3.
Standing on the blotched asphalt, Rosa felt nothing. No sound fell on the suburban street but the lingering drops of last night’s rainfall. It was probably an eerie sight for her neighbours – to see her alone in the driveway, hunching her back in a bathrobe. Never mind what they would think though. The silence was a gift. A chance to forget the stormy argument that thundered between her and Lois the night before. The rain spitting on her face and all that booming torrential noise. It exhausted her to think of where she stood with Lois now. Apathy had dribbled into the drains of Rosa’s morning. There really was nothing for her to do but stare at the darker patches of the ground, evaporating into nothingness.
4.
His pupils constricted when the shock had subsided.
"Good shot Franky!” his mum yelled behind him.
Franklin’s focus shifted from the smoke seeping out the end of the upheld rifle, onto the still bison in the distance. He knew what he had done, and let out a nervous chortle. His sister shivered and kicked around a pebble. His mother slapped his back in approval.
“Your first one. And a fat one at that.”
Franklin shrugged at the compliment and sought a smile from his sister. All that was returned though was a solemn face, turning away from the site of the crime.
“Come on. Let’s go round it up,” his mum said.
Her cheeriness looking over the bleeding bison in the grass did not add up. He dragged behind her where the smoke of the gun had dissolved, but the guilt had not.
