Short Stories 2024: Bill Hated Summer

It was summer and he hated it.

Ironically, it was summer when his services were most in demand.

Sure, they weren't the services the good Lord had put him on this earth to fulfill, but those days were long gone.

They say one's life goes through a number of stages, and Bill's life was no exception.

As he lay there in the sun, he pondered what his life had become.

He used to be a lawman, and a good one at that.

With the gold star proudly on his chest, he maintained law and order across the Vienetta Plains.

He had brought the notorious Calippo Brothers to justice, seeing them swing at the wrong end of a well-deserved noose.

It was a tough existence, but it was home.

He spent his free days hunting mountain lions, with nothing more than a rifle and his Rhodesian Ridgeback named 'Paddles'.

A strange name for an animal so courageous and strong, especially as Bill was a firm believer in not naming something you could quickly lose - the Plains being no place for sentiment.

It wasn't until the day he nearly met his maker at the paws of a protective lioness that his companion earned his title.

Back at the Homestead, having relayed the story of how he would have been up the creek had it not been for the dog rushing to his aid, his sister Jill declared "That's it, we'll call him Paddles".

As much as he wanted to avoid it, the name stuck and his companion carried that moniker until he met his end at the end of Bill's rifle.

Having been at his side for 12 years, the final six months hadn't been kind.

Old battle scars lingered, reducing a once seemingly immortal dog to a shadow of his former self.

It was Bill's duty to show him one final kindness and he wandered out to behind the barn, his old buddy limping faithfully behind him.

As a lawman, Bill wasn't wholly unfamiliar with a good old fashioned gun fight.

He'd fired off a few rounds in anger over the years, and had had a few returned to him in kind.

Through it all he'd been lucky to escape unharmed, preferring to think the Lord was keeping him safe to fulfill a higher purpose.

The closest Bill had come to shuffling off his mortal coil had, ironically, been at the hands of his sister.

During a particularly nasty period during the Cornetto Uprising, Bill had become very conscious of the safety of his loved ones.

With his parents long past, he felt a responsibility to educate Jill on the finer points of home defence.

Sure, Jill was a deft shot when it came to knocking a sparrow out of a tree with her .22 rifle, but that would not stop an intruder with more than borrowing a cup of sugar on their mind.

Out behind the house the pair went, Bill arranging a stack of cans for Jill to polish her marksmanship on.

Convinced that walking was for amateurs, Jill persuaded Bill she was ready to run from the outset.

She didn't want a pop gun, instead taking Bills .44 Magnum and pointing it towards the waiting targets.

"Careful, that old boy kicks like a mule", Bill warned his student.

Throwing him a look which made it clear it wasn't her first rodeo, Jill confidently aimed down the range and squeezed off a round.

BOOM.

The birds watching from the trees took flight, scarpering for their lives.

At the same time Jill was thrown onto her behind, and the stacked cans stood resolutely upright.

The errant round found its way to the steel wheel of a nearby truck before ricocheting and passing through Bill's 10 gallon hat.

Once the initial confusion wore off, Jill sheepishly looked at her brother and said "I guess she does kick a bit''.

Bill gingerly removed the pistol from Jill's clasped hand and the decision was made then and there that the risk of an invasion was negligible, and if it did happen, a well-placed .22 warning shot would be sufficient to ward off any interlopers.

From then on the 'Magnum Incident' became an ongoing joke between the siblings.

Any time Jill thought her brother was taking life a bit too seriously she'd tell him to keep his hat on, and he'd bite back warning her against shooting her mouth off.

But those days are gone.

Jill has a family of her own now, and Bill has moved to the coast to see out his golden years, his punctured hat remaining a memento of an old life well lived.

Whereas summers on the homestead consisted of dusty days and evenings drinking lemonade on the porch, now his life revolved around being an object of desire for overheated kids and nostalgic adults.

They even had a pet name for him.

In these parts he was no longer Bill, but 'Bubble-O', due to nearly drowning when he first arrived in his new town, having never swum in - or even seen - the ocean before.

That wouldn't be too bad, except it meant having his nose devoured off his face and his back peeled away from his body.

As horrible as that sounded, at least he served a purpose.

Unlike the predicament he currently found himself in, thanks to some kid with more thumbs than fingers unceremoniously dropping him onto the hot ground.

As he laid there, melting away to the sounds of a crying child being dragged away by a sunburnt parent, he heard the pattering of four approaching feet.

Surely it must be his beloved Paddles coming to escort him to the next life.

Unfortunately it was just a random hound seizing the opportunity for a tasty treat.

As he felt his body waste away with each lick, Bill cursed his luck at the indignity of his final moments.

"I used to be a lawman, dammit".