Wednesday, January 8, 2014

One of those nights of vivid dreaming

(I figure it's an experiment in storytelling, if nothing else...)

In a grey stone cave some way from a road in a forest a hunter stood with his gun in wait. 
In the cave, looking out, sunlight poured in through cracks and holes in a side wall. A magnificent stag slowly entered, his heart exposed on the outside of his breast. It would be terrible to watch this animal die at the hands of the grizzled hunter, who seemed a bit of an ignorant hillbilly at best. Still, we thought the kill was inevitable, and the suspense was too much to bear, so we urged the hunter on. His gun was trained dead straight on the stag's heart the whole time, unwavering, but still, he waited to take the shot. 
The stag was outside, we could see him lay down on the grassy ground through the holes in the cave wall, and his grand horns fell from his head to the ground in a mess of stringy flesh. We thought a little triumphant that now the hunter wouldn't have to kill his prey to win his prize, but something was wrong with the stag, something was terribly wrong. Another stag, younger with smaller antlers, limped into sight, its legs bent and broken. The hunter rushed outside, concerned, and did his best to try and repair the damage on both the animals with a first-aid kit. We looked on from the cave, admiring his determination, but all the same sure that it was hopeless for the two stags. 

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