Dear Readers, thank you for your patience as I traverse my life in my sixties! Whoever said growing old was not for whips was 100% correct. But I assure you, I have missed you. I have missed writing and expressing myself here and elsewhere. More on that in the next post, though. For now, I have a promise to keep with you.
This was my first-ever published story in something other than a work-related print. It was published in a now-defunct Pakistani magazine, Dastaan World, in English for the American market. It is written in my favorite genre, speculative fiction. Please enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments!
Fair Game
Huddled together against the blowing wind and swirls of old snow, great surges of vapor billowed from the elk, forming a moist cloud above them before dissipating. Cows and yearlings assembled around the big bull. At the fringe of the herd, a couple of frustrated younger bulls paced nervously around the edge. The coming storm had the entire herd on alert. And yet, that was not the only concern.
The hunter crouched down and watched as the dark brown manes rippled, their caramel-colored bodies quivering periodically from the sensation. He guessed the bull must weigh in around 700 or 750 pounds and he counted 6×6 points on the antlers. Not bad, he thought to himself. A six-point this large was rare.
The bull sniffed at the cream-colored rumps of some of the cows who quickly moved away from him. This early winter, like every winter before, was mating season. Winter was also the time for culling the herd, the time when the weak died and the strong went on to multiply. Of course, there was man who held a part in their lives.
The hunter had been stalking the herd for some time, downwind of them so they could not detect him, searching for the perfect elk. The bull would be his largest ever. Quite a prize for his collection. He did not care for the meat. It was the sport he craved, the actual hunt, stalk, and bag. He imagined those huge antlers on the wall of his home, above the fireplace and smiled. He’d likely give the meat away; if not just let it go to waste. That would depend on how tired he was when he finished here. It was, after all, the boast of the prize he desired.
The hunter glanced at his rifle and slowly glided his hand over its barrel, smooth and cold. It made him feel powerful, filled him with excitement. He quietly lifted it to his shoulder, sighted carefully, and fired. The bull elk threw back his head and his hindquarters jerked to the side as the bullet forced itself into his hide. The hunter cursed. He had let his excitement mess up his aim. He fired again, this time into the heart. The elk fell to the cold ground and grunted as the snow flew up around him. The rest of the herd, which had scattered at the very instant of sound, disappeared in the nearest cover. The hunter stood up, proud of his accomplishment.
As the darkness fell, the temperature plummeted and the snow fell heavily, whipping in circles around him. He beat his hands against his arms and stomped his feet as he walked around the fire he’d built, trying to keep the blood flow going in his body. The woods were quiet but for the crackling and occasional pop of the burning wood. Darkness hung heavily in the trees around him. His elk hung on a tree close by, its belly slit. He had gutted it at the site of the kill, his intentions at that point, to sell the meat. Gutting had to be done immediately to protect the meat from any spoiling. After using a pulley system to get it up in the air, he stepped away to warm himself a moment at the flames that blazed up from the fire pit.
In silence, a stranger approached, hidden in bushes just outside the hunter’s camp, carefully watching him. He, too, held a rifle. A smile crossed his face as he raised it to his shoulder. He aimed and fired, the gunpowder assaulting his nostrils. The hunter grabbed his chest, disbelief and shock on his ashen face as the realization of what had occurred entered his mind. He tumbled to the ground and, looking up at the tree, realized his elk was gone. A moment later, the light left his eyes.
The stranger dropped the rifle and stepped back…..
The woods were silent and the smell of the musky hides of an elk herd clung in the air. A large bull elk turned away from the gleam of the fire and the smell of the freshly fired rifle before him and ran deep into the woods, once again the leader of his herd.
THE END
On Hummingbirds Wings 