literature

The Hunters

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Literature Text

I lay sprawled on the dewy grass at the dege of the field, my sundress moistened by the ground underneath me where the coolness of night had given way to the first burst of light from that early Spring sunshine and laid a carpet of glistening droplets to dance across the field. I lay utterly motionless, lost to the haze of numbness that envelops you in the moments before you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. The sun dappled through the canopy of the trees which bordered the clearing, playing a shadowy dance across my bare shoulders. I followed the line of those shadows where they moved gently down my arm to my pale fingertips. I ran my fingers over the delicate, green spikes of grass with a touch you would normally reserve for your lover’s bare skin. Barely touching so that the sensation seemed amplified as each blade tickled along my skin. The wind, like a breathe from Mother Nature herself, suddenly sped through the clearing and stirred the surrounding trees into a frenzy of dance and with it the light on my skin became a dizzying swirl of sunlit polkadots that moved over my body like nature’s own disco ball. Birds took flight from the swaying trees and sounded their discontent at being disturbed. But over the high pitched twitter and the beating of wings came a sound like a deep rumbling. I craned my neck backward, searching for the sound that had broken the purity of the sights and sounds of nature but found that I had niether the energy nor the motivation to strain to see what was coming. I turned my attention back to my hand where it now lay motionless on the ground and the soft sensation of the grass had given way to the raw, grittiness of the earth beneath it. A certain warmth beating into my palm from the earth below. And there was warmth pulsing through my other hand as well but it seemed more liquid, more … real. I rolled my head so that I might see what brought such fluid warmth through the fingertips of my left hand and found it glistening like the dew in the field. But this was not dew. This was blood. So much blood where it poured from my chest and spilled out from under the palm of my left hand. Thin, red streams traced their way down the side of my sundress as the blood continued to flow from between my fingertips. And now that sound came nearer as reality closed in. The distant rumbling became a heavy trample of feet and a chaotic blur of booming voices. They were close but so was I. I stared upward, no longer entranced by the feel of the grass and the sway of the trees. No interest for the fluid of life which pulsed from my chest with every breathe. My eyes drew to the brilliant blue sky above, full of sun and warmth and promise. And in the moment the rumbling came close enough that I knew the men with their khaki jackets and strange furry hats had come to save me, I no longer needed saving. The two men knelt by my side, shotguns slung absently from shoulder straps and terror piercing from their eyes. Their faces creased with the strain of horror as hands clung to my chest and they shouted a string of apologies but the sound never reached me. My eyes returned to the spring skywith its promise of warmth and the clear blue became a brilliant silvery white as if heaven itself had burst through into our world. And I felt my body draw upwards into the light but it was not my body. I was a feather in the wind, a whisper in your ear. I was gone.
For a dear friend who inspired me to write again, thank you Lee. I haven’t written in over 10 years so easy on the critique okay ;)
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