WILD

Chapter 1 "Beginnings"

A sharp gust of wind blows harshly across my cheeks, it picks up someof the snow off of the pure white ground. The snow is so deep and hasbeen here for so long that I don't remember what is underneath it. Ihave a worn down piece of thick black cloth pulled up over my mouthand up to the top of my nose. The cloth and the thick assortment ofanimal furs that cover my body blocks out some of the harshness ofthese never-ending arctic conditions while allowing me to breathethrough it. I'm squinting my eyes, trying to track and follow a deerthat crossed our path as we were travelling. The kicked up snow fromthe gust of wind is making it hard to see any meaningful distance infront. I go down to one knee and wait for the wind to calm downbefore I continue tracking the deer's footsteps. I wait around oneminute for the wind to pass and as the snow starts clearing, I get aglimpse of the deer in the distance taking a sip from a pool ofwater. Beautiful brown fur with white stripes across its back. Sograceful and elegant. My father comes up next to me and also getsdown onto one knee. He pulls down the piece of cloth covering hisface like mine and reveals his rather majestic beard at this point sothat he can begin talking to me. "Remember everything that I'vetaught you, Jack. Deep, calm breaths and hold your breath as youbegin to line up the shot. Aim for the head, neck or heart. You onlywant to fire a single shot and the last thing you want to be doing isrunning after a god damn deer that's bleeding out." My father saysin his usual deep, husky voice which he has hushed in order not toscare the deer. I nod in acknowledgement and he takes the Remingtonhunting rifle off his broad shoulders and passes it into my hands.You can see it's not very new at all; scratched metal off the barreland indents in the wood from use. I prop the back end of the gun ontop of my shoulder as I pull the scope up towards my eye. I fixate onthe deer's head, just watching and waiting. They're beautiful andharmless creatures but this is all I've ever known. It's a means toan end and we have to eat to survive, as much as I wish it could bedifferent. I take a deep inhale and the sharpness of the air catchesme slightly by surprise but I hold my nerve. I pull back the boltaction and pull the trigger. The loud echo of the rifle causes birdsto flock away out of the nearby dead trees; in the same way that ahorrifying squeal leaves the deer as the 7mm rifle bullet goesthrough it's head. "Nice shot boy. you're getting better. Moving upfrom small game like rabbits and foxes isn't easy. Now come on, let'sgo get that deer. It's going to take the both of us to carry it backto camp." My father states. "Thank you, Pa. Let's go." I mufflethrough the cloth covering my face as I pass him back the rifle tostrap back over his shoulder.

I drag my leather and fur wrapped feet through the inches of snowpiled up on the ground and head towards the deer carcass. The lifedrained out of it in one second, one moment and it's all for our owngain. It's fucked up and maybe one day, we'll know what it feels liketo be on the other end of a bullet. It's cold, it's lawless but it'sthe world we live in. We don't have time to empathise, to feelanything other than the need to survive. It's soulless and a terribleway to live but it beats being dead.

"You take the top half and I'll take the bottom half. On the countof 3, we lift. Got it?" I nod in acknowledgement.

"3...2...1...lift!"

I bend down, wrapping my fingerless glove covered hands round thedeer's antlers to get a solid grip and lift on my fathers command. Hehas the bottom half of the deer on his back and we walk in unison tobring the deer to our latest "camp" A.K.A just a place in themiddle of nowhere where we've made a fire and unrolled our sleepingfurs for the next couple days. We drop the carcass next to thecharred wood remnants of the fire pit. The old man always insiststhat we put it out before we go just in case it spirals into somesort of inferno or people track the smoke from the fire while we'reaway and raid the camp. "Hey Jack, get this fire going again whileI deal with this beauty here." Father instructs. I kneel down nextto the fire pit and pick up a nearby stick, I put the stick in bothhands and rub it against the other wood until it catches fire. Iglance up after I've finished and I see dad pull out his 6 inch steelblade. The metal is scratched up but the blade is still as sharp asever. The handle is made up of handcrafted leather workings, engravedwith tribal like drawings and a wolf head at the bottom. He digs theblade into the bottom of the stomach and begins cutting upwardstowards the head before I turn away in disgust. I've seen thishundreds of times already but it doesn't make it any less barbaricand sickening to watch. I could never get used to gutting an animal.I never usually have a problem seeing it but today, I just can't hackit and I don't even know why.