Too Easy

1420 Words6 Pages
The Illinois countryside was sweltering in July. The flat earth invited the harsh, dusty winds that hummed a lonely tune. The sky never took on a hue of blue but instead was always soaked in reddish yellow as if the sun was bleeding into it. There was a worn out house that stood wearily in the middle of a desolate plain. It wasn’t beautiful. The windows were covered in a veil of dry, brown dust, suggestive of its detachment from human contact for years. The roof had a gild of fading red paint that would have once looked pretty and bright. The uncleanness of the house paralleled the harsh surrounding environment that seemed to be engulfed in sporadic dust storms. The complete lack of rain in these godforsaken rural areas left the soil wrinkled with cracks of mud and sand. It wasn’t beautiful. Joe Callan was the perfect loner. Now sixty-five, he was living in that unsightly house. He owned a small barn nearby, which housed a few animals for personal sustenance. It was a quiet life, largely divorced from human contact. The only sound was of sleepy fowls and cattle. This sort of life, of course, did not suit him in the least. Callan was a war veteran who served in Vietnam. Like for most other soldiers who survived, Vietnam had changed him; it changed him to the core. Now, he was living alone in the house, trying his best to live the life of a cattle farmer. Of course, this was just a way of denying his past, rejecting who he had permanently become. The blood that he had shed penetrated to his soul; he just knew that he already had a one-way ticket to hell. All this peace and quiet was but a moment’s delusion that afforded him a short escape from the nightmares that haunted him day after day. He desperately wished for some return of... ... middle of paper ... ... his pigs. He was no better than them. He reflected back at all the mistakes he had made. What kind of person he was. He stared at the sky. It was clear. The sun was setting and gave a bright beautiful red colour to the sky and kept the world going. He could faintly hear the police siren or perhaps it was ambulance. Callan could not believe he just shot down the kid. He was a worthless punk, sure, but he was just a kid! He was barely in his twenties. He didn’t know any better. He was young and stupid. He had all the potential to become someone useful to the world. He had family and friends who liked him. And now he was dead. And it was all too easy killing him. Callan held his rifle tight. Loaded another bullet he had in his pocket. He put the gun up to his temple. Then slowly, as life ticked away, he pulled the trigger. It was, as it always had been, too easy.
Open Document