Ruined. Voila merde. And the way my life is going right now? The sticky, thick mud covering my four hundred dollar shoes might as well be the cherry on the shitty pie. I slam the car door of my newly modified Beemer and start towards the house. My foot freezes in mid-air, the second the sound of a shotgun blast rings out and impacts the dirt right in front of my foot. “Stop shooting, connard…” My voice bounces off the trees that surround the house. “Shut your yapper, boy.” The cracking voice I hear is one I immediately recognize as my old man’s. Pa is sitting on the porch in his rocking chair. My brother stumbles out of the house with his pants half way to his ankles. “Why are ya shooting?” He looks around and his eyes find mine. “Cyrus? That you?” He looks back at our father. “What the hell are you shooting at Cyrus for?” “No son of mine has a city haircut.
