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When I was maybe fifteen I took my dads BB pistol into the woods to hunt for quail. I wasn’t sure what a quail looked like but I had an idea that it wasn’t something I had seen in my own backyard. So I wondered into the woods of southern Missouri with the intent to shoot a game bird with a co2 powered pistol. I didn’t know what this bird looked like and I was seriously under armed for the job. The woods were full of thorn bushes and a great variety of trees that were silloueted against the sun. High in one tree maybe thirty feet away I saw a grey and white bird eating a seed or berry. I took to firearms like bees to honey and when I aimed and fired without much thought the little bird ungracefully fell to the ground. I left the poor little thing laying there lifeless with a hole in its pretty feathered head. Years later I realized I had commited a sin in killing a mockingbird. I knew it was a grave error and a curse was on my very soul. I killed something of beauty out of ignorance and a primal need to kill. Life would never be the same. Just a curse of the mockingbird.

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