The Old Weird South

by Tim Westover

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  For the next two weeks, John went out every day. He didn’t find no birds. He didn’t find no rabbits. He did spot that black sheep. Shot at it just like before. Even though he knowed he hit it, seemed like that black sheep just would not die.

  T-Momma took to her bed. Addie lay beside her. Poor baby didn’t even fuss anymore, just stared into nothing.

  Benjamin had stopped crying sometime yesterday. Flies circled round him like buzzards. Poor baby too weak to swat them.

  John gave up on hunting. Since his babies only had a little bit more time left in this world, he decided to wait for the end with them so they wouldn’t die alone. Make sure they had a decent burial, then use his last bullet on himself.

  John couldn’t shake what T-Momma had told him ’bout Railroad Bill. What if it was true? What if his chillun and momma died on account of him being too proud or too stupid to get them help? He set out to find that black sheep one more time.