Good and bad have no meaning when everything seems lost, when hunger drives the body to forget its soul. To survive becomes the consuming desire and all is justified to that end. Scrabble in the river mud, fingers seeking protein eaten raw. Disgust and squeamish horror have all gone, stilled by that demand, the need to survive and tell my story overcomes all else, I had taken days to get this far. The river water saved my life, and its creatures fed my bodies need. The flow downhill gave me direction enough. My warning in time to save us all.
About the Creator
Peter Rose
Collections of "my" vocal essays with additions, are available as printed books ASIN 197680615 and 1980878536 also some fictional works and some e books available at Amazon;-
amazon.com/author/healthandfunpeterrose
.
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A father's duty
The hate in my heart fed my brain, compelled stillness in my limbs, I waited in my hide. My camouflage was good and my patience strong. Grazing deer came and went, songbirds trilled and flew away. The light started to fade, but I stayed. My target drove down the lane, stopping just feet from his door. He opened the car door and started to emerge, I squeezed the trigger so very gently, saw his head snap back from the blow. I waited as still as before, then so carefully cleaned my den. Duty done on he who killed my son.
By Peter Rose3 years ago in Fiction
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