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 st