Once again, it’s Wednesday and that means new words. #1lineWed **WAS** far too easy. Writers, run a word search an see how many times WAS appears. The prompt for #ThirsdayThreads was far more interesting: “It’s a mistake many beginners often make.” This snippet will appear fairly early on in the book but beyond that, it’s also pretty self-explanatory.
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Meg was not a stranger to firearms, not with a soldier father. He’d taken her hunting every school break and vacation she spent with him. She hadn’t fired one in ages though. While she’d never admit it aloud, she was a bit hesitant about firing one now. Still, she and Petrov were the only adults and with the war going the way it was, she needed to be able to protect the children. And herself.

Petrov showed her how to load the rifle while Maxim set up a target. Going to her belly, legs spread, elbows planted in a proper prone firing stand, she fitted the weapon to her shoulder, laid her cheek along the stock, and closed one eye peering through the scope. The target—a shirt pulled over a bush—appeared in the scope’s crosshairs. She inhaled, held her breath, exhaled, pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Well, snickers broke out from the males standing behind her, but the rifle didn’t do a bloody thing. It was loaded. She’d checked.

“It’s a mistake many beginners often make.” Petrov sounded smug.

Meg turned her head. Eyes narrowed, she glowered at the older man and the teen standing next to him. Maxim had the sense to take a backwards step to put further distance between them.

“I’m not a beginner.” She bit off each word.

“Safety.”

Puzzled, her expression morphed from anger to confusion. “I was being safe.”

“No. The safety. You left it on.”

Okay, maybe her noob status was showing a little now. She had no idea a hunting rifle had a safety, which was, in itself, a d’uh moment. She found the small mechanism, clicked it off, and resumed her firing position. Following the same procedure, when she pulled the trigger this time, all sorts of things happened. The rifle bucked. There was a deafening crack. The shirt flapped. And her right cheek and eye hurt like she’d just been kicked by an elephant.

Maxim said something in Ukrainian she couldn’t translate. Petrov answered in English. “Yes, she will need ice for the eye. Good shot, though.” The older man flashed her a sardonic grin. “You killed my shirt.”
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Yeah, that’s gonna leave a bruise. LOL Writers, feel free to share now or just take the prompts and run with them in your own work. Readers, ever fired a rifle?