The stranger under the willow tree

Hunter being the hunted

My father taught me how to hunt when I was just a boy. We would venture into the woods together, tracking and stalking our prey. It was exhilarating to feel the rush of adrenaline as we closed in on our target. I loved the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of bringing home a fresh kill.

But as I got older, something changed. I began to see the animals differently. They weren't just targets to be taken down, but living creatures with families and lives of their own. I couldn't bear the thought of causing them pain or taking away their lives.

So I gave up hunting, much to my father's disappointment. He couldn't understand why I would turn my back on a tradition that had been passed down through our family for generations. But I knew in my heart that it was the right decision.

Now, years later, I find myself in a situation I never could have imagined. I'm no longer the hunter, but the hunted. The tables have turned, and I'm the one being stalked and pursued.

I don't know who or what is after me, but I can feel the eyes on me, watching my every move. It's a feeling of dread that I can't shake, a constant reminder that I'm not safe.

I never thought I'd be in this position, but I can't help wondering if it's some kind of karmic retribution for all the creatures I hunted in the past. Whatever the reason, I know that I'll have to rely on all my skills as a former hunter to survive.