Kyle was trying to finish up a job in his backyard shop when he remembered the new saw blade that he bought from the box store was still inside the house. He was anxious to try out this latest purchase. The associate in the tool section sold him on the cutting performance of the blade with 80 teeth. Kyle had always used a blade with 68 teeth, but decided to pay a little extra based on the steadfast recommendation.
As he exited the shop and headed toward his back door, he heard a faint, high-pitched chirping noise coming from beside a large oak tree. Kyle went to investigate the sound and noticed a tiny baby squirrel lying almost motionless at the base of the tree. He knelt down beside the injured squirrel to get a better look at it. Its eyes were closed, and it was taking very rapid, short breaths. Kyle assumed that it must have fallen out of the tree. He looked up, trying to spot a nest or the mother of the wounded squirrel, but saw nothing. Kyle hated to see the hapless animal suffering, but wasn’t sure how he could help it.
The animal let out another pain-filled screech and barely opened its eyes. Kyle looked into the eyes of the dying squirrel and knew that he had to do something. He retrieved a cardboard box from his shop and placed it beside the squirrel to block the scorching sunlight. Kyle went inside to get a bottle of water and his phone. He poured a small amount of water onto the squirrel in an attempt to cool it off and make its suffering a little more bearable. Then, he pulled out his phone and searched, what to do if you find a dying baby squirrel.
A plethora of information appeared on the screen. Kyle quickly scanned the top few results, and the overwhelming answer was to contact wildlife rescue and rehabilitation. He then searched, wildlife rescue and rehabilitation near me. The closest location was over 30 miles away, but he clicked the number to call. The phone rang five times, then a recording started. Thank you for calling Dawn Lakes Animal Rescue and Rehabilitation, we are currently closed. If you would like to…
Kyle hung up the phone and knelt beside the squirrel once more. A white foam-like substance was beginning to flow from its mouth, and the breathing appeared to be even more labored than before. He knew he had to end the suffering of this poor animal, but the thought alone gave Kyle extreme anxiety. He recalled a time, hunting with his grandfather, when he had a perfect shot on a deer, but just couldn’t pull the trigger. His grandfather called him a worthless pansy and later told Kyle’s father that he failed to raise a man.
Kyle went into his shop and looked around for something that would make it quick and painless. After slight deliberation, Kyle decided on the flat shovel. He made his way to the squirrel and looked down upon it. He knew that this was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. His heart began to beat fast and his hands trembled. He knew he had to get it right the first time, as to not prolong its agony. Kyle gripped the handle of the shovel, raised it high over the squirrel, and brought it down with a forceful chop. The shovel hit its mark, bisecting the animal in half, leaving a portion of the carcass in the ground with the square end of the tool.
A feeling of overwhelming malaise and sadness engulfed his being, and tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. With the handle still clutched, Kyle snatched the shovel from the dirt, leaving two separate pieces of the squirrel’s body. He scooped the pieces up and shoveled them into the box. Kyle then took the box behind his shop, dug a hole, and buried the dead squirrel. After the last of the dirt filled in the little grave, he stood over the mound and said a prayer.
Kyle really didn’t feel like finishing the work now, but thought that it might be a good way to take his mind off of the previous lamentable events. He walked inside to get the new saw blade, still unnerved from the experience. Back in his shop, he opened the package, affixed it to the saw, wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, and continued dismembering the blonde prostitute for disposal.
As blood sprayed and flesh and bone were severed, Kyle thought to himself, That fella at the store was right. Those extra teeth do make a huge difference.
Anthony Dirk Ray resides, works, and writes in the sweltering southern portion of the United States near the Gulf of Mexico. After years of writing off and on, merely for sanity, he is now sharing some lines. His work can be seen on multiple sites online and in print. Some of which are Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Three-Line Poetry, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Terror House Magazine. His site, Gloomy Forebodings: Poems, Stories, and Mediocre Musings, can be found online here.
