Start Fiction:
Roger Roberts laughed as he fired his gun at the teenagers walking through his field. The group scattered, some headed for the timber while others fell in to a dead sprint for the highway. "Stupid kids," he said as he loaded two more shells into the shotgun. "Let's see if they can run any faster!" Two more shots, aimed relatively safely from the kids; Roger's laughing echoed through the valley.
"Roger Monroe Roberts!" Ellie Roberts shouted out the kitchen window. Roger froze up a bit, hesitating to turn around. "What in the hell are you doin'?" she continued to scream as she walked out on to the front porch, screen door slamming behind her.
"Oh, come now, Ellie," Roger said, lowering his shotgun to the ground. "I'm just messin' with the locals."
"Well, stop it," she said as she wagged her finger at him walking off the porch. "You keep it up and we won't be able to sell any live stock in the tri-county area with all your shenanigans." She had a point as Roger was not the most social of bees in the hive, especially when is came to business. If their stock wasn't so good, they probably would have been out of business years ago. But he had a knack for raising high quality stock, year after year, and luckily that reputation preceded him throughout the area.
"Well, what the hell am I suppose to do in the middle of the afternoon?" he said. Having nothing to do bothered him, and usually ended up getting him in some kind of trouble.
"Ever thought of taking a nap under a tree?" Ellie snapped back as she turned beck to the house.
"Dim witted genius; pain in my ass," she mumbled to herself, or so she thought. Roger pulled two more shells out of his pocket and loaded his rifle once again, taking aim at Ellie square in the back.
"Too easy," he said as he turned towards the highway, but there were no kids in sight anywhere. He had scared them off real good. "Stupid kids; stupid wife."
End Fiction.
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