Post by Josephus I on Dec 18, 2010 1:32:44 GMT
Nova English Short Stories
Well in addition to the Nova English Community Book project I wanted to create a little bit of Nova England where anyone can submit and post a short story. Its really just for the cultural side and the main aim of this at least for me is to practice and improve my writing skills and hence it allows us to all pass on constructive critique to each others works!
Anyway here is my first submission:
An Ode To The Hunter
The woodland was bathed in the dull glimmer on moonlight, barely enabling the shadowed figure to make our the details of the terrain around it. As it moved through the tough undergrowth leaves and twigs that now littered the ground following the end of Autumn crunched underfoot. There was no other sound in-between those large grey looking Oaks and fir trees, the crunching of undergrowth continued as the figure moved deeper into the woods. It navigated the woods perfectly, managing to remember all the hidden parts of the woodland and making sure that it wouldn't trip if it had to run away through the moonlit trees.
Eventually the figure reached the edge of the woodlands, its head brushing aside a large branch that halted it's view of the settlement that slowly encroached on the woods. The bright lights of the village gave the sky around it an almost uneasy orange halo, street lamps flicked and slowly died of light as their timers ended their cycles. Whilst nearly all the houses were now fading back into the darkness of night, until only the small police office became the only beacon of light. The tiny open topped Jeep parked awkwardly outside now became the bed of a large ginger cat that had taken a liking to the drivers seat. Through the windows of the tiny stone building the figure could make out the shadow of the only police man on duty there. The figure watched in curiosity and stood bemused as it watched the police officer militantly apply oil and polish to a stripped down pistol.
Crack.
Something stirred to the right of the figure, it turned desperately trying to find the source of the noise but to no avail as it searched the grey clumps of bushes that surrounded the clearing. The figure tried to turn its attention back to the settlement before it heard that same crack again. This time several wood pigeon flew startled in the air uncovering the source of the noise at last. The opposing figure was on its knee, in its hands was a large rifle its wood stock smoothed from years of use and the metal gleamed to a dull polish. The figure now realised why it hadn't noticed this gun carrying lunatic before, the man or even woman was dressed in head to toe in camouflaged clothes. The figure stood still, its brain powered up as it tried to make that nano-second decision which would activate that age old option of 'flight' or 'fight'. In the end an echoing gunshot cut the figures thoughts, its blood eked out from its body, shimmering in the grey light of Moon.
The hunter emerged from the bushes she had stared down her prey and taken its life. She unsheathed a large hunting knife and in a swift and well practised motion she cut the prey's throat causing more of its grey life fluid to leak out onto the cold damp grass. It took her close to an hour to bring the prey back to the small rusting pick up truck that had laid idle in the gravel car park of the woods. She sighed to herself putting the creature on to the back of the truck, as she thought back to the moment that the stag had watched the Village in amazement and then stared directly at her. Tall and defiant, its black coat barely visible in that all encompassing darkness.
The woodland was bathed in the dull glimmer on moonlight, barely enabling the shadowed figure to make our the details of the terrain around it. As it moved through the tough undergrowth leaves and twigs that now littered the ground following the end of Autumn crunched underfoot. There was no other sound in-between those large grey looking Oaks and fir trees, the crunching of undergrowth continued as the figure moved deeper into the woods. It navigated the woods perfectly, managing to remember all the hidden parts of the woodland and making sure that it wouldn't trip if it had to run away through the moonlit trees.
Eventually the figure reached the edge of the woodlands, its head brushing aside a large branch that halted it's view of the settlement that slowly encroached on the woods. The bright lights of the village gave the sky around it an almost uneasy orange halo, street lamps flicked and slowly died of light as their timers ended their cycles. Whilst nearly all the houses were now fading back into the darkness of night, until only the small police office became the only beacon of light. The tiny open topped Jeep parked awkwardly outside now became the bed of a large ginger cat that had taken a liking to the drivers seat. Through the windows of the tiny stone building the figure could make out the shadow of the only police man on duty there. The figure watched in curiosity and stood bemused as it watched the police officer militantly apply oil and polish to a stripped down pistol.
Crack.
Something stirred to the right of the figure, it turned desperately trying to find the source of the noise but to no avail as it searched the grey clumps of bushes that surrounded the clearing. The figure tried to turn its attention back to the settlement before it heard that same crack again. This time several wood pigeon flew startled in the air uncovering the source of the noise at last. The opposing figure was on its knee, in its hands was a large rifle its wood stock smoothed from years of use and the metal gleamed to a dull polish. The figure now realised why it hadn't noticed this gun carrying lunatic before, the man or even woman was dressed in head to toe in camouflaged clothes. The figure stood still, its brain powered up as it tried to make that nano-second decision which would activate that age old option of 'flight' or 'fight'. In the end an echoing gunshot cut the figures thoughts, its blood eked out from its body, shimmering in the grey light of Moon.
The hunter emerged from the bushes she had stared down her prey and taken its life. She unsheathed a large hunting knife and in a swift and well practised motion she cut the prey's throat causing more of its grey life fluid to leak out onto the cold damp grass. It took her close to an hour to bring the prey back to the small rusting pick up truck that had laid idle in the gravel car park of the woods. She sighed to herself putting the creature on to the back of the truck, as she thought back to the moment that the stag had watched the Village in amazement and then stared directly at her. Tall and defiant, its black coat barely visible in that all encompassing darkness.
Oh and please excuse any crap spelling or grammar in the above story....I was tired when writing this
