It was a cold morning as the hunter climbed up the ladder to his hunting post. His rifle hung over his shoulder as he sat down in a little chair next to the rail. The sun had not yet risen, and the cold frost that promised winter was creeping on the grass. His tea was steaming on a miniature table which acted as an armrest. The wood of the post was rotten and worn, but it had not fallen. It had been standing here when the hunter first found the land, and the hunter adapted it for his own purpose. The hunting post overlooked a valley, surrounded by trees. The grass was long from decades of growing, and in the distance, a ruined house was visible. The hunter loaded his rifle and checked his watch. It was 7:51 AM. Not yet eight. He was ahead of schedule. In front of him lay work in the city, and a stressful job. The hunter sighed. His wife was at home. He knew she disapproved of the act of killing other creatures. He looked through the scope of his rifle. It was a new rifle, and he hadn’t tested it yet. It was beautifully proportioned to his arm span, with no apparent ridges or rough spot. Good thing too. The rifle had cost him ten months of his salary. Though the scope brought him nearer to the valley, nothing was yet visible. The hunter relaxed and leaned back in his chair. From his view, he could see the whole valley. The trees around him were moist with the dew of a fresh morning. He sipped his tea, and savored the hour of freedom.


Suddenly an object moved in the horizon. The hunter leaped to his rifle and looked through the scope. It was a white tailed deer. His fingers tingled with adrenaline as he adjusted his rifle. His heart was racing. If anything, the hunter was excited for the hunt to come. He aimed through the scope. The deer was not very large, and it’s antlers were very small. The hunter once again aimed, adjusted his scope, felt the floor move underneath him, and fell in a shower of leaves and splinters, hitting off the boughs of the tree. The hunter lay on the ground, eyes closed. His rifle fell after him, and came to a rest over his body, the shiny, smooth chrome surface bruised, beaten, and cracked. His chair fell next to him, the legs snapping off as though they were mere toothpicks.


The deer bolted and ran, hearing the beating sound. It disappeared into the horizon. The valley returned to its peaceful state, serene and ancient, with an alluring and captivating sense of plenty, disturbed only by the outline of a figure in the frost below.