Hunting trip anyone?

“That’s not even real Sarah! Why don’t we just get a damn divorce?!”
“Oh that’s just precious, wh-” The man slammed the door. He slugged down
the front porch steps and into his beat up red chevy. He threw his weight into the ragged leather chair and reached back for a for a beer. His course hands tightened around a dark brown bottle. He bit the cap off with his yellow teeth and chugged the liquid down in a few loud gulps. Some beer dribbled down his chin, into his lap, and some clung to his whiskers hanging like leaves hang on trees. He continued the same process several times before leaping out of the car swaying back and forth like a chaotic pendulm. He gathered his hunting gear.

The wind moaned as dragged against the large trees that stood tall in the
darkness of the night. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky amongst an
array of scattered stars. His boots dug his boots into the lawn, kicking
up mud and bending twigs under his feet. Each blade of grass was smeared
with a fresh coat of late spring rain that clung onto the heel of the
large leather boots as the man slowly made his way into the forest.

What an idiot his wife was, he didn't understand why he married the pig. As trotted deeper into the woods and was greeted by a large symphony conducted by the chaotic wilderness that surrounded him. Crickets played their tune, frogs belched loudly, and small bugs humming, masked in darkness spun around the man’s head.

The man froze. There was also another sound, one he had not heard before
in his past hunting trips. It was like the sound of shattering glass, but
he couldn’t place it. His leather boots rubbing together as he shuffled in
place, shifting his weight under the camouflaged suit. Puzzled, he ignored
the sounds of nature around him, yet that sound, that single high pitched
reverberation still rang in his ears.

The man blinked several times, attempting to concentrate on the path
before him. He had drunk several bottles of beer earlier, trying to numb
the pain of the fight with his wife.

He held a rifle in one hand and a small red metal flashlight in the
other. The flashlight gave off a sickly yellow glow that was had just
enough power to see a few feet ahead. The rifle had a long metal tube
that slanted forward, and was fastened by a large wooden holder that
specially fit the man. He had to pay extra for the customize fitting on
the gun, yet it was worth it after seeing his friends faces dripping
with envy. That’s how he was, always trying to impress the crowd; he
didn’t even like to hunt. He couldn’t figure out why he hunted either.
The most likely reason was because it was a way to make him feel better
about himself. He felt like he was fit when he hunt, like a sport that
he could actually compete in.

The man squinted his eyes trying to recall the many times in high school
when he was picked last on the team. He remembered how poorly he had been
treated because of his weight. He couldn’t help it, he had always been
larger than the other kids. Well, in truth he could have avoided it, yet
eating gave him pleasure and it was his secret escape from the world. He
had been given names in school such as “blubber boy” or “Fat Albert”, like
that famous kid on that old TV show that you don’t see around anymore.
Hunting is my way of feeling good about myself .He nodded as those
memories of high school started to fade from his mind.

The man looked onwards at the fork in the path. Leaves rustled under the
pressure of the wind. The man didn’t recall two paths. One path was marked
with the distinct surveyors tape. The other was unmarked. He considered
the possibilities.. The marked one would lead him to the hunting spot from
which he knew very well, the other would lead him to a new trail.
The many sounds of the forest ceased and only one sound could be heard. It
reminded him of one of those cheaply done movies. Like an early Stephen
King, The Langoliers with the horrible graphics and the cheesy music that
was intended to keep people on the edge of their seat. The man chuckled to
himself. He was actually pretty afraid, but he wouldn’t admit. He continued along the path, waving his dim flashlight in front of his large body. His brown leather work boots slapped against the ground. His heart started to pound louder.

He could hear his heart clearly, pumping and pulsing. The pitch of the
eerie sound increased as the man continued to walk down the forest trail.
It vibrated in his ears, and became excruciating. His muscles tightened
and as he swore under his breath, he fell to his knees and clamped his
hands over his ears in agony.

The night ended and the sun rose. The forest had remained the same as the night before, yet one thing was different. There was a new corpse to the collection. Just a gentle warning. Next time your in the forest, beware of an unusual sound. The sound of shattering glass...







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