Page 117 - creative spark6

118 creative sparks a collection of creative writing by EPTS 119

himself had not actually hold a rifle in he could sense. Then, he recalled his more he got closer, the more he was
his hands. The way his father aimed at father saying: drawn in. For a moment, the world was
the games, and the process in which ‘Don’t you ever be a lone wolf, son.’ all that was between him and these
his father moved his fingers about The boy stared at his father quietly, rejoicing cries; the world was the door.
the trigger gave an impression of uncomprehending the words. The boy took hold of the brass
something omnipotent, something the ‘Don’t you ever be a lone wolf,’ he doorknob warily. He closed his eyes,
boy had found mesmerizing. He repeated, his breath rising high like inhaled deeply, and allowed himself to
dreamed that one day he would become steam. indulge in the voice, letting its purity
a shrewd hunter like his father; he ‘A what?’ asked the boy, insecurely. bathe him clean. At long last, the boy
dreamed that one day he would hunt, But his father was not listening. The turned the doorknob and, unhurriedly,
side by side, with his hero. But it would grey wolf had leapt for the brown deer. opened the door. Reality dissolved into
never happen, and that day would bright white radiance, accompanied by
never come, for his father was dead. He knew now the meaning of those the light-hearted music of incipient
The boy recounted the evening his words. The boy glanced at the portraits camaraderie.
father successfully killed the snow deer of his father and photos of him
and the grey wolf. That was a quiet day positioned next to his hunted games –
and the snow kept falling onto his new grizzly bears, wild boars, black panthers
deerstalker and shoulders. The boy – on the wall as he treaded down the
could remember his pounding heart and corridor outside his room. He descended
the sweat gathering above his upper the stairs anxiously, biting his lower lip.
lip, hiding there behind a huge boulder, The squeaking creaks of the wood
as the two games stood there waiting exemplified his emotional ambience in
for his father’s bullets. He constantly the present. Soon, he was facing the
shifted his stare from the animals to his front door of his house, from which
father, and from his father to the rifle. came the sound of children playing on
The three entities seemed to be bound the street. Their laughs seemed to have
by an impalpable connexion that only the power to hypnotize him, and the