The rifle feels about as heavy in his hands as you’d realistically expect a rifle to feel, which is to say pretty heavy indeed.
“You got it in your sights, son?”
He’s talking about a deer. A graceful, tranquil doe, doing nothing but sniffing leaves.
“Yes,” the boyfriend whimpers. “I do.”
“Now, what you want to remember,” he says, “is to squeeze the trigger.”
Why, the boyfriend wonders – as he trains his crosshair on this peaceful, beautiful creature – couldn’t his girlfriend’s father be something normal? Like a quantity surveyor. Or a policeman.
“Lot of first timers, they tend to pull the trigger back hard, see? Sends the damn thing sky high. What you want is a nice, firm squeeze.”
The boyfriend is aiming between the deer’s front and hind legs. The bullet will pass beneath her belly. There’s no way he’s shooting Bambi’s mother. Not for him. Not for her. Not for anyone.
“So when you’ve got it nice and steady, you…”
The boyfriend pulls the trigger. He pulls it back hard. The shot swings up and to the right, catching the doe’s haunch.
The noise is horrendous. Just horrendous. She squawks and screams, all hell coming out of her throat.
“I SAID SQUEEZE, GODDAMNIT!”
She tries to make her escape, the deer, but she won’t get far – running like a broken marionette, unable to keep her legs from crumpling underneath her.
“Jesus,” he says, sliding his knife from its sheath, setting off on her trail. “Stay here.”
Blur – I’m Just A Killer For Your Love