the hunter (part 1)

In a split second, the intrepid hunter dove into the nearest shrub cover he saw. And cursed out loud exactly two seconds later as the sensation of a thousand needles piercing into every part of his body overtook the adrenaline that was surging through his system and exploded in his brain. The desert shrub emitted a spiteful chuckle; it hadn't spent thousand of years evolving unappetizing needle-like leaves only to be sat upon by fat, khaki-wearing men in safari hats.

A little farther away, his surprised prey, which had been grazing, looked up mid-chew at the strange cursing bush. It stared for a few seconds and, convinced that the plant was not about to uproot itself and charge, nonchalontly galloped away to find another patch of grass, preferrably one that did not share its soil with rude shrubs.

The suffering hunter groaned as he helplessly watched his quarry trot out of sight, its rump-perched pendulum-tail bidding him a fond farewell. A few more seconds he remained immobilized within the spiteful shrub, viscerally aware that any movement only provoked more pain. Just then an unusually strong gust of desert wind blew that rustled the needly bush, and some distance away, a grazing animal that did not bother to look up this time thought to itself, plants these days really need to be taught some civility, as it heard the same bush curse again.

The hurting hunter very slowly extricated himself from the painful plant. The evidence of his encounter bore across every exposed part of his pale Caucasian complexion as red streaks of traumatized flesh. Bracing himself now, he reached down into the forboding plant with a steeled arm and bated breath and pulled out his hunting rifle, which looked relatively unscathed compared to its wielder. He surveyed the extent of his epidermal damage through gritted teeth, the scratching heat of his physical pain numbed somewhat by the dawning of a very uncomfortable realization: he was lost.

proverbial blood

He demonstrates a quiet confidence that raises its voice above the written fray. The proverbial thickness of blood, in this case, conveys the substance of his ink. I'm very proud of my little bro.