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Needs work...written with a buzz, so be gentle! Just an idea fer now... |
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Prologue “Mathew, get me a beer” the elder Richter said as he sat on a stump, feet propped up a piece of cut firewood. The fire had been burning for a couple hours, the flickering flames making the shadows of the woods dance around the perimeter of their primitive camp. The light from the coals only served to highlight the ruddiness of his intoxicated complexion. “Yes Sir.” Mathew, the oldest of the Richter boys was always happy to get Pop a beer because he knew that after Pop had a certain amount, he could also get one for himself unnoticed. Pop had reached that ‘certain amount’ some time ago and Mathew was well on his way of reaching the ‘certain amount’ himself. He had already begun sneaking beers to his next younger brother, Mark, who was drinking beer for the first time as far as anyone else knew. The youngest, Andrew, had gone to his sleeping bag early, this being the first time he had been allowed to accompany his father and older brothers on their annual deer hunt. They had been out nearly a week, and had only one deer. They weren’t the type to worry about those so called “limits” set by the state. As far as they were concerned, the only limit they set for themselves was that they could not take home more deer than they had bullets for. That also qualified as “gun control”, another worthless government idea. Pop Richter was fond of stories, and knew more than his fair share. Growing up in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, he was steeped in the lore of the Southern Rights (Check this name - what did the southerners call the Civil war?) and how in the 1930’s the Government came to take the land of the people who lived here so the rest of us could enjoy some pretty views and good hunting. He launched into his favorite, telling his sons of the battles that were fought within only a few miles of here, the lives of the people who lived there at the time, and what he felt really happened. Mathew and Mark had heard these stories so many times they could have told them themselves, with little variation. {With the elder Richter deep into the telling of his tale, Mark snuck off to find the perfect tree to receive his recycled beer. After a few minutes of wandering through the underbrush with the light from their campfire decreasing with each step, he saw an object practically glowing, a pale white marker of someone who once was. The tombstone looked like the perfect target for a half drunk teenager with a full bladder. Mark walked up to it while unzipping his pants, feeling like he was about to do something ‘naughty’ and enjoying it. As he relieved himself on the granite stone the words became more legible. It was simple and succinct, and it struck him as odd that this marker, old as it obviously was, had been kept free of the surrounding tangle of brush and the surrounding thicket. Finished with his business, he admired his handiwork. The stone was now reflecting the shimmering light of the fire and steam from the fresh urine wisped from its surface.} revise? “Hey boy, what do ya think you’re doin’ there?” The voice from the brush startled him as he was zipping up and he caught himself in a most uncomfortable way. “Ow, shit!” he groaned. When he was able to focus his eyes again, he glanced up at the imposing figure that was the cause of his pain and discomfort. The man was taller than Mark, who at 6’ and still growing, was not small by anyone’s definition. Still, four beers and the hormones of a teenager made one believe they were indestructible. Besides, this guy had caused him to zip up his most prized possession, and it was starting to bleed. “I was taking a piss until you scared it right out of me. What’s the deal, sneaking up on someone like that? Damn it, now I’m bleeding, and it’s all your fault!” “Son, you were pissing on my Grandfather’s grave, and I don’t appreciate that much. Now apologize, and I’ll forgive you on account of you’re young” he said, taking two slow steps forward so they were within an arms reach. “Screw you old man, I ain’t apologizing to you! You should be the one apologizing to me, making me zip up dick and make it bleed!” “One last chance son. Apologize, please. You’re young enough to be given a second chance, but old enough that a lesson needs to be learned here.” “Oh, and you’re gonna teach me a lesson? I’d like to see you try, old man” As he said the last word of the sentence a bright light flashed not in front of him, but behind his eyes. As he stumbled backwards and sat down, he tasted the blood before he knew he had even been hit. “Your manners need some improving’ son. In my day no young buck ever sassed his elders, regardless. Now, apologize and their won’t be another lesson.” “You son of a bitch!” Mark growled. As he got to his feet he scooped a handful of dirt and threw it into the face of the stranger, following it with his best linebacker tackle. The sound of the bushes being broken and trampled as they tussled and rolled around caught the attention of Mark’s father and older brother, and they came running to see what the noise was all about. What they saw was Mark and some stranger in a brutal fight, with the stranger having the upper hand. Mathew charged forward to help his brother, knocking the man off his now severely battered younger brother. For a while he had the advantage, landing several well placed punches, but it wasn’t long before age and experience overcame his youthful vigor, and he found himself in much the same position as his now semi-conscious younger brother. The elder Richter had seen enough, and knew he could not do even as well as his middle son had. He made a quick decision, and ran back to the camp. When he returned he had his deer rifle with him, and no other thought than to save his son, he fired. Not once, but twice. The slugs from the 12-guage shotgun weighed more than an ounce each, and fired at a range of less than 15 feet, could kill from the shock alone. He had aimed as well as he could, but his first shot hit the mans’ should, spinning him of Mathew. The second shot followed close behind the first and hit him in his hip. As he lay on the ground moaning, trying to get up, both brothers began kicking him with their hard soled hiking boots. Five minutes later, their energy spent, they stopped and realized what they had done. They looked at each other and then at their father, not knowing what to say. Their father, a Vietnam Vet, turned to look at Mark “Well, what the fuck was that all about?” “I dunno. He snuck up on me out of the bushes and started saying something about teaching me a lesson. I think he was a gay or something’” “Or something. Ok. You’ll tell me the truth before this is finished, and then I’ll teach you a lesson, you lying sack of shit. Now both of you, get to digging. Make it deep enough the critters won’t smell’im when he gets stinky. Put him there, near that tombstone.” “Yes sir” they replied in unison and set about their assigned task. “Pop? What’s going on? I heard gun shots.” Andrew, awakened by the battle, had come to investigate. “Nothin’ Andrew, go on back to bed. Mark thought he saw a bear, but it was just a ‘possum.” When Pop said it, Andrew believed it. Besides, he knew Mark wasn’t real bright. Even though he was a couple years younger than Mark, he had been doing his homework for him for a while now, and he knew Mark was just dumb enough to mistake a ‘possum for a black bear. As Andrew turned to go back to the tents, two pairs of eyes followed him, unseen by any of the Richters. They also watched as the two older boys dug the grave and heaved the body into its’ final resting place. The next morning there were fresh-cut wild flowers and a cross made of cut branches and twine on the new, previously unmarked grave. |
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