Deer Hunter

Deer Hunter

by GEIST von PA, Dec 7, 2009, 2:21:44 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / General Non-Fiction
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My lungs burn like fire in my chest, hard to breath in this cold dense air.
My legs are strong and can carry a good load on a good day, but today it's cold and my muscles yearn for oxygen.
The leafs crunch and crumble under my tromping steps, fallen branches break with sound like a gunshot.
Echoes of the sounds bounce off the side of the damp snow covered slope and resonate in my ears as if I am being pursued.
The thorn bushes grapple at my ankles, the saplings scratch at my face and chest as I rush down the small deer paths.
I know these woods like the back of my hand, and much like marination* of my hand, these trails twist and turn with zig-zags and switchbacks.
Only a person who has trailed them many times knows where each and everyone of these trails lead.

I know where he is headed.
He hears my panting breath, my feet stomping.
He hears the sliding 'whoosh!' noises from twigs being slid across fabric and then rustling as the branches 'twang' back into place.
He has heard these sounds before, but he knows this time they mean business.

Just ahead the path forks.
I hear as he slides on the slippery mud and the 'ting' as hoof makes contact with stone.
I'm running at full speed, I jet down the right* path.
I enter the clearing and with a leaping hop I go prone into the two foot high grass just at the 'T' intersection of the path.
I hear him coming, just as he has heard me coming.
Through the decaying undergrowth, the snapping of downed twigs and rustling of branches.
Gallop, Gallop.
Then a soft squishy sound.
I'm looking right at him from my hide.
He knows somethings amidst, no sounds of a pursuit.
Cautiously he approaches the 'T' intersection with ears like radars searching for sounds.
Snow falls from a tree across the field.
He turns his head to inspect the sound.
I leap from my prone position and with a lightning quick swoop of my hand I catch him on the far side of his neck.
I jerk my fist towards me just as he makes a leaping bound of escape, he stumbles and falls.

My hand is warm and wet.
The blade of my Ka-bar is dripping crimson onto the pure white snow next to my boot.