The Art of Writing

[Suraru]

So I'm almost done with my collage course of writing with an updated IT degree. I wrote this up for my creative writing class, teacher was impressed even with a few immersion errors here and there. Thought I'd just post it because I'm a bit proud of it.

The Experience of Hunting
Once a year my masochist family visits the rural areas of this poisoned country, for the sport of a ‘saving murder’, to keep the indigenous population from over encumbering the environment. We drive a few hours out to Halsey in the middle of Nebraska, and set up camp for our yearly deer hunting. After we finish preparing our temporary home, we lose ourselves in our conscious, leaving the real conscience behind for what we must do in the morning.
Before the sun appears over the horizon, above the tall hills worn by time, we perch ourselves where the wind blows in order to mask our scent. Wind burns escalate, and I can feel my lips starting to sting and lose their elastically. No amount of warm wooly orange can make me feel warm on this original hell of a miniature mountain. At least we are upwind of everything nature can produce, and through my burning nose hairs I can smell the beauty of nature, the cold birch woods companied by the scent of dying rodents, victims of the Cougar that lives below.
The masculine antlered species are more active at night, fewer hunters when the prey is nocturnal, unlike themselves. Hours pass and still nothing, absent of what I can notice without our most valuable resource for an important sense, light. The sky is turning from black to blue, a crimson and orange back drop behind us. We have the ideal spot where we won’t be blinded as mother light ascends over the mountain. A beauty of light bleeds above us, raining down its majestic rays on the tops of the trees in the valley.
That’s when my eye catches movement. Two four legged creatures walk gracefully across the tree line. They have naked heads, their ears perk and look toward us suspiciously as I signal to my partner with two fingers, and I slowly point to the location of two feminine doe. We wait, knowing their strategy to send the common fodder first. Sure enough, a six point buck struts past a tree into the valley, emerging itself into plain view for our rifles. I raise my thumb and look through the scope.
A shot rings out, and I didn’t pull the trigger. My decision to not end the life of a peaceful yet melancholy life, as simple as it may be, gave my companion the opportunity instead. It still rings in my ears, the sharp sound of the hammer hitting the shell, sparking a flame inside the bullet that ignites the powder, exploding the hollow point out of the primer, controlled through the barrel, and down the path into the soft furry shoulder, that is no longer a living deer. The shot expands and mushrooms as it hits the target, leaving a larger exit hole as the heart is quickly destroyed.
It is a quick death for the proud animal, the heart broken females run back into the forest, only to forget about their partner and search to be claimed by a new one. We stand up and descend down the hill to claim our prize. Before it passes out of view, I take a long look at the scenery past the valley. The Great Plains, I spot two cities and a river, as I can see for miles from this spot. “This is why I love the country” I whisper to myself, as I walk down the hill to assist in preparing our next meal.

[Thaedael]

College*

[Suraru]

Whatever!

[Thaedael]

Ok, *shrugs*

[Suraru]

Finished it... ok not really, needs a bit more editing, but just a bit!

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

The Experience of Hunting
Once a year, my masochist family visits the rural areas of this poisoned country for the sport of a life saving murder, to keep the indigenous population from over encumbering the environment. We drive a few hours out to Halsey, which is in the middle of Nebraska, and set up camp for our yearly deer hunting. After we finish preparing our temporary home, we lose ourselves in our conscious, leaving the real conscience behind for what we must do in the morning.
Before the sun appears over the horizon, above the tall hills worn by time, we perch ourselves a quarter to the top, where the wind slams into us. This is necessary to mask our scent; otherwise we would be waking up this early for nothing. Wind burns grow upon my face, and I can feel my lips starting to sting and lose their elastically. The amount of warm wooly orange I’m wearing isn’t enough to feel warm on this original hell of a miniature mountain. At least we are upwind of everything nature can produce, and through my burning nose hairs I can smell the beauty of nature; the cold birch woods companied by the scent of dying rodents, victims of the cougar that lives below.
The masculine antlered species we are hunting are more active during the dark shroud, nature’s way to counter the abundance of hunters during the day, and a nocturnal prey lives longer. Hours pass and still nothing, absent of what I can notice without our most valuable resource for our most important sense, light. The sky is now turning from black to blue, a crimson and orange back drop behind us. We have the ideal spot where we won’t be blinded as mother light ascends over the mountain. A beauty of light bleeds above us, raining down its majestic rays on the tops of the trees in the valley.
That’s when my eye catches movement. Two four legged creatures walk gracefully across the tree line. However they have naked heads, nothing above their ears, which perk and look toward us suspiciously as I signal to my partner with two fingers, and I slowly point to the location of the two feminine doe. We wait, knowing the strategy to send the common fodder first, to make sure the path is clear for the real prize. Sure enough, a twelve point buck struts past a tree into the valley, emerging itself into plain view for our rifles. I raise my thumb and look through the scope. My finger slides down the trigger guard as I keep our victim in the middle of my crosshairs.



The sharp piecing sound sends a sharp pain in my head, my ears ringing from the sharp sound of the hammer hitting the shell, sparking a flame inside the bullet that ignites the powder, exploding the hollow point out of the primer, controlled through the barrel, and down the path into the soft furry shoulder that is no longer a living deer. The majestic creature falls, but I didn’t pull the trigger. My decision to not end the life of a peaceful yet melancholy being, as simple as it may be, gave my companion the opportunity instead.
The shot expands and mushrooms as it hits the target, leaving a larger hole on the other side. As its heart is quickly destroyed by the bullet, mine is by sorrow. It is a quick death for the proud animal, and the broken females run back into the forest, only to forget about their partner and search to be claimed by a new one. We stand up and descend down the hill to claim our kill. However, before it passes out of view, I take a look at the scenery past the valley. Standing on this hill, I can almost see my hometown of Omaha in the distance. It’s almost three hundred miles away, but I’m probably just looking at Grand Island, more likely as it’s only a third as far.
There are twin rivers that divide from a city not far away. The shine from the sun and add luminance to the landscape. As the clear sky brightens up, the cities become less visible, the light pollution they give off hidden by the greater force rising behind me. Green and brown trees spill color on the ground, providing air for the lungs of many, which in return provide the opposite, keeping the trees alive. Taking a deep breath to smell everything in the air would fill anyone with pleasure.
With that moment, I take steps down the hill, crushing leaves, sticks, and plants as I make my way down the hill. Occasionally I’ll see a mound of sand and jump forward down on it, the soft clump breaking apart under my shoes, providing me with a soft landing, and a quicker path down the hill. I make lots of noise, finally reaching my goal with a loud thump. He has already gone to work on the carcass, cutting it open and revealing the stench of a biological system forced to shut down.
I assist him in this grueling task to the best of my ability, be brought down physically or mentally. We lift the still warm, gaping meat high on a tree to keep it away from other predators, and head back camp. It’s a long peaceful walk along side a creek, cliffs bordering us on both sides. The water glistens slightly in the reduced sunlight that dances around the leaves above. Eventually, we come across our makeshift home for the week, where we instruct the others with four wheelers to obtain our meal across the valley.
It’s time to relax, the job is done and the population will survive. I try to clear my mind of the event I’ve experienced many times before. Lying in my sleeping bag, it’s a bit too warm but preferred over the chill atmosphere that rests just outside of my cozy layer. Tomorrow we go back home, so tonight I can bring back the conscience I left in realm of unconsciousness, and loose myself in the memories, of the life saving murder.