude some slack, Jimmy,” Mike said. “This is his first time going skeet shooting.”
“Yeah, Jimmy,” Hank said. “How many targets did you hit your first time?”
“Every damn one, Hank,” Jimmy answered.
“That’s a load of bullshit, Jimmy,” Hank replied.
“Oh yeah? Watch this.” Jimmy yelled, “Pull!” and as the clay pigeon catapulted across the sky, he pumped the shotgun, tracked the disc, and fired. The target broke into tiny pieces.
Hank was enraged. He turned toward Jimmy, raised the shotgun, aimed it at him, and said, “Who’s the clay pigeon now, asshole?” as he pumped the barrel. “Pull!”
Written for the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: Yinglan.