Flash Fiction #2 - Also called "The End"

The boys thought Grandfather Claude was exciting: he had fought in actual wars and he had medals to prove it. He also had an air rifle that fired metal pellets and he went hunting in the woods. He even killed rabbits for his dinner.
“Did you enjoy the pie?” He asked, when Mum and Jenny, the little sister, were out of ear shot, “got the rabbit myself.”
“Have you killed many rabbits, Grandfather Claude?”
“Oh yes, hundreds, maybe.” He said with a wink.

He had tried taking the boys out hunting with him, but they always made too much noise, squeaking and crashing through the undergrowth, pretending to be tigers.
“We’ll get something one day.” He would always say.

***

One evening, Grandfather Claude was babysitting. After dinner, the boys went up stairs to play with their G.I. Joes and Jenny chose a film to watch. They sat together, Jenny’s tiny body nestled against her grandfather, and the Walt Disney theme tune started. Jenny had chosen a new film called Bambi.
As the deer ran, throwing up clouds of snow and the music rose, he felt her, pressed against him, sensing the crescendo was fatal. She hid her face in his shoulder. Holding his breath, he braced himself against the sofa.
The gun shot thundered.
Pale flakes fell from the darkening sky and, knowing what they hadn’t seen, Claude watched the fawn look for his mother in the white silence. As the music struck a mournful chord, he felt her quiet sobs drop tears onto his shirt. He put his arm around her and watched Bambi walk away, into the blizzard.
“It’s just a story.” He said.

***

As his daughter idly chatted to him, Claude watched the boys playing soldiers in the back garden. He did not drink his tea.
“Grandfather Claude, can we go tracking rabbits in the woods with your rifle today?”
“Well boys, I actually gave that old rifle to Mrs Jones who runs the church jumble sale.”
“What?”
“The truth is, boys, your old Grandfather is getting too ancient to be playing with such dangerous things as rifles. See these hands? Too shaky. It wouldn’t be safe would it?”
The boys, almost in tears, flounced away. His daughter rolled her eyes and followed them into the garden.
With a steady hand, Claude picked up his tea cup and took a sip, thinking of the rifle lying disowned and safe in a dark space in the attic.