**** Inhumanimal ****

Official website of Devin Hansen

Baby Target Practice

“Why’s there a baby head on the counter?” my wife asked me, coming halfway down the basement stairs.

“Are you mad?”

“Well, its not normal.”

I grinned and kept watching television. She was still on the stairs with her coat and briefcase.

“So, why’s the baby head in the kitchen?”

I told her how I went shooting that afternoon with Curtis.  My friend with the better tattoos and better guns. We’d driven to a farm outside of town and let loose nearly 300 rounds. It was the first time shooting my old Russian rifle with the banana clip. You can feel the heat of the barrel through the wood stock. Its the best thing to do on a hang-over day as the adrenaline pumps all the poison out of you.

“We needed a target,” I said.

“So you took a baby doll.”

“And a pink pony.”

“There’s something wrong about that, Devin.”

She only uses my name when she’s in either ecstasy or disgust; obviously it was the latter.

“We’d never go hunting, and its boring to shoot at paper targets,” I said. But didn’t explain how fun it was to aim for an eyeball, or pop the head off with a bullet to the neck.

“Why a baby?”

“The kids have like five of them. I found it behind the couch. Trust me, they won’t miss it.”

She started up the stairs, shaking her head.

I decided not to tell her about the Pink Care Bear with the exit wound.


Categorized as: Non-Fiction

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