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Post by Alex Valentine on Jul 29, 2013 6:46:11 GMT
Alex was walking on a dirt path in more of the wilderness more than a city. Alex was laying down on his stomach with his rifle out looking at a dear. Alex readied his aim on the dears head, when Alex heard a movement in the bushes behind him. There was a slight hill down from where Alex was laying and Alex moved down it and lay down, on the dark ground in the darkness of night. Alex's gun lay underneath him, waiting to see who or what was there. (sorry for not having much, writers block.)
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Post by Joel on Aug 9, 2013 22:04:12 GMT
A rich and and vigorous night. He could hear the deep lapping of the summer wind, the warm pleasurable whispers of the sleeping trees and edges of the leftover sun. A summer's night was something so much more teeming and bright than any winter's eve, buzzing with a sensational mask of creatures and moonlit fireflies. There was much more heat, even after the rise of the moon, and by the rippling waters and murmuring streams a distinct sense of humidity began to arise, and there he could always feel a light perspiration whisking over his low brows. It was all exciting but it bred an air of caution within him. Perhaps it was simply this—the more prevalent flicker of excitement in the air unnerved him, because the creature and the man felt so much more free to move at this time. It was warm enough to thrive through the darkness but cool enough to not be burdened by the heat of physical work, and, even more, the darkness concealed these activities until everything became perfectly discrete. Even cradled in the covers of his bed that lay in the village by the dam, he still did not feel fully relieved of his focused tension. He had learned within the years (that seemed to wane so achingly now) that one's guard was perhaps one of the most valuable things to have, and that any sense of safety was a false security that he could never come to truly trust. A threat lurked everywhere—bypassing such a danger was a thick concoction of luck and know-how.
There was no question that he needed (and deserved) bountiful rest, but having him take the relaxation he was due was another matter entirely. As of late, sleep was not friendly to him and did not come with so much ease, even when his bones and muscles fell exhausted on the mattress and moaned to be shut into slumber. It was a frustrating matter, but one he tended to ignore as much as he possibly could—other worries were certainly much more pressing than his personal rest. Tonight, after notifying his younger brother, he took to the outskirts of the dam where the wilderness and the unknown lay, to scout for threats, potential intruders and (perhaps mainly) to rid himself of creeping thoughts that dared to encroach his mind. To think of the buzz of insects and the serenade of crickets was so much simpler and sweeter than the dread of the forthcoming troubles and the past of damning woes. How hard it was to ignore at times the hurt in his heart when the hurt came to his brain.
He kept himself slow and moderate though not unprepared—as stated, the foreign and unseen lurked in the inky forest, and many with unfriendly demeanors. He had met the night with a few hours of inactivity, and though he began to feel slightly lax, he attempted push this off with a twist of his neck and a roll of his broad, masculine shoulders. He stalked through the deciduous lushness, eyes scouting with intensity when he noticed a burned shadow laying like a black fog on the floor of the forest. Perhaps it was nothing but a thick cluster of low-laying bushes or an odd gathering of stones, but his muscles rippled with pressure due to the sound he had just moments before—a creature, a deer, perhaps, fluttered past thorn and leaf to escape something that seemed to threaten its life. He reached to unclasp it, the long, beautifully sleek thing, its wood a rich amber, its barrel a pointing black, a smooth, strong weapon always prepared to roar and fire. Readied in the hold of his sturdy arms, he slunk forward, his breath rugged but measured, his eyes honing dangerously upon the subject at hand.
Forward, forward, closer, closer still...breathing, slow, breathing, steady. Prepared, watching, to clench on the shadowed foe. And suddenly... It was a damn kid. Thrusting down, he relaxed his weapon more at his side, but him arm swung with sharp violence down on him, his knuckles clenching white as his fingers crushed into the worn fabric of his dirtied shirt. The boy was caught in his grasp, a piece of prey struggling in the talons of a menacing man, his breath like coal smoke burning with hot ash. Heaving him against the rugged structure of a tree, bark scratching into fabric and flesh, he felt his teeth grit with intensity, a flare in his eyes as he glowered at the captured boy.
"Now you better have a good reason for why you're snoopin' around here at night with that rifle, boy."
He exhaled.
"And you best make your answer quick 'cause I ain't got time for stories."
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Post by Alex Valentine on Aug 31, 2013 18:21:39 GMT
"I'm sorry!" Alex said with fear and Alex's eyes closed waiting to get shot or killed. All that was going through Alex mind is "This is it..." Alex opened his left eye at around "And you best make your answer quick 'cause I ain't got time for stories." Alex saw the world in a new light for a split-second then came Alex's reply to the "scary" man who was sure to kill Alex, (at least in Alex's mind.) was
"I'm just hunting game sir!" Alex's face was one of pure fear and innocence, one that does not seek to hurt other. At this point Alex was looking this "man of monsters" in the eyes, growing calmer Alex's face returned to normal looking, waiting for this "bear" to respond with giant "roars" or simple just a talking to. Ether way Alex was just waiting for "him"
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