Between The Lines

Jackrabbit

It all started on a cold summer's night, or  maybe it was a cold winter's night if you prefer. A young man sat in the park, staring up at the moon. Now why he was doing this, well, your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps he was admiring how round and bright it was, or maybe he envied how important it was to the world. Regardless, he was staring at the moon. It was almost as if he was engaged deeply in conversation with the moon just by sight or having a simple staring contest with it. Perhaps the moon was trying to tell him something. Perhaps it was trying to tell him that this was a bad idea. If that was the case, then either the man didn't hear it or didn't care. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes blur into hours, until finally, the sun started to rise. It was time. He was hesitant, as if his inner mechanisms were at war. That hesitation soon disappeared. Anger began to bubble up inside him like a shaken up can of soda. He felt his whole life was a lie, that the only thing he was allowed to know was that he knew nothing. He got up from the bench, and he shot at the sun with a gun.