Farmer's field (Joshler)

Farmer's field

Warnings:
Hunting.
Murder (non-descriptive.)
+ another thing that I can't say without spoiling the ending.

This oneshot is based off of Farmer's field by Nicole Dollanganger. (Highkey wrote this entire thing while wearing her merch.)

I wrote this for halloween and also for memily's (milkcartonangel) oneshot contest.

*

He spends his morning shooting at the wild turkey that lurk his backyard. The sun is just rising, he's still in his pyjamas, thick fleece ones and the grass is still wet with morning dew.

Still Josh is outside watching as the birds crowd by an old oak tree with a swing hanging down from the sturdiest branch
available. The previous owners of the house had installed it. The turkeys peck at the soft grass underneath. They don't notice him, he's too far away.

Josh sits on his porch, he's wet now, his feet cold, but he's on the steps leaning forward with his shotgun over his thighs as he watches them. There's about seven of them, his freezer is already stocked with meat, mostly venison and some chicken. More wouldn't hurt though, it's always good to have more available. Whenever he goes hunting he does it excessively, spending the entire day scouring the thick bush that branches off right after his garden does.

He settles comfortably, holding his gun up. It's heavy in his grip, it's all he needs right now and his hands hold it nice and steady.

Jaw set straight, aim accurate, Josh is shooting at the birds. The bullets hit, they go down one by one, some run away, they flee, some flap their wings, some die with feathers floating in the air. Most run away while making estranged noises.

Josh decides it's most likely a waste of meat, he'll find a way to use all of it eventually though. He always does. He'll leave one of the turkeys for the wolves that visit at night and he'll pluck the other one's, slit their throats, drain them and use them as food.

That's what he does in the late afternoon, three of the four are brought into his shed, the one with his meat freezer and butchery equipment in it. The blood runs down Josh's shirt, his jeans, his gloves, it stains them all. He places the animals on a metal table side by side, he chops off their heads, their feet and throws them into a metal bucket, a rusty one.

He spends his afternoon in the shed working on them, making them perfect, making them beautiful for later. It's a longer process then he remembered, he hadn't killed his own turkey's or chicken's in a while. Maybe he's gotten rusty, he considers it but he figures the butchering of turkeys isn't something you get bad at over time.

He sets a fire later that night, a small one, he burns the feathers and heads and feet and when he hears a howl from the woods he smiles and uses the flashlight he always has attached to his belt to find the oak tree across his small field of land.

He finds the lone turkey and grabs it by its feet, this ones heavier then the other three, fatter. Blood bleeds from its body, it bleeds all over his grass. Josh steps in it, squishes his boots in it and when he reaches the end of land and the start of forest he throws the turkey. A solid throw, a far throw, he likes the sound it makes when it lands on a crooked tree root.