A Shortage of Angels by Penny Pickle

Author:Penny Pickle
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803413754
Publisher: Collective Ink
Published: 2023-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

7

The Mourning Dove

When any two souls share love, it is a mighty powerful thing. Love bears a shield, a field of honor, a sense of wholeness to it. And when that veil is pierced by another, it does not harm the sovereignty of love. It only wounds the one who defies such an honest and holy state.

Hearts are laid open and helpless and the one who dealt the wrong is sentenced to redeem themselves or wallow amongst their shame. But shame itself is a cancer, a pestilence, a thing created outside the soul of God. These elements, from the birthplace of fear, are the sole creation of man, the existence of which heaven will never concede. Why would God taint a holy, spotless mind with such things?

—Rev. C. J. Ellison, Tent Revivalist

When Moody showed up with his new 22 Winchester, something told me here is trouble. But I couldn’t quite cull out the reason for my lack of ease. Moody’s mama told him it was high time for him to learn hunting and other things that normal boys do. I knew he needed to follow through with some kind of game kill, or hold his head down for the duration of her apologetic cussing.

On our quest for Moody’s manhood, we stopped by a pond just this side of Wershepines. We strategized on pecan-sized heads that popped up in the mud gravy that was the stale watering hole. We argued about whether the little heads were poisonous water moccasins or harmless mosquito-eating turtles. Soon we saw it didn’t matter since Moody couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. We tried to hone Moody’s skills on milk cartons but we made no strides. When Moody pulled the trigger, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and the barrel dipped and pitched like he was standing upright in a boat.

When you think you are beaten, you are beaten. I can tell you because I have seen it in Moody. The longer it took, the farther he shot away from the willing targets. Cow patties on their sides, an old boot, coffee cans, and a Texas brick were victors over the insides of Moody. “I ain’t no good, Cal. I just ain’t right. Why ain’t I right?” He shook the gun as if he was going to throw it to the ground.

“You’re right, Moody. And what is right anyhow? Everybody has to practice. You can’t be William Tell on day one, nobody can.” He took a little comfort that I didn’t come down on him, but he was clearly sunk down on himself.

We walked empty-handed down the dirt road at a snail’s pace on our way back to my and Packy’s house. Moody hoped for fresh roadkill that he could put a bullet in and claim for a prize.

“Wha’chou laughing at?” Moody asked me.

“I ain’t laughing at you, Moody; this ain’t funny.” Then we looked at a flurrying movement beside us and froze like statues. In our stillness we both heard a rolling coo.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.