Hunt (© Paul Arnold)
The doe grazed quietly. It dipped it’s head and pulled the
soft grass chewing, looking left and right, as if watching for a predator. It’s
simple beauty was surprising, and a welcome addition to the cold morning.
The hunter watched
the deer through the scope. It was graceful, it’s muscles strong and elegant.
His mouth became filled with saliva again, and he swallowed it down. The
thought of meat, after all these months, had seemed almost an impossibility.
Now, all that remained, was to gently squeeze the trigger, and perform the rite
of the cut, something that had become holy to him.
He watched the
deer.
His finger
tightened briefly, but he pulled it away, slowly and gently. The muscles in his
arms protested, and his brain screamed in outrage.
But he held.
The wind blew
faintly through the trees, and the deer, raised her head, looking around more
cautiously. He tensed, waiting for it to bound away as it caught his scent, but
she bent down again as the breeze died away.
It was just before
sunrise, but the sun lit up the horizon in colors of blue and pink. He thought
of cotton candy at the carnival, buttered popcorn, the sweet smell of funnel
cakes and corn dogs, of candied apples and children’s delighted squeals of joy,
and their screams of terror, so quickly banished when the ride was over.
He watched the
deer.
A brief squeeze of
the trigger, he told himself. Just three pounds, and you can have meat for the
rest of the month, at least the rest of the month, if not more. His
mouth worked the saliva, he could almost taste the salt.
The sun broke
between the mountain peaks, and he watched in silence. Power lines skirted
above him, silent now, and weathered, looking like fingers of a primitive god,
reaching to the Heavens.
He breathed through
his mouth, as the sun warmed his cheeks, and worked on melting away the mist on
the ground.
It was good. Spring
was here, and the weather was glorious. He bent back to his rifle.
He watched the
deer.
She still grazed,
silent, peaceful, a wonderful creature, taking simple pleasure in a morning
meal, perhaps to return to a new yearling, to watch and protect it, while her
buck roamed his kingdom, the domain of the dead.
A gentle squeeze of
the trigger was all it would take. It wouldn’t do to pull it, a light squeeze
would suffice.
And there would be
meat again.
He sighed, and
brought the rifle down. The doe, which stood only a few dozen yards away, heard
his clothes as they rubbed against his skin, and her head jerked right. She
stared at the man.
He watched the
deer.
- THE END - Other contributions by this author:- 1. I Can Remember The Day (3-Feb-2002) 2. Sins Remembered (16-Dec-2002) 3. And Now...The News (19-Feb-2003) 4. Waking Up Beside You (4-Apr-2003) 5. Death By Misadventure (26-Apr-2003) 6. Great and Small (27-May-2003) 7. This Just In (30-Jul-2003) 8. The New World (30-Jul-2005)
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