Focal Distance (Otherwise Untitled)
#216 of Short Stories
A rabbit clings to a rifle.
~ The rabbit's attention was slammed back into focus as a bit of the grass some distance away shifted in position for a few moments. When, after the view through her rifle's scope failed to provide any further observations of dancing grass, she relaxed her posture a bit. Now out of her daze, her fingers tapped the rifle's controls lightly to navigate through the menu to check the current time.
~ "Oof.. time for a drink..", muttered softly into the foliage of her concealment.
~ She slithered her left arm in a tight bunch to cautiously pull forward a filled water bottle, and in doing so jostled the wound-pack she'd expanded into the spot of her lower back where the fragmentation came down some time ago. She froze in place while the world went dark and to stars for a bit, the numbing agents of the foam having clearly depleted themselves sometime in the night. With an additional dose of patience, she managed to drag the bottle up to her face for a long draught of the stale rainwater. She left it in place for her morning stretch of wiggling toes and fingers, the oppression of silence puddling around atop the soil damp with her blood.