The Trap

The sky shedding the soft blue of a Sunday afternoon, burns sharp orange pathways across the horizon. A boy, no older than twelve years old, fiddles with a trap he built to catch small animals. The trap is empty. He looks over his shoulder. Behind him a much bigger boy appears. His shoulders’ slumped, his large hands covered in strawberry jam.

     ‘Where the hell you been sticking them?’

     ‘Up your mum.’

    ‘Smart.’

He licks his thick fingers somewhat erotically.

      ‘We had no bread in and all the cutlery was dirty.’

     ‘So you just used your hands?’

    ‘Yeah, why? God gave me em for a reason.’

    ‘I’d feel sorry for god if he made you.’

He chuckled, his large frame resounding with a joyful bitterness.

     ‘What you doing?’ He continued to lick his fingers.

     ‘Trying to capture a rabbit or something.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘Bored.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘Cause I’m hungry.’

    ‘Want some Jam?’

He extended his fingers towards him.

     ‘That might attract your dad, but it don’t work on me.’

    ‘Just as well, everyone thinks we’re gay.’

    ‘Who said that?’

    ‘The twins, that girl with kettle head.’

    ‘Molly?’

    ‘Yeah.’

    ‘Fuck.’

    ‘She’s not nice, even though she seems it. She’s one of them.’

‘Maybe.’ He kept working on his trap, though it was obvious he had finished.

     ‘You ever caught anything?’

     ‘No.’

     ‘I guess you never know until till you try.’

     ‘Wish I didn’t.’

A cow appears through the trees at the top of the field.

    ‘You could eat that.’

The boy looked at the cow.

     ‘Cows are too sad to eat.’

      ‘Doesn’t stop me.’

      ‘Nothing does.’

The green of the field is as intense as the silence that surrounds.

      ‘Want to have dinner at mine?

The boy watches the cow.

      ‘My mum likes having you.’

      ‘Thanks. Won’t be catching anything with this.’ He kicks it ineffectually. 

     ‘How’s your mum?’ the larger boy said.

He shrugged. 

     ‘Women eh?’

     ‘Women.’

They began to walk home. There was a dull thump as the trap shut. A baby hare is frantically trying to escape.

      ‘Now that’s sad.’ He said sucking his finger. ‘I doubt you would be able to kill it anyway.’

He walks up to the trap. He imagines how he must look to the little creature. 

      ‘Poor sod.’

He wipes away the few tears, which have managed to escape. The other boy notices but doesn’t comment.

    ‘Let’s go, I’ll smash you at Halo.’

     ‘With your head you’d be a snipers dream mate.’

He releases the hare, and it runs into the forest. 

       ‘Let’s go, you can call your mum from mine.’

He wipes his eyes once more. He watches the bush still vibrating from the hare’s distress. He imagines never going home again.