The man put down his shotgun and stared straight ahead.
Every target had been shattered and now were laying dead.
With only hours left till Christmas, how could he be so cruel?
Was he really a seasoned murderer or just a crazy fool?
Across his arm, the gun lay broken feeling hot from being used.
Now his eyes were tired, his arms heavy and his shoulder felt bruised
He told himself it was time for home, travelling with no one at his side.
At least, the journey would be silent with no tears having to be cried.
Slightly trembling fingers zipped closed the carrying bag
The weight of it on his shoulder made his body falter and sag.
How could anyone think of death only hours before such a day
He hadn’t! He was coming home from shooting one hundred clays!
© 2015, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved