The Hunters and the Hunted

I stayed ever so vigilant on the branch I sat in. Birds chirped endlessly. Trees swayed in the wind, shaking their dying leaves off of their branches. I listened carefully for any sounds, any noises that may signify a living soul in this forest. From deer to dogs to humans, I would shoot it down, and I would shoot it down gracefully.

My cat skull mask rested comfortably on my face. I had taken my medication only 30 minutes ago, yet I still carried it in my pocket, to ensure I didn’t lose it. The forest would sometimes become a void of silence, except for my own breathing and blinking, before springing back to its regular liveliness.

Then I heard twigs snapping and leaves crunching. Someone was coming. I held my breath and stayed still. I carefully got the crossbow off of my back and prepared for whatever was coming.

I heard a bark, and cursed under my breath. A dog. I took a deep breath and aimed for where the bark was coming from, and as soon as I saw the dog, a hunting bloodhound, walking past the tree, I shot. The dog gave a loud yelp and fell over. I exhaled. Thank god that was over. I listened to see if anyone else was coming. After I was met with silence for a while, I decided to climb down the tree and retrieve my bolt. I sighed as I stared down at the dog, and murmured under my breath, “It deserved what it got.”

I began to walk deeper into the forest, in the direction of where the dog came from. I scanned around for any sign of life, animal or human. I first saw some birds flying around, but they were not of interest to me. I preferred large prey, not some small birds that would be hard to hit whilst flying anyway. I decided to take a rest, and sat down. Just then, I got my first sign that something was near: A gunshot. Once again, I readied my crossbow and walked in the direction of the gunshot. I breathed slowly and shallowly. Another gunshot rung out, this time closer. I sharply inhaled and began running towards whoever was shooting. I caught sight of the man, and he shot again, this time hitting me in the arm. It made me drop my crossbow and yelp. “For fuck’s-” I shouted, clutching my arm.

“Oh, sorry kid!” The old man shouted. “You know, I thought you were a deer! Your shirt really confused me!”

I picked up my crossbow and aimed for his chest.

“Hey kid, don’t point-”

I shot, and though it missed, it got his neck, and I assumed it severed an artery from how profusely he was bleeding. He stared at me in disbelief, and gagged a couple times before he finally went limp.

I sighed, and retrieved the bolt. I wondered what to tell my parents about the bullet wound, and began walking back home.