Peach Sky, Cold Ground
A Story Every Day in 2024 Feb 27th 58/366
This story has been issued with a Dharrsheena warning. Please proceed with caution.
He was starving.
The sky was peach, a contemplative reminder of summer's warmth and ripeness; but the air was brittle and taut as he stepped outside his cabin. Oh, for the sweet taste of a peach! He salivated as he pulled his boots on. The call of the wild was starting to screech and nag, wearing him down. He had no reserves.
He was ill-equipped to deal with this life, the life that he had chosen. He thought it would be simple but simple still required knowledge and WiFi. He had this idea that returning to instinctual living, sustenance living, would be written deep inside and innate, something that he would just know but he hadn't a clue. It had been tempered out of him by convenience.
He wished he'd bought more tins. He could go and buy more tins but he felt like this was defeatist. He wanted to succeed at this, needed to. Needed to succeed at something.
He was going to check his traps. He took his rifle too. He'd been practising with his tins. Some were perforated and this gave him heart that he could hit the mark in something.
Off he trudged, through the snow. Heavy footfalls, the snow tugging at his feet. He felt leaden.
Trap One.
Empty.
Trap Two.
Empty.
Trap Three.
Empty.
As empty as his stomach.
He was desperate. Emotions swelled and he fought to swallow them down as tears of frustration and ineptitude threatened to spill and inevitably freeze, like scars, on his cheeks.
He threw back his head and roared to the radiant sky in his frustration, releasing something primal and unfettered from himself.
Who was he kidding? He had failed. Failed in life, failed in living. He couldn't do it. None of it.
He sat on a rock peeking out from the cold ground. Sighed.
Looked up through the branches to the fading peach sky. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of something. A squirrel. He was surprised. He thought it was too cold.
An opportunity presented itself and he slowly took his rifle from his shoulder. Heart thudding, shaking, he aimed.
A direct hit.
Success.
He wept for the squirrel and himself.
***
366 words
Unsplash never fails to amaze me with the images that you can find there and it is this wonderful photo that inspired this story.
Those of you who read my stories will maybe comment on the inclusion of a squirrel in this piece, being used for sustenance. No comment.
Thanks for stopping by! If you did read it, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.
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Comments (5)
Haha. Ya just had to do it, didn't ya? Poor wittle bushy-tailed rat. 🥺
Ironic that the one thing he longed to eat could not be found in the winter wilds. Wonderfully written, Rachel. Was this some kind of unconscious revenge on the squirrels raiding your bird feeders? Ahh, men, in theory they think they can do everything.
Omgggg, thank you so much for the Dharrsheena warning! Like I cannotttttt express in words how much that means to me. I scrolled down slowly so hopefully this counts as a read. Thank you again Super Rach! 🥺❤️
Squirrels continue to be the spirit animals of Vocal. Most intriguing!
My first appointment, there was a family who routinely hunted squirrels, cooked them & ate them. We were invited to join them once. Tastes like chicken. My second appointment the local Lions Club hosted the Annual International Gopher Roping Championships. That continued until the SPCA got involved.