The Hunter
Even at night the desert swelters. Sweat drips from my forehead, fogging the scope, veneering the sparse mustache tracing my lip. Perched in the granite outcropping and hidden behind camel thorn, I wait for dawn, when animals venture forth for food, for water and mating, before the sun sends them back to shadows.
“Do it for honor,” the elders said. “Do it for your manhood.”
I am blessed with a sharp eye, a steady hand, and do not yet taste fear. The elders chose me for this hunt, for of all our clansmen, I have the greatest accuracy. With one shot I can kill a hare from a stone's throw or fell a bat in flight. This week I killed the leopard preying on our goats after other men had failed.
But I am a poet, not a hunter; even as I crouch amidst the rocks I weave words in my head.
Listen to the sand, to the tale it tells,
the spirits of the prophets joined with the One.
Gold silhouettes the distant ridge. My arms tremble, from the heat, from the weight of the Kalashnikov, from the exhaustion of anticipation. Below, a pale rectangle of light spills from the hut onto the scorched poppy field. My finger curls around the trigger, and I pray for the animal souls I have taken — panther, gazelle, hyena, vulture.
“It is only meat,” I murmur as the Commander greets the day.
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Author's Note
My weekly and humble offering to the 52/250 Gods. Theme - red meat.
Whew--nice!
I like how it takes until the end of the piece to realize what he is truly hunting. Faved.
Wonderful imagery, Linda: "Gold silhouettes the distant ridge. My arms tremble, from the heat, from the weight of the Kalashnikov, from the exhaustion of anticipation. Below, a pale rectangle of light spills from the hut onto the scorched poppy field." Good piece.
Wow, Linda! Sharp stuff.
Thanks for reading, all. I had a lot of fun with this story, lots of research (the nerd in me enjoys that). Peace...
Lovely writing and story. That you did your research shows, Linda!
Great story. Well done.
Well done, Linda! Excellent writing throughout, though I particularly like that next to last paragraph.
Powerful. Took me right there, into the night, and into the feeling of displaced tasks: "But I am a poet, not a hunter; even as I crouch amidst the rocks I weave words in my head."
Thank you Kathy, Matt, Christian, and Dorothee -- this morning is like Christmas, finding your kind words on this story. Peace...
Strong, stuff, Linda! Scene setting and I love the internal dialogue.
Convincing himself when he says it's only meat? I think not.
fav
Thanks Myra for the read and the pretty star! Peace...
Wow~Loved the description, and the ending smacks with resonance.
Teri, thanks so much -- especially the 'smacks with resonance!' Peace...
Beautiful. I don't quite get the capitalizes "Commander" in the last line.
Thank you for reading, Beate! I guess I capped to give him the aura of importance. Peace...
I like this, Linda, but one moment strikes me as false.
"veneering the sparse mustache tracing my lip"--a male narrator would NEVER describe his mustache as sparse (even if it was!). Since all mustaches also trace one's lips, that phrase is unnecessary as well. A male narrator might say, "veneering my mustache" (well, I'm not sure he'd say "veneering" either!). He'd say, perhaps, "wetting my mustache." I speak from experience. I wore a mustache for thirty years. (Never sweated into it from my forehead though. The drips just don't work that way. The nose is in the way.)
What a crazy impassioned comment about a trivial detail!
Oh no, my female gender belies my narrarating! Good point, Bill. As someone who doesn't (intentionally) wear a 'stache, your comment is appreciated. I was trying to get at the young age of the hunter with the sparse stuff. On the revise, I'll take care of this detail. thanks for the read. peace...
Have some time for reading with twentysix out, came hunting for new stuff from writers I admire - then came to this from oh, 24 weeks or so ago ;-), and recalled I loved it then, as now.
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Walter, just found your comment and star. THANK YOU, dear Sir. Peace...