The bullet sped through the air, travelling thousands of metres per second, splitting the air in half. It got closer and closer to the bird, about to hit its target. Yet, as it nearly reached the prey, it became clear that it was off-mark, and the bullet whirled past the feathers, blasting into the bushes. The bird noticed his near-death and jumped up into the air, flapping his wings as quickly as he could, reaching the safety of the sky. Lily had missed.
All this happened in milliseconds, yet with the hunter’s eye, each moment appears as if it was a whole hour. Lily, of course, had not yet reached this bullet-time instinct. She, like my younger self, would try and try to shoot her prey, but every time she’d miss by a fraction. There was the occasional lucky strike, yet these chances were one in a hundred. Hunting has always been a hard task, even for the cavemen. It was not surprising that Lily, a thirteen year old girl, was not good at it. She didn’t have the time and practice that I had, so each time she’d miss, I’d always feel a small beat of frustration and disappointment in the deep chasm of my heart. This would then turn into sympathy when she looked at me with familiar, sad eyes.
We’d then move on, trying to find a new piece of meat to bring home. Usually we’d reach the exact same conclusion. She would have tried a dozen times, and we’d both get annoyed so I’d always decide to help her out. Most of the time, I could make my target. Normally, it was just a small bit of game. Perhaps a bit of bird, a mouse or on a good day, a small squirrel. Today was especially lucky. I’d managed to kill an entire rabbit. I ran over to it, and showed Lily my normal routine. Here is where you want to shoot. Don’t aim for the body, you’ll waste good meat. Always aim for the brain, but if you’re feeling lazy, aim for the face or neck. She gave her routine shrug and sigh, moving away from me.
I reached for my backpack, took out my fabric towel and covered the rabbit with it. Then, I placed the bloody cloth in my bag and slung it over my back. I felt a small droplet on my shoulder. Thinking it was just a bead of sweat, I brushed it off but then my hair felt wet again. I looked up. A bead of rain fell on my forehead. Then another one. And another one. Then, seemingly out of nowhere the sky filled with thousands and thousands of beads of water, hurtling down at us. I yelled at Lily that we should be probably get home, and she confirmed it with a soaked smile.
We sprinted through the forest in an attempt to not get wet. The roots of the ground stuck up and tangled around our legs as we ran, making it difficult not to break our ankles when running. We were deep in the forest, far away from the relative comfort of the city. The rabbit in my backpack bobbed up and down as I ran, shaking around with such magnitude that it almost seemed alive again. My hair was flat on my face from the water; little blobs seeped down my face as the rain fell. Lily frantically tried to keep up with me as we ran, but her poor little legs couldn’t quite keep up. I slowed down a bit so she could catch up and she looked exhausted. Her face was soggy and tired, from a combination of rain and hard work. Her hair was falling down her face, obstructing her view in clumps of brown triangles. Her hands were cold and white, to the point where it would take an hour in a blanket to warm them again.
But, in her classic Lily way, she remained optimistic. A small smile fractured across her face; she knew she would never get this kind of fun with her mother. She panted through, her grinning lips as she ran, letting the rain wash off all the dirt and leaves from our day out.
Soon, the rainfall quickly slowed. Almost on purpose, because as soon as we left the relative dryness of the forest, it decided to simmer down. I smiled at the thought of the rain politely ceasing so we wouldn’t get too wet.
We had reached the outer brim of the city, and now we could see the city skyline. I always thought that amongst the hunger, poverty and depression, there was something beautiful when looking at the city from afar. A silver lining on a polluted cloud. The church gleamed, broadcasting its high steeple, standing out from all the small houses below it. The town hall sat next to it, with her marble arches standing proudly, reflecting how she wouldn’t let a lack of food stop her from being patriotic. It almost looks like the Lincoln memorial from a distance.
