Fitzgerald Compson
Just some dude who loves writing.
The Ree.
By Alex Sheffield
Set 1824
The Hunter shuffled through the forest. His feet squelching in the mud. The leaves thwacked across his masked face while the wind howled its angered rage across the scavenged forest. His animal fur as clothing was wet and damp, his hand made snake pants were muddy and dirty. And his shoes were engulfed into the ground of mud.
The insects crawled, slithered and flew all around. It would’ve been as silent as a courtroom with a serial killer if it wasn’t for the intense birds that flapped every chance they got. Tweeting their sweet songs. Flapping their luxurious wings. Singing proudly into the wind.
BANG!
And just as it flew so gracefully, it fell so dramatically. It’s skin was now the property of a hunter. He rested his weight on one knee and picked up the small bird, pulled out his knife and sliced the stomach open. After that, he used his gloved hands to reach in and pull out the birds heart. He shoved them both into his pocket, then wiped his mouth free from the blood that splattered on his face.
Suddenly there was a shuffle in the bushes. And another. And another. He gulped thinking it was foxes and began quickly reloading his flintlock rifle.
Open the pan...
It shuffled closer
Pour in the gunpowder...
And closer
Pour the rest of the powder into the top
Even closer
Throw the balls into it
Closer...
Shove them down with the ramrod...
And Closer...
FULL COCK IT!
AND CLOSER!
BANG!
He had quickly aimed his rifle towards the sound and fired. A female Indian fell to the floor, the bullet wound had sliced directly into her neck. She was about to stab him with a knife. The Hunter stared in horror. He quickly wrapped his gun around his chest and made a run for it.
By Alex Sheffield
Set 1824
The Hunter shuffled through the forest. His feet squelching in the mud. The leaves thwacked across his masked face while the wind howled its angered rage across the scavenged forest. His animal fur as clothing was wet and damp, his hand made snake pants were muddy and dirty. And his shoes were engulfed into the ground of mud.
The insects crawled, slithered and flew all around. It would’ve been as silent as a courtroom with a serial killer if it wasn’t for the intense birds that flapped every chance they got. Tweeting their sweet songs. Flapping their luxurious wings. Singing proudly into the wind.
BANG!
And just as it flew so gracefully, it fell so dramatically. It’s skin was now the property of a hunter. He rested his weight on one knee and picked up the small bird, pulled out his knife and sliced the stomach open. After that, he used his gloved hands to reach in and pull out the birds heart. He shoved them both into his pocket, then wiped his mouth free from the blood that splattered on his face.
Suddenly there was a shuffle in the bushes. And another. And another. He gulped thinking it was foxes and began quickly reloading his flintlock rifle.
Open the pan...
It shuffled closer
Pour in the gunpowder...
And closer
Pour the rest of the powder into the top
Even closer
Throw the balls into it
Closer...
Shove them down with the ramrod...
And Closer...
FULL COCK IT!
AND CLOSER!
BANG!
He had quickly aimed his rifle towards the sound and fired. A female Indian fell to the floor, the bullet wound had sliced directly into her neck. She was about to stab him with a knife. The Hunter stared in horror. He quickly wrapped his gun around his chest and made a run for it.