should i be concerned?

I always went hunting with my dad. He was the kind of man who believed in rules, especially when it came to killing. His rule was simple: aim for the head. Always the head. Quick, clean, merciful. That’s what he said. That’s what I did. Every time.

But one day, something slipped into me. A thought I couldn’t push away. What if I didn’t aim for the head? What if I tried somewhere else?

That day, my dad wasn’t with me. Just his friend, and he didn’t care where I aimed. He wasn’t paying attention. I had my chance. The deer was right there in my scope. Normally, I’d aim between the eyes like my father taught me. But I didn’t. I aimed at its leg.

I pulled the trigger.

The sound it made still echoes in me. A scream — not like a human, but close enough to make something in me stir. The deer stumbled, crashed into the ground, thrashing in panic. Its eyes rolled, wild and terrified.

My father’s voice came to me then, like a memory lodged in my skull: end it quickly, don’t let it suffer. So I ran forward, knife in hand, ready to finish what I started.

But when I stopped, about ten meters away, I froze. I didn’t move closer. I just stared at it. Its chest heaved, its legs kicked uselessly against the dirt, its eyes locked on me. They weren’t just pleading — they were accusing. It wanted to live, and it knew I was the reason it couldn’t.

I raised the knife. My hand shook, but not from fear. From something else. Excitement, maybe? I swung. Missed. Swung again. Missed again. Again. Again.

The blade kept slipping, digging shallow, never enough to finish it. My hands weren’t clumsy. I knew that even then. I wasn’t trying to miss. I was… wondering.

What if I didn’t do it right? What if I kept trying and never really succeeded?

The deer bled, kicking and crying, the sound tearing at the quiet woods. Each second stretched, every failed strike making its suffering longer. I could’ve ended it in an instant — but I didn’t. I just kept going. Kept missing. Kept watching.

Until finally, the bullet in its leg did the job. It bled out slow, shaking, gasping, and then it was still.

The woods were silent again. I lowered the knife.

I should’ve felt guilty. I should’ve thought of my dad and how disappointed he’d be. But that wasn’t what I felt. What I felt curios if i say so idk this was this extent for me and i am happy but i puzzles me and i really a good person i didnt tell my dad till today and what if his friend told him still scares me oh yeah my dad friend was watching this btw forgot to mention in this wonderful episode and yes i used gpt to reach 500 words